SCENES OF NO TOMORROW (PART 2)

Previously on SCENES OF NO TOMORROW…

*

During the period I was grieving the loss of my innocence, my roommates and some course mates assumed I’d fallen ill, because of how unlike myself I’d become. And I just let them believe so. It was easier than trying to put in words what I was actually going through. But then, talk about believing a thing and it happens; I eventually got really sick both in mind and body. This incident happened just before we closed for the semester, and it took me the entire semester to get better.

However, what happened to me sparked an intense hate directed at the gay community for producing such predators and at God for making me this way, a ready victim for men like my rapists. I grew to resent everybody who was gay; I got off the social networks and deleted every gay acquaintance I’d made in the past two years. I spent days, and then weeks in agony, praying and fasting for this despicable thing to be taken away from me. I drowned myself in church activities, determined to Jesus away every contamination that came from being gay.

But after months of this charade, I couldn’t lie to myself any longer. This thing wasn’t going away. I was still as gay as I was when I was a little boy who’d just found out that he didn’t like the girl next door.

So, I began to find my way back to the community. New acquaintances, new chat buddies, new friends. And that was when I met him.

It didn’t happen on the social network though. This was very organic. Now that I had learned again to accept my sexuality, I’d removed the blinders from my eyes and so I was beginning to notice the men around me. He was the first man I noticed who caused a stir in me. He was kinda cute, more decent looking than a head turner, had an athletic build, and always looked well dressed whenever I saw him around the school premises. In spite of myself, I began nurturing some attraction for him.

I didn’t know he was noticing me notice him, and one day, I guess he decided to break the ice, and approached me to ask me if I was a younger brother to some guy I later found out never existed. From there, we got talking. There were introductions and an exchange of pleasantries and all that. He told me he was Steve, a student of the Nursing Department and that he hardly came to the main campus, but ever since he noticed me, he’d realized he now had a reason to always come to the main campus. For a first time conversation with someone who was basically a stranger, he was very forthright and forward. And I found it oddly endearing.

Steve and I hit it off as friends immediately. We hung out a lot – lunch, dinner, study sessions. He was basically the first real friend I made in school. We talked about a lot of things, ranging from family to academics, religion, future aspirations, friendships and love. It was during the talk about love that he finally steered the conversation to the topic of his sexuality. The fact that I’d merely laughed when he told me about me being the reason he began coming to the main campus that first day we met and also that I didn’t have any girlfriend must have encouraged him to open up to me. He told me. And I told him. And then we were two gay men who were enjoying each other’s friendship.

And because I could talk to him about anything, he became the first person I told about my rape. He was a good listener. And he was appropriately outraged and very understanding and sweet in his response to my narration. That day, I felt truly lucky, because, I told myself, I’d finally found someone I could be myself with.

We knew we were both attracted to each other, but he seemed to take his cue from me. I wasn’t ready for this to be rushed, so we took it slow. He was so patient, and every time I felt like I was ready, whenever I wanted to get down with him, I soon found myself unable to go through with it. I still needed time, and he was gentleman enough to give it to me.

Or so I thought.

The day came when he invited me over to his house at night. Such invitations weren’t uncommon. So of course I went over. I got to his lodge at about 9:30 pm; he lived in a neighborhood where you won’t get any form of public transport out of it once it was 10 pm, and so, there was an understanding that I would be spending the night. Again, this wasn’t uncommon.

The night was fun and interesting. He made dinner, a very delicious repast. We ate and chatted like two people who enjoyed each other’s company would. It was that night that he officially asked me out. He told me of his intention to be in a relationship with me. To be honest, before those rapists from 2go came and ruined me, this was what I’d always wanted, dreamed off – a perfect gentleman, a Prince Charming, and a beautiful relationship.

I accepted his offer for us to date, but with a resolve to take things gradually. He agreed and we kissed, very passionately. He reached for my bottom, but I pulled back. I told him we couldn’t rush into sex. I apologized and pleaded for his understanding. He said he was sorry for attempting to rush me and promised to wait till I was ready. Then it was time for bed, and we snuggled under the sheets. It felt so good to feel loved, wanted and cared for. It was the best feeling ever, and I wished it would never end.

Well, it did.

