My goodness, I was bored out of my mind, like, Heaven, help ME!!! I was so bored that I’d actually started taking note of how many corners in the ceiling had cobwebs, which had spiders in them and which didn’t, and what shade of brown they were depending on the level of settled dust on them. There was light brown, Abuja brown, sandy brown, reddish brown (where did that one come from sef?) Wait o, I thought this lady they hired to clean the house said she cleaned it spotless before we got in. See scam!

Anyway, nonsensical stuff like this (staring at the ceiling) is one of my many weird distractions I employ when I’m supremely bored. I was lying on the parlour’s cold, tiled floor, supine with arms outspread and legs lazily inclined on the recently-repainted, fresco-styled, almond-white wall. Tyga and Curtis Roach’s Bored in the House was blasting from the stereo speakers across the room, a song most fitting for the scene, almost accentuating the drab mood even.

This was my village for you, a rural-urban fringe that offered little to no excitement for a non-football-loving, landlubbing teetotaler like me. Oh, there’s also the teensy weensy fact that I’m a – you know – gay man, so local brothels were out of the question (yes, we have those in my village as well). And don’t get me started on the various end of year activities that I’d rather not attend, should I have my way. The church bazaars, meetings with the village head at the obi, soccer matches on red sand fields. Eishh!

It’s not all bad though; there are things to love about the village too. The plentitude and variety of local cuisine, outings with cousins to tourist attractions, weddings and other occasions that are actually worth attending, the silly antics of the traditional masquerades, and last but certainly not the least, the coup de grâce of the holiday experience…

The Christmas village edition of Fireworks!

Yes folks! Blinding, extremely-loud fireworks! Brilliant bolts of bright light that irradiate the night sky in beautiful patterns with deafening bangs. Truly a befitting end to a strenuous year and a hopeful advent into the new.

That was a few hours ago by the way, and the mental high of the promises and prospects that came with the New Year had sufficiently waned. Right then, I was blasé and spiritless, awaiting a call from a rather interesting hookup from Grindr.

“God, what’s taking him so long?” I mumbled as I checked my phone, probably for like the twentieth time, for any missed calls. “I mean, I know he said he’d be late a few, but nawa o.”

UC was his name, a native of the neighbouring village who had come in from Lagos for the yuletide celebrations. I met him in the way any two people meet on Grindr, except this was an acquaintanceship that was very much valued.

If you’ve read any of my stories (Everyday And A Man and Commander-in-Chief), you’d know how often I think of Grindr as a desert town devoid of interesting people.

Now take that situation and worsen it by 150%… Yeah, that’s how bad it is in my village.

But of course gay men thrive everywhere. Even the backwater recesses of the world host a flora of brightly-coloured algae. So naturally, I did come across a few profiles in my vicinity, some locals and others in town for the holidays as well. There was the catfish guy, the obvious kito scum, the plenty-plenty rules guy, the married skeptic, the “location, age, role” guy, the “I hope you’re not girly” guy, and the “you for like come visit me for my town, e no too far laidat, just 30 minutes from your side” guy. Omo, I see character taya.

After having these unfortunate experiences, my encountering UC was much appreciated.

As with most Grindr characters, his chats were bridled with replies raging from monosyllabic to simple sentences. Truth be told, it wasn’t encouraging and it didn’t help that he was extremely tardy with his responses. I often found myself overexerting the chatversation, something I normally don’t do. Then again, I literally had nothing better to do and he was the hottest guy I’d texted so far (we exchanged pictures). Somehow the promise of sex with this Lagosian stranger encouraged me to keep going whenever I felt exasperated by his lack of enthusiasm.

And boy did it pay off.

Fast forward a day or so, I was texting him and playfully asked for his number, which he gave without much hesitation. I figured he couldn’t be as noncommittal on a call as he was with his texts. And turns out, I was right.

From his voice, I could tell he was someone that probably had a lot to say but never shouted. UC and I talked hours late into the night, and it wasn’t like we started on the phone call late either. By the time we were done, our call time totaled around five hours.


