THE BOYS IN ALVAN HALL

In 2014, I was admitted to study a four-year course at the University of Nigeria. Like many young teenagers, it was an adventure and experience I had been looking forward to. I had purposely chosen a school far away from Lagos, because I yearned to be away from my overbearing parents.

On a rainy Saturday morning in November, my dad drove me to Peace Park at Maza-Maza, tucked about two-dozen One Thousand naira notes into my hands and zoomed off. The journey to Nsukka was so long and scorched that it felt like a road trip to the Sahara. The bus I boarded left Lagos around 9am and got to Nsukka by 10 pm. I was sure that my family would be very worried, seeing as my phone was off for a greater duration of the trip. When I got to Alvan Ikoku hall of UNN, I immediately borrowed someone’s phone to call and tell them I arrived safe and sound.

I began second-guessing my decision to choose UNN the night I got there. The long bus ride from Lagos was certainly a turn-off but I shrugged it off as something I would only need to do once every four months or so. The boys hostel however was what gave me the first stirrings of regret as I took in how decrepit it looked, with mice scampering about in every nook and cranny, tonnes of trash littered around and dangerous electrical wirings lining the passage of the hall. To worsen the situation, Nsukka town was cold. Like, “the deadly winter from climate disaster Hollywood movies” cold, and I hated cold weather.

Shey I did not fuck up by not jejely going to Unilag like this?

All those thoughts began to dissipate by morning. I woke up quite late, given the fatigue I experienced from being in a bus for so long, and when I stepped out of the room the school had temporarily assigned to me, I could swear that I had woken up in gay utopia. The sight of about two-dozen boys, stark naked, bathing right in front of my room, was just the mood lightener I needed that morning. Tall boys, dark boys, big dicked boys, big assed boys, all types of boys, bathing in the mild early morning sun without any care in the world as to who might be watching.

I stood and stared as they stooped down to their buckets to scoop water, parting their fine, tender asses which shone and glistened in the morning sun as water and soap suds ran down the skin. I watched as their dicks dangled when they scrubbed their body parts with their sponges, often aggressively, as if to scrub off their blackness.

As many as they were, as beautiful as the sight was, it was one boy who caught and held my attention. He had an incredibly curvy ass and his dick was the biggest I had ever seen back then. I would later know him as Chinedu, and he turned out to be my roommate.

My room had seven boys and we were quite open with each other, and although I never told them outright, some of them eventually began to suspect my sexual orientation. I was often vociferous in my defense of gay rights and never shied away when the “Guy, how far na, you be gay” comments came rolling. I’d often retort with a defiant “Ehen? And so what?”

Those seldom happened anyways. There weren’t any overt acts of homophobia. My roommates were an okay bunch. Most nights, we’d cook together or just go hang out in Jives, a bar outside the hostel, knocking ourselves out over bottles of Vodka.

I was not a fan of liquor, but the first time I went out with them, I only agreed to go because Chinedu asked. I had taken a liking to him and although we didn’t talk much, I always looked forward to his strip sessions in the morning when, after bathing, he would change into his underpants in the full glare of the room. Those five seconds of seeing his ginormous member were enough to make any hole twitch and any mouth drool. Both of mine twitched and drooled.

However, as much as I crushed on him, I considered the possibility of an affair with him to be slim. For one, he was in Engineering, the one department that seemed adept at somehow subconsciously grooming toxic, homophobic straight men. Secondly, he had a girlfriend. So, for me, I was just okay with catching the early morning five-second shows he offered.

Then one night, it all changed.

We had gone out to Jives on our usual drinking session, and by the time we returned to the hostel, we were all very high. I went to the edge of the bed where I usually lay and collapsed on the bed.

After about a minute or so, I felt someone draw close to me. It was Chinedu. He was whispering something to me, but I could barely hear him, what with how hammered I was. I wasn’t too drunk to notice though that he was quite nervous and uncomfortable with whatever he had to say to me.

Then he moved closer to me and repeated himself: “Can you give me a BJ?”

I was taken aback! The drunken haze instantly began to clear from my eyes as thoughts began to run rampart in my mind. Was this a joke or a kito? Was he high or he was just trying to confirm my sexuality?  I weighed the risk and reward. Sure, gagging on his monstrous cock would be the stuff of dreams for me, but what if it was all a set-up?

I stuttered as I tried to speak and he noticed my dilemma. So, he cut in, saying, “I know you are gay and I’ve heard that gay guys are quite good at BJs. My girlfriend can barely stuff the tip in her mouth.” In the same hushed tones, he went on with a litany of issues with intimacy he’d had with women, given the size of his penis. They could barely stuff it in their mouth, he said, let alone their pussies.

Having heard all this, I finally said cautiously, “Yes. I can give you a BJ.”

It was already past midnight and there was only one place we could do what we had in mind that night: the lavatory.

We snuck out of the room to the bathroom and I watched in excitement and anxiety as Chinedu pulled down his shorts and then whipped out the biggest cock I had ever seen. Veins the size of one-millimeter cables lined the top of his dick. It was huge, dark, throbbing and quite frankly scary.

“So…?” he said, with an expression that betrayed his hope that I wouldn’t bail on him like every other girl had.

I didn’t need a second invitation. I got down on my knees and held his member like a microphone before going all deep-throat on it. He moaned softly. I pulled down his short well below his knees and held his soft butt-cheeks as I kept sucking. He was so big that I could barely go beyond the halfway mark of his member. His moans grew louder as my tongue and palate rolled round and round his dick.

When I had gotten him way over cloud nine, I paused long enough to ask, “Do you want to fuck me?”

