What If The Last Sex You Had Is The Last You’ll Ever Have?

What If The Last Sex You Had Is The Last You’ll Ever Have?

So I was browsing through my Facebook timeline when I came across the update of a friend. It was one of those coronavirus teaser posts, a question which went thus: “What if you’ve fucked your last fuck?”

I remember the first word that shot out of my mouth was: “Tufiakwa!”


Because I’d just remembered the last sex I had before social distancing forced everyone apart. And I didn’t want that sexperience to be what I’d be checking out of this world with.

So, how was the sex?

Well, I’m glad you asked.

First of all, do you ever find yourself in a frame of mine, temporary as it may be, when you’re just letting bullshit get past you? When you’re so bored with whatever situation you’re in that you are either unwilling or not disposed to check the usual nonsense you would normally never permit to exist in your life?

Well, this hookup was one of such nonsense. And something I still don’t understand how I let happen.

I was on Grindr, scrolling for hookups, when this guy began messaging me. I say “messaging” because he didn’t just say hi and wait for my response. He would drop three or four messages at once, while I was still typing my response to the first. From the tone of his messages, I could tell that he was very horny and desperate to get off. Usually, this would be a turn-on for me, especially when I’m in that mood when I just want to randomly have sex with someone I don’t have to endure the niceties of conversation and getting-to-know-you with before we can get into each other’s pants. And so, the rushed nature of his messages appealed to the hoe in me, especially when it became apparent that he didn’t mind coming over. In fact, he didn’t seem to have any inhibitions at all regarding coming over to my place. He wanted to know my address, directions on how to get here, how fast he could get here – questions that started making me hesitate for the first time since our exchange.

In my mind, I was like: Who is this person who doesn’t sound hesitant about coming over to a random hookup’s house?

He didn’t even ask for any verifiers, like my social media information for chrissakes. I was the one who asked for us to exchange pictures when it seemed like he wasn’t even thinking about it, and he sent me two photos of a dark-skinned, good-looking guy – photos that didn’t come in the Expiring Picture format!

I was surprised by this, and when I sent him mine using the Expiring Picture medium, he didn’t complain. That too surprised me. He just wanted to know if he could start coming over. I looked at the time and it was 7 PM. My first instinct was to start lecturing him on how he shouldn’t be so reckless and shouldn’t be rushing over to see someone who he hadn’t bothered to check out, and especially not at that time of the day.

But the konji slapped that self-righteousness right out of my mind, going at me like: Are you crazy? Did you see those pictures? Did you notice how fine the pikin is? So what if he’s too horny to think straight? Fuck him and then, you can educate him. Get yours first, sista!

So, I typed off the instructions on how to get to my side. He didn’t seem to stay very far, but he admitted that he was new in these parts and didn’t know much about the areas I was directing him to.

Which should be a very good reason for you to be more cautious with this hookup, sir, I thought. Like, I don’t get it: do you simply not know that kito is real???

Eventually, we settled on him dropping at a major junction he at least knew. I would have to take a bike from my place to go meet him there.

A lot of time passed before I got his call saying he was in a keke heading to the junction. I looked at the time; it was going on past 8 PM. I felt a little unsettled on his behalf by the approaching lateness of the night. But that was just me; I worry about the dark in Lagos. Ever since I was attacked on my way to work one very early morning in my second year in Lagos, I’d developed major PTSD about nighttime waka in this city. But then, most Lagosians, I’ve come to realize, don’t mind being up and about at night.

So, I got on a bike and was whisked off to the junction. Getting the bike took some time, and so, I was still on my way when he called to express his impatience – or anxiety, I wasn’t sure which it was – over having to wait for me.

He said he was waiting by a hotel building. So when I alighted from the bike, I walked over to the hotel. At that time of the night, the junction was a beehive of activity. There was a phalanx of motorists, pedestrians and nighttime entrepreneurs who traded everything from suya to household wares.

I got to the hotel and was looking around for my dark-skinned, good-looking guy. He called and we had a hectic exchange on the phone as we tried to figure out which side of the hotel we both were. Eventually, he said he could see me, that he was on his way to where I was standing. The call disconnected and I was still looking around for him, now becoming uncomfortably aware that I had placed myself in a position where an undercover policeman could simply walk up to me and arrest me as the homosexual he’d nabbed through Grindr.

Before I could react to that paranoia, I heard a voice call my name. I turned and found myself staring at a light-skinned, um, good-looking guy.

“Benny?” I said the name my dark-skinned, good-looking guy gave me on Grindr.

“Yes,” he answered with the voice I recognized from our phone conversations.

I’d been catfished!

“I sent you a picture that’s not mine,” he continued. “I’m sorry.”

