The KGB Boy Origins (Part 2)

Previously on THE KGB BOY ORIGINS…

*

6 years later…

You were lying sprawled out on your bed. In the darkness of your room, the lilting strains of Johann Pachelbel’s Canon in D had filled the room. The darkness of this room was one of, if not, the main reason why you chose the room when you came to search for an off-campus residence. Ezekwesili Lodge was usually called the Black House of the Hilltop-Odenigwe axis, and you could see why. Even in the thick of the day, the corridors of the lodge were usually dark. The darkness didn’t bother you. If anything, you loved it. Eyes shut, mind roving to the music, you were lost to everything, floating along in pure bliss.

Then, the harsh synth of Stromae’s Papaoutai intruded in the calm atmosphere you were basking in. Groaning at the crazy noise and wondering why you chose this song as your ringtone, you picked your phone. And without looking at the screen, you swiped to answer the call.

His voice blasted into your ear, loud and angry. “Bia, di anyi, where are you?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Davey,” you replied in mock tones of propriety.

You believed your tone of voice would penetrate the thick fog of emotions that was your best friend’s head. But it didn’t. It only seemed to make him angrier. “It is evening already, you this boy. It’s like misfortune is calling your name, okwaya?” he snapped. “Are you not supposed to be at Theatre by now?”

That was when you remembered. He’d gotten tickets for both of you to see the new play, Ogbanje, which was to be performed by the students of theatre arts, starting this evening. Immediately, you jumped up from your bed and began to dress up, all the while apologising to him even as he continued to curse your ancestors. Laughing, you dispatched him with a promise to be there within ten minutes. Then, you quickly dressed up in a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting polo shirt, and slid your feet into a pair of palm slippers. And then, you were off.

You hurried down the road that led to Hilltop Gate, your feet moving in rhythm with the fast beats – typical of French music – of Bätard. You bent your head to check the time on your phone just as you got to the bend in the road, just past the gate. Next thing you knew, you were flying right off your feet as you ran smack into something that felt like a brick wall. You could feel yourself about to fall and you struggled to find your footing. Just before your body tilted out of balance, you felt a thick, branchlike arm encircle your waist, keeping you steady and helping you recover your balance.

You looked up at his face and an instant bolt of awareness and recognition flashed through you. It was Macho Top 1! Real name: Stephen. An Engineering student. Someone you met on Grindr only a few days ago. An odd flirtation had ensued, with him inviting you over to his place during your last two chats. But, for some reason, you just hadn’t come around to allowing yourself to go visiting him yet. Now, here he was. In the flesh. In your face.

Gently, you extricated yourself from his arms and thanked him for not letting you fall, all the while silently mourning the loss of his touch. He seemed to have recognised you as well and you both spent the next few minutes chatting there. About why you hadn’t come to see him yet (something you could not, for the life of you, fully explain to yourself, even though you lied to him that you were simply very busy), about how your individual academic pursuits are going and several other things.

Too soon, your phone started to ring and you remembered Davey. You made your apologies to Stephen and took off. This time, rather than walk, you jogged all the way to Theatre to meet your best friend, who was fuming that the prime seats had all been taken. You promised to explain things to him after the show, bought the popcorn and soft drinks you both would take during the show, and hustled your way into the theatre.

An hour and a half later, sides aching from too much laughter because of the play, you both joined the throng of bodies leaving the theatre. Once outside, the two of you walked down toward SUB to buy something to eat: you, suya mishai from Musa, and him, fries from Mama Nkechi. As you bought your food, you two chattered about the show and the several actors who were absolutely hilarious in their voiceless renderings of their characters. And that was when your mind flashed back to the opportune meeting earlier in the evening. That was when you decided to tell Davey.

You had gotten to the floodlit front of Balewa Hall by the time you finished your narration of your affair with Stephen. Davey, who hadn’t said anything while you talked, proceeded to tell you all the things you hadn’t said. He told you that you wanted Stephen. He told you that those muscly arms held you and kept you from falling had turned you on. He told you that you want Stephen to fuck you. He told you that you’d be very mad at yourself if you ended up allowing your reservations get in the way of getting down with this boy.

He told you these things with the knowing attitude that only a best friend can have. Then he hugged you and encouraged you, with a smile, to go get that dick. He also added that you should be careful though.

Then, bidding each other goodbye, you parted ways for your respective houses.

You got home, took off your clothes and slipped into your bed. You cast about for something to do on your phone as you ate, and then your eyes got drawn by the Grindr icon. You clicked it open and settled in to read the messages that had accumulated since your last time there. However, you didn’t get around to opening any other message because, right at the top, was a message from Stephen. And his picture had the green light, indicating that he was online. You quickly responded to him and a conversation ensued between you both.

He was funny, you had to give him that. Funny in a way that was both unappealing and endearing. He was the consummate UNN Engine boy: 90% tout, 10% class. He had quite a number of ideas and opinions that would make you dismiss him as one you should pay no attention to, on a normal day. But, damn! That body though! It was just too enticing for you to throw away the baby with the bathwater. You wanted to fuck him, you knew you do. So, you threw caution to the wind, disregarding that weird feeling inside you that was pulling you away from him. And when he asked again if you could come over to his place the following night, you did not think at all before you said yes.

You could tell from his response that he hadn’t expected that acquiescence; he’d probably gotten so used to your declinations that he didn’t think you’d ever say yes. And his exuberant response warmed your insides with pleasure. You were doing the right thing, you told yourself. It was time to let go some.