In the middle of the night, my newly-minted boyfriend decided he had waited long enough for me to be ready. I was roused from my sleep by the weight of somebody coming down heavily on me. I was drowsy, sleepy, and before I could wake fully to what was going on, my briefs (which was what I’d been sleeping in) had been yanked off. Sleep fled my eyes and I instantly came to the full realization of what this man, this very same person I’d told about my rape, intended to do to me. Even before his weight on me woke me up, he had lubed my ass and I could now feel his erection pushing through my ass cheeks.

Terror washed all over me, and tears were already pricking my eyes as I began pleading with him to stop, to not do this. He was built much bigger than I am, and as I struggled, it felt like I was trying to push five people off my back. He was hell bent on ravaging my ass. Screaming was not an option; we were in a student lodge and my mind was processing what the outcome would be if I screamed and alerted the other students in the lodge. Whatever my story of intended rape, this kind of situation was most likely to spiral out of control and see me humiliated and outed, and perhaps the news would reach the entire school and my family as well.

Oh no!

So I begged. I cried and begged. But he was adamant. If anything, my sobbing and pleading seemed to make him more determined to ravish me. And the odd thing was that his lust didn’t seem to be driven by anger or fury. In fact, as he forced himself on me, he was begging me too. As he shoved inside me, he kept saying he was sorry, that he loved me, and that it won’t be painful if I stopped fighting him, and that I was going to enjoy it.

But how could I possibly enjoy this? My legs were locked down in between his, and his hands were pressing my hands down firmly into the bed. It took him a while before he could get access to my treasure, because he had to direct his dick with his waist and precise motion.

How could anyone be so wicked? I thought. How could anyone who claims to love someone else, especially when this someone else loved you back, be this wicked? I stopped fighting him and tried instead to think of something else, some other memory other than what was happening to me. My mind tried to think of it as a dream, one which would go away when I wake up. But the deep thrusts and the pain that kept exploding from my brain made it all too real. My tears silently slid from my eyes and soaked the pillow as I processed my circumstance. Also, I tried not to make a sound so as not to give him the impression that he was right about the fact that I would enjoy it, because I felt that sounds made during intimate moments like this was an indication of enjoyment.

At 20 years old, I was again being violated, this time by a 27-year-old.

When he was done, he tried to slip back into the persona of the sweet, kind, charming man I fell in love with. He began apologizing profusely and blaming what happened on the devil. (The irony wasn’t lost on me how both times I’d been raped, the ordeals had been blamed on anything but the people who actually violated me.) He pleaded that he was so horny and so madly in love with me, that he couldn’t help himself. I didn’t say a word in response to him. I just wanted the night to end so I could leave his place. I sat there, speechless, staring at the wall, my mind drifting to my past experience, and now this. I wasn’t paying attention to whatever he was saying, and I couldn’t help the tears that just wouldn’t stay locked up behind my eyes.

He eventually exhausted his pleading and slept off. I wondered how he was able to sleep so peacefully, while I spent the night in hell with a shattered heart and bruised ass. In the morning, I was still without words. He resumed his pleading as I prepared to leave, holding onto to my jeans when I wanted to put it on and pulling me back. But I insistently communicated my unwavering intent to leave without once saying a word to him.

What could I say to him?

When I got to my hostel, I realized that in holding on to my jeans, he’d slipped some cash into my pocket without my knowledge. This angered me. Did he think there was a price to the trust he broke, to the betrayal he wrought on me? I was of the mind to return to his place and throw the money in his face, but when I left there that morning, I swore that I would never go back. I counted the money, and it was 5, 000 naira. I suppose the going rate for my pride and dignity had been determined and sold.

Unlike the last time, I didn’t spiral out of control. I was determined not to go down that road again. Besides, I didn’t have the luxury of that self indulgence; I had exams coming up and I buckled up and focused on my academics to get me through the trauma.

Steve however kept on trying to reach me through messages and calls. He even sought me out in school to apologize and ask for me to forgive him. I got tired of ignoring him and not having words for him, and so, when we saw, I told him that I was grateful to him for making me stronger and wiser. I think it was in that moment that he saw that his plea for us to get back together was never going to move me.

So he walked away and I never saw him again. As for me, I was finished with love. I wasn’t going to go down that road ever again.

TO BE CONTINUED

Written by Q-Mara