Last June I took a trip to Lagos to attend a family event. Hooking up on trips outside UK is something I love doing just as much as I love sampling the local cuisine. Because of the average Nigerian’s attitude towards homosexuality, during the trip I mostly reconnected with the food prepared the way they should be. Casual hook ups can be froth with danger for local gay guys and expectedly more so, for someone who’s last sojourn in the city for longer than 3 nights was over 20 years ago. Gays are routinely lured into compromising situations and threatened with blackmail and physical violence, which could sometimes be fatal.
But not one to turn down a challenge, I took a stab at it.😁
I got chatting to a chap on Grindr and after all the necessary protocol – establishing roles, trading pictures, agreeing time & location and phone number – and despite a niggly feeling that I might be walking into a trap, I agreed to head over to his place on the mainland.
I got ready and requested an Uber. The Uber driver called me to confirm my pickup and drop off points. A confirmation I found odd as the information he requested should have been displayed on the app when he accepted the trip. But I later discovered that this oddity is the norm in Lagos.
I confirmed the information and the Uber driver arrived to pick me up 10 mins later. It was a humid day and temperature was around 27°C and taxi air conditioner was switched off. 5 mins into the estimated 40 min trip, I asked him to switch on the air conditioner and he obliged, but then a swarm of mosquitoes came rushing out of the air vents. I asked him to stop the taxi and end the trip. I paid him as quickly as I could and jumped out.
I walked back to my rented apartment but stopped along the way at a Bukka (simple roadside eating place). I ordered Amala and Ewedu with beef to go, got to the apartment and ate the food. And as one does after consuming such a heavy meal, I took a short 10 min nap which lasted 4 hours.
I woke up and saw 10 missed calls on my phone from my intended shag. It was safe to say from the tone of voice and text messages he left on my phone that he wasn’t quite pleased that I hadn’t turned up as planned. What could I do? I just shrugged and put it down to the universe deciding that the hook up wasn’t destined to happen. I can’t come and catch malaria for a piece of ass.
After a few more Grindr interactions, some of which consisted of financial negotiations, but mostly banal conversation I finally got a promising lead. We agreed he would come over to mine, after attending church on Sunday. That reminded me that attending a service in one of the mega churches in Lagos, was on my to do list during the trip. So I found one near me to attend that same Sunday.
It was a 9am service held at one of the big Pentecostal churches on Lagos Island and it was a Church service like no other I had attended before.
It started with choir led worship songs, after which a Pastor came on stage and asked the congregation to greet one another. I am naturally shy and can become momentarily paralysed by the thought of going around saying hello to random people in any large gathering. But I made an effort and shook hands with a couple of congregants, before I noticed a man making a beeline for me.
He was good looking, about 6-foot-tall, mid to late 40s, looked like he weighed around 90kg, dark skinned, with a well-groomed beard and had a muscular build beneath his form fitting nicely cut suit. I had clocked him earlier across the aisle from where I sat, and he was with a smartly dressed lady and two teenage children. I assumed they were his family. He looked familiar and at the time I couldn’t quite place his face.
He shook my hand firmly and tapped my wrist with two fingers while looking me straight in the eye and with a smile said “Good morning brother. Welcome to our service and see you later at 4pm”. Then he winked and walked off to greet someone else.
Then it clicked. He was the guy I had been chatting to on Grindr. My hook up for later that afternoon. He didn’t have a beard in the pictures he sent me and they did not do him justice. He was much better looking in real life and judging from the quick glimpse I took of his posterior as he walked away, I was going to be in for a good time later.
We all settled into our seats and the service continued with the Pastor making some announcements about various church events, an onscreen presentation of a blood cleansing medical service offered by an affiliated clinic and a call for special donations towards completing a multi-million dollar commercial building project.
After the Pastor left the stage along came another Pastor, whose task was to read out testimonies submitted by Church members in the last week. Each read out testimony was punctuated with “Praise the Lord”, to which the congregation would respond with “Hallelujah”
Someone gave a testimony about how a raised water tank in his compound burst and emptied its content into his neighbour’s compound and flooded it. To which the Pastor said, “Praise the Lord” and the congregation responded “Hallelujah”.
Wow. These people were technically Praising God for the neighbour’s misfortune! Talk about Schadenfreude – Christian style😳
In another testimony, a member thanked God for granting him journey mercies on a recent flight to Paris to attend his daughter’s graduation. During the flight, the plane hit some air turbulence, causing the plane to “shake violently and he feared for his life while seated in first class ”. I struggled to find the relevance of highlighting the class of travel in the testimony. Everyone in the plane was going to die anyway. 🤷🏾♂️
But the congregation still chorused “Hallelujah, when asked to “Praise the Lord”
Then there was a special presentation given by the head Pastor’s Wife (or First lady if you watch Greenleaf on Netflix). She glided on stage to a rousing reception from the congregation any diva would be proud of. She looked like a Glamazon in her flowing green cotton gown, with matching shoes and clutch bag. She wore a dark blond bouffant wig and her contouring face make up, which accentuated her high cheek bones was just as striking as her dress and her exaggerated long eye lashes and eye shadow which was in three different shades of green, were just as distinctive. Mama Ru would have been proud.😜😜
After the congregation settled down, she talked about an upcoming women’s only leadership event organised by the Church’s women fellowship, called the Handmaidens Women in Leadership Forum. I like to think the name of the forum was chosen before the 2016 TV serialisation of Margaret Attwood’s novel The Handmaid’s tale, brought the story of the oppression of women in a dystopian society to a worldwide audience. To me the word “Handmaiden” or any of its derivatives, will always symbolise oppression of women in society and in popular lexicon, the term explicitly implies lowly status.
So yet again I was perplexed by the optics of this striking and confident woman championing a women’s leadership event with a title the signified women’s oppression.