I didn’t even know time had flown by so quickly. The dialogue was just that immersive and I relished the generally great conversation that we were having. I probably wouldn’t have noticed how far spent the time was if my phone hadn’t indicated having a low charge. And it wasn’t like we ended the call then and there; I actually let my battery die on the guy. That was how much fun I was having.

We did this the next day and the next, till we were sufficiently satisfied with phone conversations and were ready to get down to business.

As much as I wanted UC to put me in all the positions Ariana Grande described in her latest album, I was skeptical enough to realise the potential of this being a kito situation. Imaging them wearing me kito in my father’s land… Aaahh!!! Ogwula na! Often times, I’d switch mental gears whenever I make trips back home, reminding myself that the kito statistics here and up north are very different.

I expressed my reservations to UC and he was very understanding, suggesting we have a prior meet-and-greet before the main event, probably a day or two after. I agreed to this.

The next day, I was out on the main road in a peach shirt, cargo shorts and Nike slides, basking – no, not basking; basking makes it look like I was having fun or relaxing. More like baking, yes baking – I was baking under the scorching eastern midday sun, confident that all the layers of makeup I had on (if I wore any) had been ruined by the long streaks of sweat pouring out of my face and every other associated pore on my body.

“Okay, so he’s a latecomer. Great!” I was exasperated as I dialed his number for the umpteenth time.

We had scheduled to meet at a certain hour that was convenient for the both of us. I had also picked that time because it was when everyone in my house would be in their “mind your business” mode and I wasn’t in the frame of mind to explain my whereabouts to anyone.

That time had passed now and I was certain that should I return home, I would not be coming out to meet anyone again. I got to the rendezvous point before him and called to let him know. He apologized for not already being there and assured me he’d be about the next corner in five minutes.

This was forty-five minutes later and I was not amused.

Surely no one is worth this self-inflicted torture. If the blazing inferno of a sun wasn’t enough to change my mind, the notion of drowning in my own body fluids definitely pushed me to flag down the nearest bike home, prepared to forget the whole ordeal and UC in tandem.

I was getting on the bike when my phone rang with his incoming call. He had seen me from his car and as soon as I answered the call, he began pleading for me to get down.

Did I want to form? Of course, but omo, sun too much abeg.

The way I slammed the door when I got inside his car eh, nobody will need to tell you that I was angry. Even he was momentarily startled, but I could care less how he felt at that point. I was soaked and seething from the frustration of being under the sun for too long. He begged. I grumbled. He pleaded some more. I could only hold on to my vexation for so long. It didn’t help my matter that he was wearing a body-hugging shirt that outlined his very muscular frame and the timbre in his voice was stirring something in my shorts. Then he held my hand and apologized again. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lord, I was blushing like a child. I tapped his hand away and playfully told him to drive.

He drove while we talked about different things, like life in Lagos, life in the North, his parents, some event that they were organizing in his town. Occasionally I’d get naughty and reach out to fondle his very turgid member through his chinos trousers.

Well, someone’s happy to see me, I’d think very satisfactorily.

He took us to a local bar in his town. This was at my request; my family is kinda known for being rather religious (amongst other things), and one of these religious traits is our unashamed abstinence from alcohol. So, the last thing I wanted was for some village person to see me and be like, “Is that not the son of Mazi…”

While in the bar, we discussed our mutual attraction for each other, how we were both thankful to Rainbow Jesus that it wasn’t a kito situation, and how to go about having the much-talked-about sex that we were definitely going to have. I once had a random hookup at the family house in the village some years back, when everyone seemed to be attending some event here and there. That scenario put me in a state of panic that I never wanted to experience again. And he was positive that he didn’t want to bring such leisure in the vicinity of his family house. So, we settled for a hotel in-between our towns. Not too close to be worried about monitoring spirits and not too far to be… Well… Not too far. And I had the perfect hotel in mind.

On that note, we shook on it (I still don’t know why we even did that sef) and then proceeded to finish our drinks.

