PROMISES, PROMISES

It is a beautiful balmy afternoon, the sun banished behind the cumuli of clouds that is preserving the pleasant coolness in the atmosphere. As you step out onto the street, you are grateful for the weather, because it means you aren’t perspiring and your powdered face is intact.

You are out, walking past stares you know are quietly judging and murmurs that are hushed and cowardly.

Poor people, you think with a sneer. Why won’t they stare and whisper? It is obvious they have not beheld fabulousness like yours before.

You walk past a building with glass windows and catch a glimpse of yourself, tall and lean, with a svelte body clad in a flowered dress shirt and denim trousers that hug your hips to perfection and emphasize the sinewy strength of your long legs. And now, you pity the locals. They really aren’t used to seeing such awesomeness sweep past their doorways, darkened with their resentment of everything bright and colourful. You know you are flashy and flamboyant, but you thrive in your vibrant colours and will have your existence no other way.

You block out their intrigue and joyfully latch on to the thoughts of where you are headed.

You just cannot wait to get to that new dick.

It has been five long months since you last mounted a good cock. Sure, just about two days ago, you had attempted riding Obinna’s five-inch penis, and that hadn’t felt right. That is why you think of what Chidi has as a penis. Cocks are for those who are generously blessed by Jehovah Jireh.

And today, you are about to meet a cock. You need this!

It is all you can do to maintain your composure and calm the rapidly growing beat of your heart as you approach Ifeanyi’s street.

Ifeanyi – the guy you met on Grindr a month ago.

He’d told such lovely stories of how good in bed he is and how unusual his sexual desires are, desires he prefers to reveal in person. His mysteriousness didn’t scare you one bit; in fact, it excited you way much more than you realized.

Chisom, your best friend and queen of the Coloured Celibacy nation, had a few minutes ago reminded you that you were a hoe. All of your friends call you that. But you don’t care. To be a hoe is an identity you own with pride, another facet of the multihued personality that is you. What bothers you is what Chisom represents: those gay guys who taste something as delicious and fulfilling as a cock and then go on to be celibate. Who does that! It is something you simply cannot wrap your head around.

You approach his house and quickly clear your thoughts. There he is, standing, waiting by the gate of his compound. As you approach, you can see that he is more handsome in person than in his pictures, huskily built with a face that dimples when he smiles at you. There is something vaguely familiar about him, but you dump the attempt to sort out the familiarity in your memory banks when it becomes a mental chore. Knowing where you might have seen him in the past is not as important as what he will be doing to you in the present.

He greets you and comes off a bit shy. And as much as you think shy is cute, you find yourself hoping this reserve won’t get in the way of him fucking the bejesus out of you. He takes you inside the house and straight to his room, where you both get on the bed and begin some small talk. You start feeling a stir of impatience as the talk goes on for longer than you deem necessary. Clearly, Ifeanyi will not be taking the initiative. So you decide to make a move.

You move on the bed, sidling close to him and begin to gently pull his shirt off of him. The look of mild surprise that eclipses his face when you initially start on him quickly changes to wry amusement, like he is waiting to see where you are going with this. The shirt and singlet discarded, you wait a breathless microsecond to ravenously admire the chiseled planes of his pecs and abs. He clearly works out and this pleases you afresh, even though you have seen pictures from your interaction on Grindr.

As you reach out your hand to cup one of his pecs, twirling his nipple between your fingers, his breath catches and a fire lights up his eyes. You are beginning to smile at the effect you are clearly having on him, when he slaps your hand away and shoves you back onto the bed. Shock intermingles with lust, both of them crowding your head as you writhe about a bit on the bed, getting comfortable.

Oh so we are playing mean daddies and naughty bitches, yes? you think as he drops his weight down on you.

His bed is comfortable, but even more comforting is the feel of his lips roughly taking yours into captivity. He ravages your mouth like he is on a life-or-death mission to find rubies inside. When he peels his mouth from yours, you begin a whimper of protest, which gets strangled off into a gasp of fresh pleasure when he plants those lips on your neck. His tongue plays with your body, the magic in it setting fire to your body as it flicks over your skin, tracing a line down from your neck to your nipples. At this point, you can no longer hold back the long hungry moans erupting from your throat. His mouth travels down your stomach to your belly button, and then back up again to your neck, biting, sucking and devouring every nerve along the way.

Somehow your clothes manage to get off without you being fully aware of that happening. He pulls your briefs off, lifts your legs up, and hunkers down before your Holiest of Holies. You feel his cool breath rush across your hole as he blows over the orifice. And then he dives in with his mouth and tongue, slathering you with a thousand pleasurable sensations as he eats his fill of your cakes. You are panting and shivering, positive that you will soon die and go straight to heaven as he assaults your hole with his tongue, thrusting in and out of that tight opening while stroking your erection.

Just when you think you are experiencing a sensory overload, incapable of taking it any longer, he abruptly stops. You are still trembling, all your muscles quivering, as you look at him, greedy lust shining from your eyes and begging for his possession.

However, what he says to you topples you quickly from that sensual peak where he’d placed you.

“My friend is in the bathroom,” he says, “and he’ll like to join us.”

What!

