THE LITTLE DEVIL (Part 2)

Previously on THE LITTLE DEVIL…

*

A surge of tingling sensations raced through my body as I felt Nnamdi’s fingers graze up and down my thigh. With some trepidation, he reached for my groin and began to rub my penis till it was throbbing hard. I broke away from his hold and slipped out of my clothes to give him unrestricted access. He went down on his knees and took my dick in his mouth. I noticed a certain dexterity in the way he moved his mouth and tongue up and down my shaft; clearly, he had picked up a thing or two from watching blue films. With every bob of his head, he gathered momentum and in a short while, he was moaning passionately as he deftly sucked every inch of my cock. I pulled him up from his knees and helped him hurriedly get out of his clothes. Thereafter, I grabbed him by the waist and pressed his body to mine.

As our bodies intertwined, Nnamdi collected my hands and guided them to his derriere. A jolt of sexual electricity ran through my veins as I cupped his firm but soft buns. I jiggled it for a bit before landing it a playful smack. With my tongue, I claimed his nipples and teased them, one after the other, till he began to convulse. He grabbed his dick and started wanking. I moved behind him and, using the pre-cum oozing out of my penis cap as lubrication, I began to dry-hump his butt-crack. The friction was so intense that after only a few humps, I exploded a cascade of semen all over his backside. Soon after, he ejaculated too, spraying his cum all over the floor. We cleaned up, put on our clothes and headed outside to play soccer like nothing happened.

As we dribbled the inflated rubber ball past one another, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of fulfillment. I had finally gotten Nnamdi. It was clear to me, seeing as he was the one who initiated today’s tryst, that I had gotten him. I felt very good with myself.

Later, in the evening, when it was time for him to go home, he turned around and waved goodbye to me as he left.

The next day, Nnamdi and I did it again. We did the same thing the day after that, then the day after that, and then again, the day after that. Over the next few weeks, our meetings became more regular and frequent. Suddenly, I didn’t need to lure him with porn anymore. He would come over willingly in his spare time, very horny, and every time I would dry-hump his butt-crack and jerk off his penis till we climaxed. At a point, he was coming over two to three times a day, hungry with an enormous sexual appetite, one that I was all too eager to satisfy.

As the weeks turned into months, Nnamdi and I became sloppy with our hookups. We had been fooling around unnoticed for more than three months and that started to encourage complacency. We became so carefree that sometimes we would forget to lock the door while in each other’s arms, get carried away and start groaning and moaning loudly. We got more daring too. We abandoned the safety of the unused room at the back of my house and started hooking up in more risky places like the bathroom and the bedroom I shared with my brother. We got so bold that we would even sneak off to shag when my parents were around. To our credit though, for all the ignoble acts we committed in secret, we did well to present ourselves virtuous and noble in the open. No one suspected a thing as we didn’t give our families or mutual friends any reason to question the nature of our relationship.

I wish they had though. I wish someone had monitored our closeness and observed our intimacy. Perhaps it would have stopped the rot and intercepted the impending disaster.

The Greeks say that sometimes the gods bless you in the mornings and curse you at noon, and I found that to be true with what I had with Nnamdi. We were both blessed with incredible libidos for adolescents, but after almost a year of consistent sex, he began to display symptoms of withdrawal. Our hookups became increasingly scarce and we saw less and less of each other. When we did, he would have flimsy excuses of why we couldn’t shag. On the days I was persistent enough to persuade him to get down with me, Nnamdi would leave me to do all the work. He would lay there like a log of wood while I used his body to pleasure myself. When I was done, he would leave promptly, denying my request to help him wank.

It became clear from Nnamdi’s lackluster attitude that getting raunchy with me wasn’t his favourite activity. He also soon began to actively avoid me. He would sneak past my house whenever he was sent on an errand and take alternative routes on his way back just to prevent bumping into me. There was this particular day I caught him trying to ghost past mine and I accosted him. I asked for us to have a quickie, which he grudgingly conceded to. But as soon as I turned around to undress, he took to his heels and fled. I didn’t see him for weeks. When I did, I demanded to know why he was acting like this, and that was when he confirmed my fears. Nnamdi had grown disillusioned with our trysts and wanted to put an end to it. He proposed that we return to being just friends – platonic friends.

But it was too late. I was far too invested in fucking him to quit; I had become a crackhead and he was my fix.

With Nnamdi slipping out of my grasp, I resorted back to my almighty formula, the same one that worked a treat the last time and rendered him puppet to my control: Mojo. I embarked on a search for my brother’s porn stash, but I couldn’t find it. I spent an entire day ransacking our room, flipping and turning the furniture left and right, but I didn’t find the blue films.

What I did find was an interesting item that would usher me into a new level of sexual iniquity and ultimately serve as the catalyst to my downfall. From under the bed, I pulled out an odd-looking magazine completely buried in cobwebs. After clearing the debris from its surface and settling down to examine its contents, my eyes lit up. A sudden rush of blood traveled to my groin, causing my cock to twitch as I flipped through page after page of sexy, naked women. I quickly composed myself and thereupon hid the magazine where no one could find it.