The day was far spent and I was pumped full of Pepsi, Miranda and peppered beef, all on his dime of course. Luckily, I didn’t have any missed calls from the family and I didn’t intend on pushing that luck. After three missed calls, they’d definitely start to panic. And after five? Probably have the whole town up in search mode.

So, I guess we’re all caught up, yeah? Good. Because, here we are – or rather, there I was, on the floor, counting spiders and cobwebs while awaiting UC’s call. We’d planned to start the New Year with a bang (literally). I’d arranged for everything, the hotel I picked (the room which he paid for) was one of the most luxurious in town by village standard, which really isn’t that spectacular. But it afforded the parameters necessary for its purpose: privacy, constant power supply, king-size beds and advertised sound insulation. The condoms and lube were purchased from the nearest pharmacy store, and my glory hole was well-prepped and irrigated. All he had to do was make himself present –

And even that was becoming a challenge!

When I called him earlier that New Year’s morning to remind him of the dick appointment, he apologised, saying that they had something doing at his family house and he would only be thirty minutes late, maximum.

Thirty minutes had long since turned to two hours. And his line had gone from being answered to not being answered to being unavailable, to being busy and most recently, to being switched off. I’d wanted us to spend as much time together as possible, you know, really exhaust ourselves to the point that our knees would knock and our penises would stay permanently flaccid. But this guy was out there, doing God-knows-what while time was just going.

He really was a latecomer, and I was NOT happy. Do you know the kind of preparation that goes into sex for a Bottom? For me?! I legit didn’t eat anything the night before and again that morning, all just to make sure there was no potor-potor along the express. And this nigga was doing me smeh-smeh.

“But that body though…” I’d think about that and regain strength to subdue my increasing annoyance. The feel of those rock hard panes of man flesh pressed against mine, the promise of his very promising dick that felt mighty in battle from beneath the fabric of his trousers when I felt him up, all the energy and stamina of a footballer (he plays football) channeled into making what would undoubtedly be the best New Year’s Day so far.

Haba, even my pride couldn’t be allowed to get in the way of that nau. Mbanu!

I was still alternating between lust and irritation when my phone rang to life on top of my chest. I almost missed the called, if not for the vibration motor that buzzed me back to reality. His voice was muffled from his end, probably due to interference from the wind as he drove, but from the few words that got across, I could tell he was on his way. I quickly brushed up, got my necessary tools and proceeded to the venue of importance with renewed anticipation. He’d also asked if I could enter the room before him to avoid suspicion. I thought it was funny though, because don’t guys lodge together in hotels all the time? The paranoia of IH-stricken men.

Sha, I wasn’t about to argue. I knew what I was here for, and by the heavens, I was going to get it.

I got to the room first, texted him the room number before heading to the shower and then lying on the bed in my boxers while watching a poorly-scripted TV show with an even worse viewing quality.

God, even now, he’s late again, I thought exasperatedly through heavy eyes.

Between the cool air circulating from the AC and the boredom that my body had been subjected to, I didn’t stand a chance. I don’t even recall when I slept off. What I do remember is that one moment, I was watching a terribly boring show, and the next, I was waking up to the buzz of my phone underneath me where I kept it, in case he called and I’d expectedly slept off.

I woke up, dizzy, and wobbled half asleep to the door. I didn’t even wait for him to get in; I simply unlocked the door and headed back to bed. He got full of apologies. I honestly didn’t care at this point. The sleep was messing with my vex-o-meter, and I dropped back down on the bed.

He slowly pulled me to the edge of the bed by the leg and lifted me up with an agility that had me doubting my body weight. He caressed my face apologetically and said some smack about how much mouth I made about handling him and how he was going to show me pepper.

Something in those words drove the haze of sleep from my eyes, to be replaced by a hunger and need for this man who suddenly was wearing too many clothes for the occasion.

I immediately shucked my boxers and then hurriedly went for his trousers, unbuckling his belt as he worked the buttons of his polo, almost ripping apart the damn thing. A few seconds later, we were entangled, cotton sheets and bare skin. He proved to not be much of a pleaser, but I was happy to do the most. I pulled out every trick from my notes on Fellatio 101 till final year; I sucked, tugged, tongued, licked, swallowed, caressed, deep-throated and nibbled till he was squirming and muttering profanities to whatever gods his villagers served.

