The Thirst Trap In My Bed

Sometimes, I feel like my aunt has clued on to the fact that I am a homosexual. If you know me, you’ll know that I’m not that much of a DL guy, and so, every now and then, I leak rainbow dust. A rainbow pamphlet here, some rainbow slippers there.

It all started a few months ago when I happened on my aunt and her best friend talking about sexuality. While her friend was liberal, my aunt was of the homophobic stance. I didn’t get a full gist of what they were talking about or what led to what, and I was too good a child to eavesdrop on their conversation. I just let it go.

Fast forward to some nights ago, a Friday night, my aunt comes home with her best friend and the best friend’s younger brother.

The moment I set my eyes on this pikin – Lord! – I feel my ovaries jump for joy. He is the kind of kid I’d have drooled over in high school. He is cute, dark, with sexy lips with dreamy eyes. The Nigerian version of Trevor Jackson, that actor from the series, Grown-ish, who also plays the lead in the movie, Super Fly. (If you know Trevor Jackson, then you know the level of sexiness I’m saying this my aunt’s best friend’s younger brother has.)

As soon as the pleasantries are behind us, my aunt tells me to help him – let’s call him Beau – get comfortable. You know, show him around and get him settled on where he’d be crashing. Apparently, he’ll be staying with us for a few days. As my aunt is instructing me, all I’m hearing is: “Bathe him, feed him, cuddle him, so he can be comfortable.” And I am there, blushing like a newly wedded bride.

But note: she doesn’t give this task to the house help. She gives it to me!

I see you, aunty.

So, Beau and I are together, and he is cool, and we are hitting it off right away. Before you can say, “Thirsty hoe!”, I am helping him with everything, hoping he’ll take off his shirt soon, so he can bathe and sleep right next to me. Even if he doesn’t bathe, he still smells so nice, even with the day’s sweat on him?

Whether he has cued into me being into him or not, I don’t know, because as I chatter on nonstop, he just lounges on the bed we’d both be sleeping in, smiling lazily at me like some male model posing on the cover of a Play Girl magazine.

And thoughts are going through my mind like: I am totally hot for this guy. Is he gay? Is my aunt testing me? Because she keeps bringing to the house one hot dude after another. Like what’s this guy’s purpose in this house ?? To drag out the hoe in me to ask him out? The hoe that has refused to fall to the temptation of the chef and the driver… ?

I’m here trying to keep it together when all I want to do is to kiss him ?. I can’t stop myself from staring into his dreamy eyes. I can’t ask for his number. Too fishy. I can’t ask for his Facebook ID, because I fear we’ll become online friends and then he’ll see how gay I am online. And I’m not ready to come out to my aunt, in case he decides to tattle to her.

The days pass. So far, I’ve managed to locate the self-control to play things safe. I have not cuddled him in bed despite the many temptations his body lying next to me has posed. We have been getting to know each other, sizing each other up, playing roommates. Can you believe he loves Sia? Tell me it’s all in my head, but I think it’s more than a coincidence that he loves my favourite artist and has been playing the exact song whose lyrics I recently posted on my timeline.

Monday night, we are up late, around midnight, sitting in the dining room. He is watching a movie and I am catching up on my social media. Then I notice he keeps looking at me and squirming. We will occasionally catch each other’s stares and smile at each other.

Ok.

I am so turned-on by him, just sitting at the table, my eyes flitting over his body, admiring his biceps, mesmerized by the sound of his fingers occasionally thrumming on the table.

I notice he is still squirming on his seat. Uncomfortable. I wonder if I am the one making him uncomfortable. He notices me notice his discomfort. And he gives an abashed smile and confesses that his stomach is doing a number on him. That he needs to use the toilet but since the water doesn’t run in there, he is thinking about how he’ll have to wait till daybreak, when he can fetch water from outside to use.

So adorable.

I laugh. He smiles back at me. I have a solution to his dilemma. I stand from my seat with an obvious erection, unashamed, and I walk past him to the toilet. He follows after me from a safe distance.

“Here, you turn this knob,” I say as I reach under the sink to turn the plumbing opener. A rush of water springs from the tap into the yellow bowl placed in the sink. “So you fill the bowl with water and use it to fill up a bucket to flush the toilet with when you’re done.”

He looks appreciatively at me. I look back at him, directly, eyeball to eyeball. I don’t know if I see something else in his eyes beside gratitude. I walk past him back to the dining room to continue with my social media browsing with the available data I have left. Airtel Pulse Midnight Data.

He thanks me for saving him the stress of having to wait till daybreak to relieve himself. Then to my utmost shock and excitement, he starts stripping. Right there in my very before. Pants down, shirt off. All that is left on him are his briefs with a very visible print to let me know he isn’t brief down there at all.

I swallow hard. Good Lord, what is this temptation.

He goes into the loo and spends what seems like forever in there, only to emerge twenty minutes later with a clear semi-erect dick print on his briefs. I can hear the roar of the toilet flushing. I have the mind to go smell the toilet to confirm that he really did use it, but decided not to be weird.

We later see a movie together, side by side, tapping current – bumping lower bodies against each other under the dining table. It is almost 2 AM when we finally decide to retire for the night. As we trudge to the bedroom, I count my losses and wins. I finally managed to get a reason to collect his number and full name. I do a social media check and find him on Facebook. One mutual gay friend and plenty female friends. So, I’m guessing he doesn’t play for our team? So maybe it’s time to kill the konji?

Sigh.

I still have it in the back of my mind that he was planted here, in this house, to find me out. Call me paranoid or a conspiracy theorist, but I can’t shake of this sense that he is somehow working for my aunt.

Anyway, I will be observing. Stay tuned.

Written by Jay Armstrong