ONCE UPON A HOOKUP (Part 2)

Previously on ONCE UPON A HOOKUP…

*

With much effort, I was able to go to the bathroom to clean up. There was blood in my stool. After cleaning up, I went out to the sitting room to watch movies, while Facebooking as well. It was then that I decided to go through Zed’s Facebook profile, and while I was on his Mobile Uploads, I saw some photos he took with my friend Wes. I was startled, and it was then that it dawned on me that Zed was the guy Wes had told me about in the past, the guy whose account he’d wanted me to hack. Wes was probably the boyfriend he was referring to who he said didn’t care as much for him and who was always fighting with Akin.

I was very displeased and guilt stricken to learn this. What would Wes say if he found out about this? He wouldn’t buy the excuse that I hadn’t known the guy I came to see in Abuja was the same guy he’d told me about.

When it was day break, Zed was dressing for work when I returned to the bedroom.

“What about the phone?” I asked. “When are you going to get me one?”

“Mike, we will talk about that later. We still have enough time.”

I hoped so.

After some time, I asked him, “So you know Wes.”

He looked at me, taken aback, before replying, “He is the boyfriend I told you about. How did you know to ask me that? How do you know him?”

“I just saw some photos you took with him on your Facebook profile,” I said. “He is a good friend of mine too.”

“Okay,” was all he said.

“Please,” I continued, “I don’t want him to know I came to see you. So it won’t seem to him like I’m going after his friends behind his back or something.”

“Toh! Is there anything bad in him knowing?” he queried.

“If I knew you both were close, I wouldn’t have come,” I snapped, now positive that this guy was not someone anybody should date and commit to.

“I even want him to know,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “That guy has caused me a lot of troubles. I want to do something that’ll break his heart.”

I stared at him for a moment, shocked. Then I said, “You may want to do whatever you want to do, but please, let it not have anything to do with me.”

When he left for work, I was left alone in the house with Akin. Akin wasn’t the interactive type. In fact, it had become increasingly clear that he didn’t like me. I could tell that from the looks he shot me and the fact that his countenance discouraged any conversation between us. He did the chores in the house that morning – cleaning and sweeping – before making breakfast of tea, bread and fried eggs in tomatoes for the both of us.

All day, I sat in the sitting room watching movies, while Akin stayed out of my way in his room. In the afternoon, I got hungry and went to the kitchen to look for something to eat. There was nothing of interest, except a pot of rice that looked like pudding and stew that smelled nauseous. I quickly lost appetite.

Evening came with fresh hunger. I discovered some leftover bread in the cabinet of the dining room and consumed it with a sachet of chilled water from the refrigerator.

Some hours later in the night, I heard Zed’s car drive in. He walked into the house just as Akin stepped out to greet him. He nodded to my greeting before turning to converse with Akin in their local Northern dialect. I didn’t know what they were discussing, but whatever it was, they clearly didn’t want me knowing.

That night, we hanged out again, at a bar close to the house. This time, it was Zed, me, Akin and one other man who came to see Zed. I was feeling hunger pangs, so I didn’t want to consume much alcohol. After a while, Zed’s friend turned to me to ask me my name. I told him. He said I looked forlorn and asked if I had eaten. I said no. He asked if the waiter should get me noodles to eat, since that was the only meal the bar had to offer on its menu. The environment looked unkempt and I also am averse to eating outdoors; so I declined, saying I wasn’t hungry.

I consumed two cans of Black Bullet, and couldn’t get myself to drink any further. I was feeling all dizzy and light-headed. We trekked home, and it was all I could do to walk steadily along with them. I was trying hard not to stumble or misbehave or let on to them that I wasn’t feeling alright. When we got home, I dropped on to the sofa, too weak to move; my legs felt like butter and my stomach felt like something was eating a hole through it.

I must have zoned out, because when I came to, the time was 1: 32 am and I was alone in the sitting room. I was also very hungry. I made my way slowly to the kitchen and dished myself a plate of rice and stew, remnants of the same one I’d felt nauseated by in the afternoon. However, when I got to the dining room, I lost my appetite the moment the smell of the stew rose and stayed assaulting my sense of smell. I decided to drink a lot of water instead, before retiring to the bedroom where Zed was lay sleeping.

A few minutes later, I wished I had remained in the sitting room. His hand crept up to my back and down to my waist as he struggled to pull off my belt (because I had gone to bed still fully clothed; I’d been too weak to undress). I let him do his thing; I was too weak to put up a struggle. He turned me over on my back, unbuckled my belt and pulled down my denim shorts to my knees, and then my underwear. He stroked my dick for a while, and then turned me on my stomach. After some minutes he must have spent wearing a condom and lubing up, he mounted my back and proceeded to penetrate.