And then, with fiery desire and a fully erect penis, he flipped me over into a doggy position, obtained the lube and condom from my trouser pocket and smeared some of the tube’s content on his fingers before fingering all his demons inside me.

Lord, this guy finger-fucked me like he had a point to prove. He started off slow with one finger, and then went on to two, then three, and finally four, making sure to make it as slippery as possible. Then he started alternating the number of fingers at different places. This alone left me moaning so loudly, he had to muffle my sounds with the fingers of his free hand.

It wouldn’t be long before I was ready for him to park his big Mack truck in my little garage.

I helped him sheath is schlong. The first condom broke as we strapped it on, because, well…it didn’t fit? Or maybe we didn’t handle it well? We tried the second one more carefully and it fit like a body suit two sizes too small. It was Durex condom; I was pretty sure it could stand the strain.

He teased my hole a few times with the large head of his dick, and then fingered me again while he generously lubed his dick.

“Fuck me… Please just fuck me,” I said in a silent desperate whisper. My hole was twitching around his fingers in excitement.

I saw him give a smug grin, as though he was pleased with the reaction he was getting from me. And then, he flipped me over into a missionary position, like I was a piece of rag. He positioned the sheathed nuclear warhead of a dick cap at the entrance of my flower garden, and started to knead against it to accommodate its bulbousness. A constant look of laser-focused concentration was etched on his face as he aimed his weapon of ass destruction, inching his body closer to let the head go in first.

The mixture of pain and pleasure was earth shattering. I’d never felt my sphincters so exhausted in my life. I had to tap at his waist for him to stop his entrance. He pulled out and then fingered me some more to loosen me up before attempting penetration a second time. There was pain, and then the pain expanded. I tried to tap him off me, but instead of pulling out like the last time, he simply stayed put. He didn’t proceed but he didn’t pull back either. A few moments later, when he noticed that I wasn’t fighting him anymore, he started humping, slow and precise strokes to get me accustomed to that tank of a head.

Then I heard the sound. It was silent but sure. That plop sound that noted when the mushroom had gone past your defenses. Slowly and steadily, he started pushing his hard-on further into me, my walls stretching and widening to accommodate the intrusion of his turgid length. The pain was still there but the pleasure was gaining ground, gradually dulling any sense of discomfort. He was gentle and observant to all my body cues. When my body contorted in discomfort, he’d stop then continue when my countenance was relaxed. It felt like forever before I felt the hairs of his pubic area compress against my buttocks. He was completely in me and I felt fuller than a bag of rice. His swollen phallus pulsated repeatedly within me and the heat emanating from the increased blood flow was heady. I could tell that he felt very comfy in there, because in that moment, he laid down on me, torso to torso, the full extensiveness of his musculature stretched out on top of my lithe frame. He put his head in the crook between the side of my head and my shoulder, pausing, preparing for what would be the longest journey of the evening.

He started off with small tender strokes, and then with time, they became longer, harder, faster. This guy was piston-fucking me with an agility that made me wonder if he took any drugs prior. He made sure the lube was not far at any point in time. Should I show any signs of discomfort, he’d pull out, lubricate himself and mine some more, before going ahead to completely stuff me. I was completely lost in ecstasy, grabbing and tugging at anything I could – the sheets, the pillows; I’d unconsciously claw at his rippling tense body while he pounded away like there was gold to be found if he kept digging. It took all the restraint and a few pillows to keep from shouting every profanity that ever existed and then some.

With blinding celerity, he flipped me into a lazy dog position with his strength still in me and continued his ministration to my visceral choir. I couldn’t get enough of him and he was ready to give me all the him I needed. As we fucked, exploring every page of the Kama sutra, the words of the first line of Tory Lanez song, The Take, came to mind:

I wanna put you in seven positions for 70 minutes, you get it, babe / You got a lot on your mind / And I wanna ease it up and lick it and slip it in.