He looked down at me with dazed eyes for a moment, before saying, “This is the farthest I have ever gone with a guy. I am not sure I am ready to go that far.”

So, I went back to blowing him. I also rimmed and fingered him. These ministrations went on till he came. Then we returned to our room.

The next morning brought with it some shockers.

Chinedu moved out of the room and blocked me on WhatsApp. Before we lost communication, he let on to me that he was going on a week-long fasting and prayer to atone for the “abomination” he did with me. I didn’t see much of him again throughout the duration of my stay in UNN.

Four years later, we bumped into each other on the eve of the convocation ceremonies. I had gone to Princess Alexandria Auditorium (PAA) to use the school Wi-Fi and I found him there, seated with his laptop, trying to zap as much data from the school WiFi before checking out.

He had not aged much and looked pretty much like the teenager whose dick I sucked four years ago.

“Hey, what’s up?” I tried to be as platonic with my gestures as possible. There was no telling the possible reaction from these people with internalized homophobia.

“Ah!!!” he hailed, brightening up at the sight of me. “Lawrence, how far na? You totally forgot me!”

Look at this mumu! Aren’t you the one that blocked me? I wanted to snap that at him. I didn’t though because I figured there was no point trading blames after so many years incommunicado.

We caught up on the past few years since we last saw. The quizzes, the exams, the carryovers, the sardonic lecturers, the flings, the parties, the bon fires and how we were glad to finally be at the end of it all. As he spoke about the challenges he faced, particularly his carryovers, I felt a softening for him. Suddenly the resentment I felt toward him all those years for cutting me off after “using me” began to melt away.

“Are your parents coming for your convocation?” I finally asked.

“No. Are yours coming?”

“No.”

We sat there for a few more minutes, silent, downloading different things, while thoughts ran through our minds.

“What are you downloading?” I asked, desperate to dispel the shroud of awkwardness that was enveloping us.

“Something I usually watch when I’m alone.”

“What’s that?”

“Sure you want to know?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Alright then, let’s go to my place.”

The student lodges at Cartwright were some of the most luxurious on-campus accommodation in UNN. Chinedu’s room had an AC, a TV, a massive bed and a living space four times the cubicle I called a room at Hilltop. This was not surprising, given the wealthy family he came from. I sat on the plastic chair just beside the door and scrutinized the room. It was neat, well furnished and arranged for a guy in Engineering.

“Would you like something?”

I chuckled. “What do you have to offer?”

“Anything you want,” he said, and smiled slyly.

My heart instantly picked up a fast beat. I knew that response. I knew that demeanor. I had heard and seen them a thousand times in the past, but for once in my life, I wasn’t sure if it meant what I thought it meant. My dick certainly thought it meant what I thought it meant because the little man stiffened to attention and Chinedu noticed.

Just like that night four years ago, Chinedu decided to surprise me again. He came to me, pulled down my Jogger and took my dick in his mouth. I gasped, then let out soft moans which grew louder. His tongue and mouth held tightly to my foreskin and made tingling sensational circles as he rolled, and gagged and spit. I held his head and pulled him closer to my groin. His rhythm was good; he had clearly been doing this in the four years that I hadn’t known him.

We moved over to the bed and he finally showed me what he downloaded with the WiFi. It was gay porn of two black Latinx men. I knew one of them very well – Yuri Oberon.

“I want this type of sex,” he said, as though he was giving me an instruction.

I quickly perused through the film, taking in the styles and acts. And then I got down to work. I sucked his nipples, licked his ears, kissed his neck, played with his navel all the while wanking his cock, which unlike the first time I saw it, now looked like an average-sized dick. I had seen bigger ones over the course of my stay in Nsukka, even though his was still sizeable.

His moans were loud and sometimes tortured. It told the story of someone who had never truly explored sexually. Unlike the last time too, he allowed me kiss him. His lips were soft, tender and still had a leftover taste of Okpa on it. We made out for about half an hour before I gently flipped him over, made my way to his ass, buried my face in it and dug into his cakes, like a rabbit digging a tunnel. My nose, my mouth, my tongue; all my facial organs were at work. When I wasn’t getting his cakes enough anymore, I parted his legs and raised his ass to my face. I ate it some more, and more, and more before spitting all over it and gently sliding in.

And boy, was he tight and warm! He let out soft moans as my dick made its way slowly up his sphincter and into his rectum. It felt like an oven in there. An oven for baking penises. I went with slow strokes at the start, but revved up my pace as his sphincter loosened. It was a dream come true, but a dream that was soon cut short as I exploded less than three minutes into the strokes. The ass had been too good. We laughed about my premature ejaculation and he teased me.

“Is the ass that good that you came so fast?”

“You have no idea!”

I took time to reboot and went at it again, this time for about a quarter of an hour.

We slept late in the morning around 3am. I spooned him and we lay naked on his superfluous king-sized bed, covered with his Turkish duvet as crickets chirped in a bush nearby.

I left in the morning to prepare for my convocation, which turned out to be quite a boring ceremony with speeches from eminent personalities that I had very little interest in. By 1pm, it was the turn of the then Minister of Petroleum, Ibe Kachikwu to give his speech. Now beyond bored, I took out my phone to text Chinedu that I would be coming to his place after the ceremony.

But I got yet a shocker. It looked like he had blocked me!

I tried calling him, but both his lines were switched off.

Unbelievable!

Not wanting to believe what I suspected had happened, I went over to his place to find his room locked. His neighbor, a short, rotund, two-hundred-level student in Theatre Arts told me he had travelled home to prepare for the extra year he had.

Just like that, he disappeared from my life as unceremoniously as he came back into it – because I never saw him again.

Written by Lawrence