I don’t know how I managed the strength, because I really was weak with hunger. But the feeling of him penetrating me was like someone ramming hot coals up my ass. That galvanized me into shoving him off aggressively.

“Stop please, I can’t carry this. It’s too painful!” I declared.

He tried to come again, but this time, I pushed myself off the bed and went to lie on the sofa in the bedroom, a small distance away from the bed. He sat on the bed for some time, looking at me, his disappointment heavy in the room. I didn’t care. I was too peeved. Was fucking me all he cared about? Had he no feelings at all?

After some moments of silence, he got up from the bed, grabbed the jar of cream on the night stand and left the room. I heard him rap lightly on Akin’s door, and then after a while, silence. Feeling suddenly curious, I got up and tiptoed to Akin’s door, putting my ear to the door. I could hear the thump-thump of body banging against body, and the muted moans coming from the room. Clearly my refusal was Akin’s gain. I was kind of jealous, not over Zed, no. I wanted some of Akin’s ass too; dude is cute and clean looking. I imagined myself banging the shit out of him, and before long, I was in the sitting room, wanking to the image of me doing just that.

The next morning, Zed’s attitude toward me had changed. When I greeted him “Good morning”, he simply gave me a curt nod before leaving for work. Akin and I had breakfast together, and after that, I was surprised when he joined me in the sitting room to watch TV, even though he didn’t talk to me.

When the power was taken in the afternoon, I bathed, and out of boredom, I napped. When I woke up, still with nothing to occupy my mind, I began going through Zed’s things. I am someone with itchy fingers, and because I was in a big house with nothing else to do, I gave in to the devil in me. I searched the cupboards, wardrobe, and every enclosure in his room. I went through documents, receipts and every piece of paper I could lay my hands on. I saw evidence that 2 million naira had been allotted to this man for the development of a website for his agency, and he’d pocketed the money. I found receipts to cars and land properties he’d acquired. My most startling find was an empty pack of Liontail, a foreign drug that boosts sexual performance and makes you want to have sex every minute. Its adverse effects are numerous; you can’t do without it once you’re used to it, and it weakens your immunity system.

So this was it. This man was harming people and himself on purpose.

Done with that, I picked up my phone and began displaying a new kind of sanity I do not consider new at all. You know that moment when you have nothing to do, you pick up your phone and start faking calls – talking about things you wished there was someone on the other side listening, and easing yourself of stress. Well, that was what I did then. I spoke for a long time, telling my imaginary responder how I have been bored, how I refused Zed sex last night, and how his boyfriend had been full of attitude for me since I came. I laughed every now and then, waited for responses, nodded to myself, walked about the room, gestured this way and that – like I would do if I was on a real call.

When I began to feel some pain around my jaw from too much talking, I finally ended my madness, laid down and slept again. When I woke up, gratefully, it was evening. I went to the kitchen, found a bucket of garri, and some sugar, and made dinner out of that.

I was in the sitting room watching TV when Zed returned. He didn’t respond at all when I greeted him. I wondered how long he’d treat me this coldly over what happened last night. He went into the room, freshened up and came to sit in the parlour with me. After a while, he said, “Mike, let me see you in the bedroom. He headed back inside and I followed after him.

When I got in, he went straight to the point. “What did you tell Wes?”

I looked at him, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand.”

“Please, please, Mike. Stop that,” he snapped. “Wes chatted me up while I was in the office today. He told me everything you told him. Why would you go and tell him such?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” I objected. “Wes didn’t chat you up, and he didn’t tell you anything – because I didn’t tell him anything.”

“So I’m lying, abi?”

I chose not to respond.

“I’m lying na,” he reiterated. “If you want, I’ll show you my chats with Wes. He even called me and told me everything. What did you tell him?”

Was this guy for real?

“If he told you everything, why are you asking me what I told him?” I retorted. “I did not tell him anything, please. If you think I did, then show me the chats. Show me your call history!” I demanded. “I know it’s Akin that has been filling your head with stories about me. He told you this, because I was faking calls this afternoon. And I am sure he was listening to me.”

“Akin didn’t tell me anything,” Zed denied. “And how can you be talking to yourself on your phone? Are you a mad man?”

We kept going back and forth like that, both of us angry. And then, Zed declared, “See, you’re leaving this house first thing tomorrow morning. I’m tired of this nonsense. You Igbo boys always behave like you know everything!”

