I recently did something reckless and quite unusual for me. Something I’m always swift to lecture people around me never to do.
I answered the call for a dick appointment by 10 PM. A first-time hookup for that matter!
It was a Saturday. A day I was going to spend indoors with every intention of lazing about and doing nothing strenuous beyond eating, lying in bed and holding up my phone to chat away on the social media.
It was also a day I suddenly found myself plagued with an incredible konji. My God! I was horny from the moment I was awake.
So. Very. Unbelievably. Horny.
From the second I opened my eyes from sleep that morning, I felt a concentration of hormones in my groin area that wouldn’t go away.
I was horny. And the konji was not here to play.
It was the kind of horny where I wanked twice before noon, once to the solo wanking video of pornstar Fame’s NoirMale MOTM performance, and the second time to the video of Cade Maddox (my favorite white pornstar) making it sexy for Mateo Fernandez.
The kind of horny where I called the guy I’d just started seeing, desperately wanting him to make his lunch break from work a quick trip to my house for us to get my freak on.
The kind of horny where, when he of course couldn’t oblige me, I feverishly began scrolling through my contacts, hoping there’d be someone on there I could ask over for a fuck without much fuss.
The kind of horny where I signed into Tinder for the first time, and was soon operating both that and Grindr, on the hunt for someone right enough for an afternoon romp.
The kind of horny where I had no patience for the chats that wanted us to get to know each other better, because I was more focused on those that just wanted to fuck.
The kind of horny where, when I stepped out to get something to eat, every male I passed on the road was instantly an actor in the mental porn I was playing out in my head where I was getting gang-banged.
The kind of horny where by 3 PM, I’d wanked the third time, this time to the video of Raw City Twink’s Montanaa giving it good to Reeko.
But what I wanted – what I needed – was skin and hot breaths and sweat. I wanted to taste and feel and grab and hold. I wanted friction and pain. I wanted contact and pleasure. I wanted intercourse.
And it didn’t seem like I was going to get it. No thanks to the growing awareness of kito in the gay community and the instant suspicion gay men on dating apps have when they are chatting with someone who “wants to fuck right now”.
However, I kept busy and my mind off my horniness with a binge of the latest season of Stranger Things. I emerged from the show by 10 PM, and idly clicked over to Tinder, not expecting much, having already given up on ever getting any action for the day.
But then, I gave a start when I clicked open a chat I’d earlier started with some cute guy. The message simply read: Would you like to suck some dick?
My heartbeat went into an overdrive of excitement. My brain was instantly possessed by a singular desire: To have at what he was offering.
I checked the time he sent the message. It was 8 PM. I cussed at myself and cussed Stranger Things. My fingers were almost trembling as I typed a response: If it’s not too late, then yes.
As if Rainbow Jesus was taking a late night shift on my matter, he immediately responded: What about a doggie after the dick-sucking?
A very bright smile was started to stretch across my face at the same time that a boner was stretching inside my boxers, as I typed: I wouldn’t have it any other way.
How soon can you get here? – was his next message. (During our chat earlier, we’d already established our locations. He was a bike-and-a-keke-drive away from me.)
When I read that message and looked at the time to confirm that it was 10:15 PM, my natural reserve kicked in – and lasted all of three seconds, before my konji quashed it to an untimely death.
From then on, there was nothing else to think about but the promise of that Dick. We texted a few more times, you know, to establish the fact that since it was late, it would have to be an overnight hookup, to exchange numbers, to talk some more about the directions to his place. All that jazz.
And then I was off. To answer a booty call by 10: 25 PM. With an address and a contact saved from Tinder in my phone as “Tinder Guy.” With no background check run on the guy. With his pictures, screenshot from the app, saved in my phone along with a dick pic he sent to seal my fate.
I was well and truly hooked. There was a resolve to my decision to go through with the hookup that, as I write about this now, I cannot believe I was capable of. Because I usually am very paranoid over online hookups. However, that night, even though the whispers, the questions, were echoing in the back of my mind, I very resolutely wouldn’t listen to them.
There was dick to be had. And goddamnit, I was going to get it!
But, if this was going to be the biggest mistake I would ever make in my adult hookup experience or another good night of fun and pleasure, I would never know.
Because it never happened.
The adventure ended as abruptly as it began.
I got outside. The neighborhood was mostly quiet as people had retired to their homes. The occasional vehicles drove past. I stood there at the junction, impatiently waiting for a bike.
Eventually, after about six minutes of waiting and of Tinder Guy buzzing me twice to know where I was, a bike came along. I waved him to a stop and approached him with the name of the bus stop where I would get a keke to Tinder Guy’s neighborhood.
When the bike man gestured for me to get on, I asked, “How much?”
And he said, “300.”
I recoiled. You have to understand something: I have a deep resentment for bike men who try to inflate fares that I am already very familiar with. This was a bike ride whose fare was usually 150 naira, and this guy was being an opportunist about it. I hated that. I wasn’t about to give in.
“But it’s 150, oga,” I protested.
“Na night we dey na,” he said.
“Not even 200?” I bargained.
He shook his head, so sure he had me. “300.”
I stepped away from him, the irritation on my face shrouded by the dark. “Oya, dey go na.”
And he revved his engine, as though telling me “Going, going…” And he was gone.
I stood there for a few moments, still very vexed by the brief encounter with the bike man. I also began to realise that it was that kind of late where any other bike man who came along would charge the same kind of fare. And I just wasn’t about to give in to that kind of extortion. But then, I was sure that someone would come along with enough decency to charge a fare that was right. And on a good day, I would wait and hold out for such a reasonable okada man. But this was not a good day. Heck, it wasn’t even day time at all. I didn’t know when or if I would get lucky.
The more I thought about all this, the angrier I got. The greed of these bike men was coming between me and Dick. This was so unfair.
My mood soured even more when the air misted over with the dew of approaching rain. I could either get a move on already or get beaten by rain. And there was no bike in sight.
At this point, I had gotten too unduly upset to bother being excited anymore about the hookup. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I began the short trek back to my house.
It wasn’t until I got in that I looked at my phone. Tinder Guy had texted a few times. How far? Where are you? It’s about to rain. Are you still coming?
I texted back: No. I can’t make it.
He must have immediately read it, because I was typing an explanation when he unmatched me.
Just like that, the Dick was gone.
I sighed and undressed. Got into bed and turned on my laptop to continue with Stranger Things. As the TV show came on, I began to realise what I’d come close to doing: going for a hookup that could have ended up just as badly as I wanted it to be good.
It was in that moment I began to have a healthy appreciation for the situations of those who make the mistakes they do that lead them into kito situations. I couldn’t judge anymore. I just couldn’t.
Written by Pink Panther