You feel your passion getting doused rapidly, like the hissing wash of water over fire. You are first speechless, a lack of comprehension holding you immobile on the bed, as you watch him rise from the bed.

He is smiling as he says, “Don’t worry. You’ll enjoy him too.”

And then he walks to an adjoining door and taps on it. The door opens and a young man, even more well-built than Ifeanyi emerges.

At this time, your speechlessness has short-circuited to shock as an avalanche of thoughts about people who’ve been kitoed crashes down on your mind. Panic sets in and sends you in a mad scramble from the bed. You are snatching up your clothes, your heart racing, your mind bracing your body for whatever attack these two guys have planned for you, when you hear Ifeanyi say, “Hey, what are you doing?”

The tone of his voice is soft, startled, uncertain what madness you have been possessed with. You stand and turn around to face them. Ifeanyi is standing close to the exit, but the expression on both their faces is one of bewilderment, not aggression.

But you are not fooled. However, you realize the hopelessness of your situation. You cannot escape their wrath. So you pull on a toga of calmness, attempting to make this potentially unpleasant situation as manageable as you can endure.

You take a deep breath and then say, “Alright guys, let us get this over with. I have exactly two thousand naira here, no ATM card, a Samsung S6 and a lovely pair of shoes. I figure my clothes might not be appealing to you guys, since they are too colourful. And judging from the earlier action with you” – you nod at Ifeanyi – “clearly, you are into fucking guys. So if you’re going to force yourselves on me, please use condoms. I have very good ones here. You won’t even know you are wearing them.”

For a moment, they stand there, staring at you in disbelief. And then, the stranger from the bathroom begins to chuckle. Ifeanyi joins him, his own chuckle turning to laughter. You continue to look at them coolly, your heart still pounding in anticipation of the danger they pose, even though your demeanor is cool as ice.

Finally, Ifeanyi stops laughing and walks up to you. He is smiling as he takes your hands and then looks with some earnestness into your eyes. He tells you not to be afraid, that this isn’t a kito situation. He tells you that he asked you over so you can have a threesome with him and his friend, who he calls Ebuka. You try to say something but he shushes you, continues talking. He says he didn’t think you’d come to see him if he had mentioned this detail on Grindr. He assures you that Ebuka will leave if you are uncomfortable with getting down with the two of them.

You try again to speak, and even though he doesn’t shush you this time, you cannot find the words. Relief has joined all the many emotions crashing through you.

He sees that you are speechless and goes on to say that he talked a tough talk about destroying your ass on Grindr because he was testing your resolve, to know if you were up for a sexual adventure, up for anything. And when you kept up with the chat, he knew then that he wanted you. That conviction strengthened when you exchanged pictures and he recognized you from your days at Varsity School. He’d been your senior by a year, but hadn’t had the fortitude to approach you back then, even though he’d desired you a lot. He goes on to mention the names of most of your first year level mates, and that is when you know he is truly who he says he is.

Even then, even with the relief coursing through you, you find yourself feeling a spurt of anger at him, for what he had put you through. You remember the panic you felt earlier and your anger doubles in strength. You cannot believe him. How dare he! Not only luring you here under false pretenses but making you suffer, however brief the period, for it.

Ebuka chooses that moment to speak. His voice has a lisp in it as he apologizes for their deception, telling you how Ifeanyi had assured him that you would understand. Then he adds, “You’re really cute.”

But you are not ready to be forgiving. In fact, you suddenly do not have the appetite for cock, no matter how good it was getting served before. You begin to pull on your clothes, after which you head for the door. Ifeanyi follows you, repeatedly saying he is sorry.

At the door, he places a gently restraining hand on your shoulder. You whirl around and, without thinking, you lash out with your hand, slapping him across the face. You gasp immediately after, your eyes rounding with fear as you stare at him, waiting for his reaction.

His reaction surprises you. His face creases as a smile slowly turns his lips up. It is not any of the smiles from before, neither the shy smile that dimpled his cheeks when he welcomed you nor the apologetic one that attempted to warm your heart minutes earlier. This smile is a different kind, gleaming with a menace that both frightens and excites you.

“Oh so that’s how you like it, huh?” he says with a low growl.

And then, before you can say a word, he snatches you forward and spins you around. He grabs your hips and forces you to the wall, pins you there with his body, his breath rushing hotly down on the side of your face and his fast-rising cock jabbing at your derriere. He grabs your ass cheeks with his hands, kneading them hard as his tongue invades your skin, your senses. You just then realize that you had lied to yourself earlier: you will always have an appetite for this cock.

In a very husky voice, Ifeanyi whispers into your ears, “Will you stay?”

Your moan is all the affirmation you can give.

He turns you around again, one of his hands on the wall and the other holding your face up as he possesses your mouth with a fiery kiss. He breaks the kiss to look into your eyes, staring into your lust, filling it up.

There is movement on your side and Ebuka comes into your view. His eyes are also heavy-lidded with need and his hand is on his crotch, rubbing it, massaging it, coaxing patience into whatever monster that is trapped behind his denim shorts.

You two exchange a look over Ifeanyi’s shoulder, and even though he can see it in your eyes, he still asks you, “Can we fuck you, Bloom?”

Written by Bloom