In the days that followed, I devoted all my free time to savouring and jerking off to the pictures contained in the pornographic journal. I must have ejaculated a bucket-full of cum during that period as I just couldn’t suppress the urge to touch myself whenever I browsed through those erotic pages. I was a happy boy, life had dealt me a favourable hand. Nnamdi who?

However, the thrill of masturbating to pornography lasted only a short while and about a month later, my body began to reject the sensual excitement the lifeless publication offered. It yearned for you-know-who. Like a moth to flame, I found myself drawn to Nnamdi yet again.

And I was burned.

On that fateful day, I set out to woo him with my prized asset. I was perched on the balcony of our one-story building like a hawk waiting for an errant chick to wander astray. As soon as he stepped out onto the street, I grabbed my magazine, stuffed it in between some old newspapers and sprinted down the stairs to meet him. My plan was simple: show Nnamdi the journal, get him horny, take him inside and grind on his bum-bum till climax. I had saved up quite the liter of jizz in anticipation and was eager to let loose.

While waiting for him to cross my path as I stood by my gate, I decided to give the magazine one final glance. As I opened to look, the sudden jeer of my little cousin startled me, causing me to drop the newspaper. Before I could react, the unruly girl had snatched up the now-exposed magazine, flipped open its pages and froze in horror. Then she grinned mischievously at me and immediately dashed for the stairs, possibly to inform the house of her findings. Consumed by rage, I gave chase and quickly caught up to her, snatched the magazine from her hands and lashed a dirty slap across her cheek.

What I thought was a regular slap turned out to be a ferocious thwack that sent her crumbling to the ground. She clutched her face and shrieked in pain as blood began to trickle from her nostril. I stared at my hand in disbelief, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Her scream attracted the adults upstairs, who came flying down to her rescue. Her mother, my aunt, led the pack. The sight of her daughter bleeding on the floor caused her to yell at me and shove me aside. My mother came down to meet my visibly-upset aunt hurling insults at me and rushed to my defense. Their heated exchange quickly escalated into a melee, one that attracted curious spectators from outside. In no time, a crowd had gathered in the compound to placate the sisters at war. Each time a new member joined the group, my cousin narrated how she had caught me viewing the pornographic journal and how I attempted to silence her with a slap. Her explanations drew angry reactions from the audience who rebuked me and condemned my actions.

Still fuming, my aunt finally stepped out of the confrontation to take her daughter to a nearby hospital for treatment. One by one, the crowd began to disperse, leaving me to face the consequences of my gaffe. My father confiscated the magazine and led me upstairs for appropriate spanking. For all my troubles that day, I didn’t get to see Nnamdi. I wouldn’t get another chance to see him again for many months as a few days later, he and his family relocated to another part of Lagos.

The rift between my mum and my aunt, sisters of the same womb, threatened the rip my family apart. Fortunately, my grandfather was invited to settle the dispute before it got out of hand. He called for a family meeting where all cases were heard and all disputes were eventually resolved. It was a very emotional gathering. I apologized to my cousin, my aunt and the entire household for my contribution to the tensions and promised never to view “demonic” materials again. My mother and her sister buried the hatchet and embraced each other as Grandpa said a prayer to seal the deal. Finally, the evil was defeated and the feud was over. With Nnamdi gone and my family back together as one, I closed that horrible chapter of my life for good.

The last time I saw Nnamdi was at a mutual friend’s event five years ago. We were both nineteen years old now, and per my assessment, he seemed to have put the past firmly behind him. While catching up, he told me he had a girlfriend and joked about how much sex they were having. With that typical ‘hard-man’ braggadocio, he talked about how good he was in bed and how lucky his babe was to have him. I laughed heartily while we conversed, genuinely happy to see that he had moved on with his life. I was also relieved to know that he didn’t hold a grudge against me for our juvenile years. During our conversation, we talked about all sorts of things but never made reference to what went down in that small room at the back of my house. When it was time to leave, we exchanged contacts, promising to keep in touch.

Neither of us has kept that promise.

I hope that Nnamdi is fine and living an unapologetic life. I really hope that the version of him I met half a decade ago was authentic and he wasn’t wearing a mask to hide his true desires. I hope that he has taken time to properly process the events that characterized our adolescence and has come to terms with his reality, whatever that may be. I hope for many things, but above all, I hope that someday he will find a place in his heart to truly forgive me for how I preyed on him.

It’s been ten years, but I still think fondly of my childhood friend, Nnamdi. He remains an integral part of my journey as a bisexual man living in Nigeria. I’m grateful to him for the lessons learned through our friendship, but if there was a button to turn back the hands of time, to erase the past and to undo it all, I would press it. Twice.

Written by Orobo Hunter