You chatted with him for a few more minutes, and then he signed out, leaving you with his number. You finished up your dinner, made a few mental notes to shift your day’s plans forward to have the night free, and proceeded to spend the rest of the night chatting on WhatsApp and Facebook. As was the custom between you and Davey, you told him about the plan you and Stephen had made for the next day. He responded with a string of bright-eyed emojis and a “Go get that D, boo”.

And you chuckled, now sure that you were doing the right thing.

The next day, you hurried through your classes, making out time in the afternoon to hang out with Davey at the GS Building quadrangle. For some reason, your 2 o’clock class seemed to drag on for much longer than usual. Professor Odey, in his normal droning voice, sent a wave of lethargy to your head, so thick it made you want to get home and sleep all night long. After your class, you walked rapidly back home, trying to fight the overwhelming longing for sleep that you were feeling. At your lodge, you took a bath and douched. Then you sat and picked up your phone, logging into social media to kill time.

Too soon, you started to feel that same lethargy creeping up on you. You tried to fight it back and you were almost succeeding when the feeling changed from lethargy to a blast of full-blown panic.

No! Not today! Not again! you admonished yourself with the determination of one who has had to fight and lose this battle one too many times before.

You fought and forced the feeling down your throat and extinguished it with a few minutes of intentional breathing and meditation. When you felt your control start to return, you checked the time. It was already a few minutes to 7 pm. You quickly got up, picked your phone and your tote bag, and started to walk out of your room. On second thoughts, you walked to your full-length mirror. You stared at your reflection and said, “You are fine. Chetachukwu Damian Anosike, you are fine. You are strong. You are powerful. And all is well!”

Then you smiled. Your reflection smiled back at you as though in reassurance.

Only then did you turn off the lights and walk out of your room.

Stepping out of your lodge, you made your way towards Brotherly Stores and dialed Stephen’s number. A few rings later, he answered, and when you told him you were close to Brotherly, he said he was there already, buying some things. So, you hastened your steps, intending to meet him there so you’d go to his lodge together.

At the store, you stepped through the bustle of human traffic and called him again. He directed you to where he was and, when you met, he smiled at you. You wanted to hug him, to wrap yourself around that hot body of his, to feel the tightness of those muscles and the heat coursing through them on you. But you couldn’t. Not here. Not in public. You settled instead for a handshake and you both started to walk up that rocky road to his lodge.

A few minutes later, you were further into Hilltop than you’d ever been in your life. It was a wonder to you how some students managed to live this far away from school. When you got to his lodge, you both walked in and you took note of the name of the lodge.

Evergreen Lodge.

You both got to the entrance, and there, Stephen greeted the lone guy out there who was engrossed in something he was doing on his phone.

You greeted the guy too and shook hands with him. The moment your hand touched his, that feeling of irrational panic sprang up out of nowhere. You couldn’t see the guy’s face clearly because of the evening’s gloom. But for some weird reason, you felt like you knew him from somewhere. Exactly where, you had no idea.

You clamped down that feeling and walked into the building behind Stephen. Up a short flight of stairs you both went, till you got to the second floor. He made his way to his room and, again, you took note of the room number.

312.

You both walked in and he turned on the light. His room was a typical student’s room. Clothes on the bed, a full-length mirror near the door, bed facing the mirror and door, reading table and chair opposite the bed, another door leading to the veranda close to the reading table, a door leading to a walk-in toilet and bathroom just a little way in from the door to the veranda, creating a small passageway between the main room and the veranda. He invited you to sit and you walked to his reading table and sat down. You tried to still the panic you felt downstairs to no avail. Instead, what you felt was the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the surge of blood roaring in your ears. You felt as though something was about to happen; but you couldn’t tell if this feeling was coming from instinct or panic.

You are fine. Chetachukwu Damian Anosike, you are fine. You are strong. You are powerful. And all is well!

You are saying those words repeatedly in your head as you tried to get your breathing under control, when Stephen walked over to you, pulled you gently up to your feet and kissed you. As his lips connected and meshed with yours, you asked yourself why you were scared. Surely he wouldn’t be kissing you if he wasn’t genuine, you reasoned. So, you gave yourself over to desire, kissing him back, your hands roaming over his body, following the contours of his muscles; his hands on your waist, on your ass, on your belly. You felt his fingers deftly tugging at your shirt to raise it over your body. Reluctantly, you pulled away from him and allowed him to take off your shirt. You tugged at his shirt too and pulled it off him. Next, your shorts came sliding down and you were left, in front of him, in only your boxer-briefs.

He looked at you, admiring what he was seeing, and then he said, “Wow!”

He said it loudly.

Too loudly.

You were just registering how oddly loud it was, when the door burst open.

And two guys walked in.

And now, they were three.

Just as you turned to look at Stephen, to ask him why he’d betray you like this, you felt a hot slap on your face. It disoriented you, whipping your head to the side and making your body fall towards the wall. You felt another stinging slap on your other cheek and you instinctively raised your arms to cover your cheeks and ears. A heavy blow landed on your side and your body slid down the wall. Another hit, this time, to your stomach and you dropped fully to the ground.

You were heaving, your flesh was burning, and your breath was coming in harsh gasps. You heard the sound of their voices over your head and you struggled to make sense of the words. Their voices seemed like a muted rumble, like the sound of heavy machinery over a long distance. You slowed your breathing to clear your ears and regain a modicum of control.

Then you heard his voice, the same voice that greeted you downstairs. And, even though it’d been six years, even though you hadn’t made the connection earlier, the tumblers on your memory dropped and you suddenly remembered that voice like it was yesterday.

“I no tell you say if you no change, I go treat your fuckup?” the voice asked you quietly.

Even before you looked up to confront his face, you knew the owner of the voice was Senior Onome.

Written by Mitch