Only this guy had put me in way more than 7 positions than the lyrical time frame.

At some point we got very exhausted, and yet, none of us was even close to climax. I looked at the time and gasped inwardly.

We’d been going at this for almost two hours!

I had to time out and he looked like he needed it too. He got off me and cuddled me from behind while we talked about random things: how shocked we were that we’d both lasted this long and didn’t show any signs of cumming. He admitted to taking some alcohol earlier, which was like the equivalent of an aphrodisiac for him. I earlier perceived the mild odour of the drink but I didn’t know it had the latent ability to increase performance for some.

We talked some more and then slept off in each other’s arms. Some moments later, I was awakened by the moistening of my bottom at the feel of his fingers sliding up my pussy. I didn’t open my eyes. I simply leaned in closer, arching my back a little to give him more leeway. Soon thereafter, I felt that similar sensation of anal stretching and then sudden fullness. There was a slight twinge, but luckily my walls were still relaxed and hadn’t contracted yet.

We went at it for another hour or so, with the same fervour with which we started. We fucked everywhere in that hotel room till the unmistakable primal scent of sex was everywhere. He held me in a choke hold in a doggy position and fucked the bejesus out of me. In that instant, all the stars began to gather at the back of my head, threaded down my spine and gathered around my jutting penis. I wanked myself into an ejaculation that had me groaning loudly. Hot streaks of white fluid flew in all directions in front of me as I struggled to hold myself up.

I was fully spent but oga was still going and I figured I’d let him do his thing, I didn’t want to be selfish, you know. But fifteen minutes later, he was still going at it with no apparent end in sight.

This dude was well and truly a late cummer!

All the pleasure I felt earlier had disappeared by this time, leaving only searing pain that had me wincing and pulling away from him. With a frightening force, he held my waist in place and continued to pound me mercilessly. I turned and gave him a look of incredulity.

Like, I hope this nigga is not thinking what I think he’s thinking.

I simply dislodged from him and sat upright, giving him a look of one who had had enough. Of course, I’d wanted him to cum as well, but abeg, dem no born me to collect man prick.

He simply just laughed and asked if I’d had enough.

Duh? Yeah!

I was already reaching for my clothes and phone before I stopped in my tracks, looking at my phone screen with mortal fear and anxiety.


Blood of Heaven! Jesus, I’m dead!!!

I didn’t want to let him in on my current predicament, so I swiftly changed my countenance. We showered together, before we proceeded out of the hotel room. We did that nonsense again where he left the room before me and I followed at a safe distance.

Once outside the hotel, we bade each other goodbye and I legit turned my fast walk into a run back home once he was out of view.

When I reached the gate of the family compound, the first person to be aware of my arrival was my mother, and she immediately went down on her knees and began giving thanks to God. I soon got to find out that my dad, brother and one of my older cousins were at the police station filing for a missing persons report.


Let’s just say things went very, very south from then on. But would I do it all again?


Written by Danté

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  1. Mitch
    June 19, 12:12 Reply

    Ọbara Jizọs!
    Ọbara Jizọs nke bi n’eluigwe ohhh!
    Chineke Ghod!

    What kind of torture is this?
    Some of us are celibate ohhhh😭😭😭
    And we’re at work! 🙆🙆

    That’s how Dante and Pink Panther have successfully gotten me all hot and bothered, with a raging boner, and an excruciating need to get laid laidis 😭😭😭😭😭

    I swear, God wee punish the two of you for this torture you’re giving to her faithful servant 😭😭😭

  2. Gbolly
    June 19, 14:56 Reply

    The story was lit🔥
    But why are parents so overprotective
    Buhhh it good Sha

  3. Delle
    June 21, 11:56 Reply

    I love the narration more than anything.

    But really though, he didn’t cum? So unfinished that it’s sad. Oh well…

  4. Malik
    July 01, 09:43 Reply


    You dey write abeeeeeeeeggggggg!!! 🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿🙌🏿

  5. Littlefinger
    August 13, 17:57 Reply

    I don’t normally comment but I did just to tell you that your style of writing

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