I was truly mad. “I’m not Igbo, for your information. And no problem, I will go tomorrow, just as long as you’re paying for my transport back. I still insist that I didn’t tell Wes anything. How can I when just this morning, I told you I didn’t want him knowing about my visit. But that’s alright. You’ve found a reason to be wicked, so be it.”

“You don’t have respect!” Zed roared with fresh outrage. “Look at the way you’re even talking to me! You came to my house and you can’t even do anything. You will stay here, Akin will wash the plates, sweep the house, do everything. And you – you will relax. You will go tomorrow, and I won’t give you a dime. One naira, I no go give you!”

What nonsense did he just say to me!

“Excuse me, sir,” I said coldly. “Did you invite me here to come and clean your house? Did we not discuss that you would lodge me. If you did, all this wouldn’t be happening. And I’m not going anywhere tomorrow without you giving me my transport back. You’re just being wicked.”

He left the room then.

I have the tendency of getting emotional. And so, I laid on the bed and began to cry. This was simply not what I’d bargained for. All this was happening because I wanted a laptop, abi? If I hadn’t been robbed, if I had my devices, I wouldn’t have suffered myself to come all the way here to go through this indignation from a man I didn’t even like. And now, he was threatening to throw me out. I felt a mix of emotions crowd my mind: fear, anger, misery, desperation. I wanted to be anywhere but in this house.

When I was done crying, I picked up my phone and logged onto Facebook. I searched for a couple of Abuja LGBT communities, joined them, and then went on to make a post asking any possible acquaintances in Abuja to inbox me. When they did and I talked about my plight, the responses ranged from wanting sex in exchange for their assistance to simply not being able to help me. I felt even stupider after these online interactions, stupid for letting these people know I was weak and incapable of saving myself from the situation I’d put myself in. And even more, I hated Akin.

I messaged a couple of Facebook friends. Some recommended I report my situation to LGBT NGOs in Abuja, with one referring me to some organizations he knew of. I got a referral to a Mr. Kenneth, who is a lawyer and human rights activist. I told him everything. He requested for the details regarding Zed, which I forwarded to him, and he said he was going to call Zed the next day if he still insists on throwing me out in the morning.

Morning came, and when I woke, it was past 7 am. Zed said it was too late to get a bus going to Owerri, and said he was giving me the grace of that day, and that the next day, I would surely be leaving his house. I felt relief that I now had more time to get some help. I chatted up Kenneth and told him of the development.

When it was nighttime and Zed was home, everyone was outside laughing, chatting and drinking the palm wine Zed brought home. I was inside by myself, resenting Zed and Akin – and myself. I hated my helplessness.

When it was bed time, Zed came into the room to see me online, chatting.

“Mike, every time you are pressing your phone,” he complained.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing and kept on typing.

“Is it not you I’m talking to?” he snapped.

“I heard you,” I snapped back. “What do you want me to say?”

“Is that how you’re talking to me, eh? Mike…” he began.

Oh lord, not again!

“…see if you get me vexed, you’ll leave my house this night if you don’t drop that phone right now!”

For the sake of peace, I signed off my chats, set my alarm for 5:30 am, and went to bed.

I woke up by 5:40-something, after the alarm had rung for some time. I went to the kitchen to boil some water. When I came back to the room, Zed wasn’t there. When I put my ear to Akin’s door, I heard him getting his morning due from the boyfriend.

I took my bath and dressed up. By the time I was done packing my things and getting ready, it was past 6.

“I will drive you to the park,” Zed said when he emerged from Akin’s room, looking a bit cheered. “You will not be able to meet any God is Good motors by this time, because they must all be already booked. So I will drive you to Peace Mass.”

Akin joined us in the car, no doubt beside himself with self satisfaction at the successful ousting of the interloper who’d come for what was his. I felt sorry for him; Zed was obviously a chronic ass-chaser, and would never give him the commitment he so clearly desired. But I suppose, when you have a room in your boyfriend’s house and your position cemented as the boyfriend from the same village, then you can afford to act alright with his indiscretions, no matter how much they are flouted in your face.

Zed drove to Peace Mass bus terminal along Nyanya Road. He paid for my transport back to Owerri and gave me some money, promising to send me money to buy the laptop when he is capable. I didn’t believe he ever would. This was clearly goodbye and good riddance.

Soon after, they left. It was a few minutes to 8 when the bus I’d boarded slowly made its way out of the park, and through the clean and vast roads of Abuja, bearing home from this disaster of a hookup.

Written by Mike