Time for a rebrand methinks, or maybe was overthinking it.
However, going by the elaborate video presentation on the large display monitors in the auditorium and the first lady’s imposing presence, a rebranding wasn’t going to happen any time soon. And besides the fellowship seemed to be moving from strength to strength. So, Praise the Lord….
The church service went on for another 20 mins with more worship songs and a final prayer, after the first lady sashayed off the stage. At no point during the two-hour service was the gospel preached and I came away feeling like I just sat through a two hour long telethon.
Church service over, I headed back to my apartment, freshened up, had a light snack and waited for my shag to rock up at the appointed time.
About 15 mins after the appointed time and after being let into the compound by security, He knocked on the door to the apartment and I let him in. He had a gym bag and wore a loose-fitting white cotton t-shirt, a pair of native trousers (Sokoto) made from blue patterned Ankara material and a pair of leather slippers.
We exchanged pleasantries and without mentioning our brief encounter earlier in Church, got down to business.
Proceedings started on the living room sofa, where we tentatively kissed at first and then settled into full blown French kissing. As we tongued each other, I played with his nipples through his T-shirt with one hand. I gently rubbed the tip of each nipple between my fingers and taking my cue from the moans he emitted as I did this, I adjusted the pressure accordingly.
Soon enough I helped him get out of his T-shirt and took in his build. Just like the pics he sent, he was well built with arms and pecs in proportion to his height. He wasn’t Instagram muscular, but neither am I (nor will I ever be), but I could tell he worked out. I sucked on one nipple while playing with the other one with my hand. He was responsive to my actions because soon he moaned even louder than before and arched his back whenever I hit a spot.
I loosened the knot of the drawstring of his Sokoto, enough to allow my hand reach in them and into his underwear to massage his hard phallus. He reached into my gym shorts and started playing with mine too and soon enough he slid off the sofa, onto his knees, got between my legs, eased off my shorts and started sucking on my dick.
He was good.
He started from the tip and gradually worked his way down to the base of my shaft but stopping halfway. Then back up to the top again and down all the way to the base, engulfing my entire shaft in his warm moist mouth. He carried on this pleasurable rhythmic stimulation for quite a while until I suggested that we go into the bedroom before I bust my nut in his mouth.
I led the way to the bedroom and we both shed what was left of any clothing we had on. He had long sturdy well-defined legs, which proved that he didn’t skip leg days in the gym. This more evident in this round and firm buttocks. As for his dick, he was well blessed as it stood at an impressive 11 inches with an average girth. It was fun to play with and he enjoyed the blow job I gave him.
We got into bed and I got him to lie on his stomach and pushed his strong thighs apart. I took playful bites of his firm glutes as I spread them apart to expose and survey his butthole. The perianal area was smooth and a slightly darker colour than the rest of his buttocks. He smelt like fresh citrus soap which excited me even more. I teased the area with my tongue for a while before I hit the bullseye. He seemed to be enjoying it because after some more strokes, he lifted his butt slightly and pushed down on my face, giving my tongue no option but to connect with his butt hole. He let out a throaty moan and pushed down even more so that the tip of my tongue slid further inside him.
He started bucking his butt up, down and around like he was now riding my tongue, with is face buried in the pillow and making muffled sounds.
After about 5 mins, but what felt like an eternity with me needing to come up for air regularly, my tongue getting fatigued and his butthole suitably moist, I reluctantly withdrew my tongue and reached for the packet of condoms and lube I placed on the bedside table, in preparation for this encounter.
I took a condom out of the packet and sheathed myself. I applied a generous amount of lube to his ass and did the same to my sheathed dick. With him still lying flat on his stomach and face still buried in the pillow, I got into position on top of him and guided myself slowly inside him, watching out for any signs of discomfort from as I slid in. He tensed a couple of times and I stopped so that he could get used to me and proceeded further when he relaxed. This I did, till I was all inside him.
Sensing that he was now totally relaxed I started moving my hips slowly in a circular motion. He also started to move his hips in a similar fashion and met my long strokes when I changed the direction to hip thrust movement.
We gradually increased the intensity of our movements, his head raising from the pillow and his face now facing the bedroom wall in front of us he was now on all fours. I had both hands holding both sides of his hips for to hold him steady as I thrusted away like a buck thrusting a doe.
As we hit the crescendo, his strong butt cheeks squeezed hard causing his rectum to tighten around my now pulsating dick. This tightness around my dick caused me to thrust deeper a few more times, I spasmed as I let out deep moan and emptied myself inside him. At the same time his body stiffened too, and he threw his head back so that he was now looking up the ceiling and he let out a long deep grunt, then his body shuddered a few times and he collapsed on the bed. I collapsed on the bed beside him, both of us panting heavily while trying to catch our breath.
A few minutes later, he got up and asked if he could take a shower. I showed him to the bathroom, and he retrieved his gym bag from the living room and hit the shower. I put on my gym shorts and tidied up the apartment while he showered.
At this point, horniness now abated and blood now flowing to parts of the brain that allows for self-analysis, I should that questioned my sense of propriety regarding consciously sleeping with a married man.
Thoughts/questions such as – whether he had an open marriage or if he was cheating on his wife? Whether his wife knew he slept with other men? If he slept with other women as well? Did he have a steady male side piece, or did he hook up randomly with other men? How did he manage to navigate his sexuality (and so well it seems) in a hostile homophobic environment such as Nigeria? – and many more, should have crossed my mind.
But instead, I hummed Tina Turner’s Private Dancer as I tidied up the apartment and hoped he didn’t linger and make polite conversation, but rather leave the apartment in good time, so that I could go to the eating place round the corner before they ran out of Ewa riro (Stewed beans), plantain and fried fish.
I guess propriety is relative and I never said I was decent.