I HATE catfishing! I hate, hate, hate it! One time, I stepped out of my house to meet a hookup who’d come to see me, and the moment I set my eyes on him and realized he’d catfished me, just as he was apologizing for sending me a photo that wasn’t his, I was telling him – oh-so apologetically – that my cousin had unexpectedly dropped by and that we couldn’t fuck anymore. He’d looked very torn between shock and anger, and I stared at him, silently daring him to react with anger. He must have realized that he couldn’t go in on me for letting him come all the way to see me, with me knowing I’d have a visitor, when he too was guilty of deceit. Or maybe he knew I was lying and took it as his due for lying to me. He walked away and we never interacted again.

So there I was, standing before someone I wasn’t expecting. And this was when I began losing that thing in me that reacts to nonsense. In this case, I’ll admit that I let this slide because he was still good-looking, even though he wasn’t the person in the photos who I’d been anticipating a shag with.

Konji was back in my ear, whispering: Fair, dark, skinny, chubby… Dude still looks good enough to eat. Just let it go and get yours.

So, I accepted his apology and led him toward the bike area. As we walked, I tried to chat with him, but his monosyllabic responses told me he either wasn’t much of a talker or he was simply here to fuck.

Fine by me, I thought as we both mounted a bike, and the okada man sped off.

We got to my place and I paid the fare, before leading him inside. There was no light, and I put on a rechargeable lamp as we got settled inside. As he moved toward the bed, he was already undressing. This was another surprise. In my experience, the person who comes to see you – you know, the one who had inserted himself in a strange environment… They usually wait to acquaint themselves with their surrounding before they get naked. Oftentimes, I’d even been the one who made the first move to get things started.

But that wasn’t so with this guy, Benny. He was stripping as he moved to the bed, and as he pulled down his trousers, I could see his erection bobbing through his boxers.

Yep, mister really, REALLY just wants to fuck, I thought as I began to take off my own clothes.

He sat on the bed and beckoned me to him. I climbed into the bed and slid over to him, my face leaning forward as I moved to kiss me. He let our lips touch, even opened his mouth and kissed me back.

Then five seconds later, he was done.

He pulled his head back, grasped the back of my own head and guided me down to his hard-on.

Startled disappointment jabbed at me as I involuntarily opened my mouth for him to thrust his dick inside. Till today, I don’t know what happened to me. Many times in the past, I’d taken myself out of imminent bad sex or situations where the Top isn’t giving me what I expect. All I’d have to do is ask myself: How are you going to spread your legs and endure the pain of something when there’s no pleasure for you to be compensated with?

But here I was, fully in control of my faculties, and still unwilling to or unbothered with putting a stop to this mess.

And what a mess it was. I’d barely sucked him for a minute or so, before he was positioning me on the bed and taking up residency behind me. He strapped on a condom and squirted out some lube – all of which he came with – before proceeding to take possession of my ass. His entry was painful initially, and then my boredom with the whole situation soon numbed the pain. He didn’t even seem to notice that I wasn’t participating in the sex; I lay there on my front while he huffed and puffed and grunted and thrust away behind me.

“Oh yes, baby, this is so sweet… Oh god, you’re so sweet…” he kept on groaning, sometimes leaning forward to say the words close to my ear, the hot air of his breath irritating me as it fanned the back of my head.

Mercifully, this didn’t go on very long either. It was just a few minutes, and he was spasming behind me, groaning “Fuck, fuck” as he ejaculated into the condom. It hadn’t even lasted long enough for me to break a sweat, considering this was happening in a hot room.

When we broke apart, I began to pull my clothes back on. He sat on the bed for a few minutes to regulate his breathing, before he too started putting on his clothes. At this time, I was seated on a chair, tapping away on my phone, hoping he would take this as his cue to get up and leave.

But he didn’t. It wasn’t until a minute had passed that I raised my head from my phone to see that he was still seated on the bed, fully clothed.

Ah-ah, what are you still doing here, oga? I silently wondered.

He noticed my stare on him and gave me a self-conscious look.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

He squirmed a bit before saying, “The thing is, I was wondering if you’ll give me some money to add to what I have to get back home.”

This was a joke I burst out laughing to in my head. Amusement suffused my face as I stared at him, not believing what I’d just heard him say.

He expected me to give him money?

For what exactly? The catfishing? The bad sex?

What exactly in this hookup made him deserving of my generosity? Dude hadn’t even bothered with my own satisfaction, and he expected to get paid?

“It’s just that I didn’t bargain for how much I would spend coming here,” he continued. “And that bike fare to your place was 300 naira for two of us, which means it will be 150 for just me back to the junction. Plus, the keke and bike I will take to go back to my side.”

I was so bored, I had to struggle to kill a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” I began in a voice that was filled with faux contrition. “But I didn’t bargain for you asking me for money either. It was almost my last card that I spent transporting us back here. What I have left is going to buy my dinner.”

“Hei God,” he muttered with such genuine panic, I almost felt sorry for him.


At this point, I’d started to realize all the ways I’d been shortchanged by this hookup. When I went on Grindr earlier in the evening, I hadn’t asked for this. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to reward the mess I got.

“The most I can do for you,” I said, “is to take you to where you can get keke for 50 naira to the junction instead of bike.”

“Okay, that will help small,” he said, adding the “small” as though to rebuke me for not giving him the help he wanted.

But I didn’t care. I stood up from the chair. He stood up from the bed.

“You’re sure you can’t spare me even 100 naira?” he tried one more time.

“Nope, not even 100 naira,” I said woodenly. “You really should tell your hookup host beforehand if you expect them to give you money for your fare back home. Give them the option of wither agreeing to that arrangement or saying no to the hookup.”

As though the Universe agreed with the lecture I’d just given, the light came back on, the room lit up brilliantly, so that I was able to see him very clearly scowling at me.

Oga, coman be going biko, so I can get back to the Grey’s Anatomy I was watching, I said in my mind.

He turned to leave and I followed after him. As much as I hated to be inconvenienced anymore than I already was by this hookup, I had to take the long walk with him to the main road where we stood on the roadside to wait for keke. It was past 9 PM. All through the trek to the road, we didn’t speak to each other. We stood at that roadside for about 20 minutes, before a keke that wasn’t already filled with passengers came trundling along. I waved it to a stop, and Benny got in. He wasn’t looking at me, and I was already headed back the direction home before the keke started moving.

I couldn’t wait to get on another hookup whose sex would erase this mistake of an experience. As I strolled back home, I took out my phone and began hitting up fuck buddies, looking for whose dick would be available in the next few days.

Two days later, the world started getting with the program of social distancing, and then, every dick I knew became truly unavailable.

And somebody is now on Facebook telling me to consider the reality that with the world going to shit, this Grindr hookup with Benny could possibly be the last sex I’d ever have?

God forbid!

Imagine getting to heaven and having got gist the angels that story!

No! Tufia! That is not my portion!

For the sake of my do-over, this pandemic will either be handled, or by God, I will violate my quarantine to get the nearest available good dick!

Written by Pink Panther

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  1. Mitch
    March 29, 07:54 Reply

    From being catfished, to a piss-poor makeout, to asking you to give him head, then, a minute later, he be moving towards your nether regions.

    Sweetheart, your village witches were turning your pot full-time that night. Ogini bukwanu this kinda story? ???

    Amadioha forbid that this is your last sex, biko!

    PS: The day any human tries to catfish me, it’s at the spot where we’re supposed to meet that I’d do a full about turn, without a word to him, and go home. Does I has strength for nonsense kwanu?

    • Pink Panther
      March 29, 08:11 Reply

      The thing about catfishing I’ll never understand are those who go ahead with meeting a hookup without ever correcting him at some point before that the pic they initially sent isn’t theirs. It’s just wrong to move that far ahead, knowing the other person is working with a false impression of who you are.

  2. Colossus
    March 29, 07:58 Reply

    Look at you, look at corona. Go ahead, violate the quarantine. You won’t let Benny have this, you were so sweet, in his words. So let him have this last sex in his memory

    • Pink Panther
      March 29, 08:06 Reply

      LMAO!!! Am I the minister of Benny’s welfare? How is his memory consigning to me? Biko, I must autocorrect my own last sex.

  3. Higwe
    March 29, 08:44 Reply

    “Oh yes, baby, this is so sweet… Oh god, you’re so sweet…” he kept on groaning, sometimes leaning forward to say the words close to my ear, the hot air of his breath irritating me as it fanned the back of my head*

    Hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha ????????

  4. Delle
    March 29, 09:18 Reply

    Hahahaha ????

    Oh PP, that is such a sad tale. Why didn’t you slap his mouth when he was uttering those nonsense? Sweet what?

    Well, compared to yours, mine was a bomb. Very good as a matter of fact, that and the fact that it happened with an artisan that had come to install the GOTV adds to the thrill but still, it CANNOT be my last biko.

    I am yet to have sex with Trey Songz.

    • CHUCK
      March 29, 17:28 Reply

      How did you seduce the artisan?
      No fear of outing?

  5. JC
    March 29, 18:29 Reply

    “Soul-shattering” orgasm!

    Someone I really like used that “adjective” to describe a kind of orgasm that activates a dormant covid-19 vaccine that lives in the human body.

    I’ll have that kind of sex. Without the covid-19 part, of course. ??☺☺

  6. bamidele
    March 29, 19:11 Reply

    mmm… I earnestly wonder why people use fake picture without at least informing the date beforehand; especially with the multiple possibilities of showing yourself without fear of stolen or endangering (your) identity…

  7. Jack
    April 02, 18:44 Reply

    Delle abeg gist us how you did it.
    We can take a lesson or two from you.

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