Blowing In The Wind

When I observe some behaviours  around me in my daily, I ponder why they take place.

For example: 

  1. During rush hour on the London Underground, why is it twenty passengers get off the train, only five passengers can squeeze back on? Meanwhile when a beggar comes through the same train carriage passengers quickly make way for him to pass, creating a wide path Moses wished he had at the crossing of the Red sea.
  2. On a busy pavement why do some people walk with their head down, eyes glued to their mobile phones and expect me to walk around them?
  3. After waiting in line to be served at the cinema snack stand, why don’t people know what they want before it gets to their turn to be served?
  4. After being alone in an empty room for minutes on end, why do people walk in right after I fart?

The last behaviour galled me earlier this year.

I usually go to the gym very early in the morning when it’s not busy. At that time, there are usually 10 – 12 regular members in a gym that could easily take 100 members, during peak periods of the day. In addition to not having to wait to use machines or weights,  another advantage of going to my gym early in the morning, is the demographic of the members at that time. It is highly urban. (read “Black”), so the possibility of not seeing a bubble butt, is quite low.

Among the early morning regulars are two young black French guys in their mid-twenties who are quite friendly and always say hello to me. Both have smooth dark skin, are both about 6ft tall and built like professional athletes. Their chests are about 42 inches wide tapering into a 30 inch waist. Then their glutes are hard to ignore, there is no second-guessing their presence. They are well formed, round and set high above their equally muscular legs. God took time moulding and baking those chocolate cakes

Black glute2

When it comes to the derriere, those boys are truly blessed and they know it. I have never seen them wearing loose fitting gym clothes, their gym outfits are always form fitting, accentuating their glutes and overall body musculature. Some days I can make out their abdominal muscles through their tight gym tops – one spots an 8- pack, the other a 6-pack. 

They work out together and some mornings, if I am working out in the same gym area as they are, I would spend and extend rest periods between exercise reps, watching them and fantasising about the things I would do to those glutes.

I would imagine them butt naked in bed and me squeezing each guy’s butt cheek and playfully gnawing away at the other. Then I would explore each hole and spell out their names with my tongue, bringing them both to a point where they would beg for more and give me more names to spell out with my tongue.

 

Then when I am done with the spelling bee, I would sheath myself and take them one after the other while the other watched or participated in some way, while waiting his turn. Sometimes, I’d imagine one was versatile and I would enter him from behind while he ravaged the other one; or I would finger them both while they fucked. Or I would finger one while fucking the other. The permutations of the positions are endless in my fantasy.

These extensive rest periods would probably explain why I spend 2 hours in the gym, 4-5 times a week and still haven’t achieved the well chiselled bodies I see on Instagram.  

Black glutes

I don’t even know if the French guys are straight or gay, nor the relationship between them – whether they are lovers, friends, siblings or cousins. But whatever their sexual orientation (straight preferred) my fantasy remains. (Hopefully they are not related, that would be gross)

Anyway, one early morning –it was legs day- I was using one of the four squat racks in the entire gym. The other regular early morning gym goers, including the stars of my spelling bee fantasy, were in other parts of the gym. I was alone in the vast gym are, with a plethora of gym equipment and my thoughts on how I was going to power through the back squat exercise routine.

I got myself in the start position, with the barbell resting on the top of my back. Feet shoulder weight apart and slightly turned out. Shoulder blades squeezed back together, abs tight and braced with my hips driven back slightly. I inhaled, sat nice and slow till my thighs were parallel to the floor. Paused, exhaled and powered back up to the start position.

back-squat1

The perfect squat (even if I say so myself) except that on the way back up, I involuntarily let one off and the air around me became noxious on account of the ewa agoyin (beans), I ate for dinner the previous night. (I chronicle what happens when I eat ewa agoyin here). Though I had done the needful as nature intended before coming to the gym that morning, there was still a little more work to be done.  

Then I heard someone yell behind me to my right “Mon dieu! Vite, courir!!” My God! Quick, run. 

I turned my head slightly to the right, just in time to catch the two French guys avec firm butts and their noses covered, beating a hasty retreat towards the doors of the gym area, with their firm butts disappearing out of sight.

I must have been in the “zone” when I was doing the squat, because I didn’t notice when they appeared behind me. And I do not know why they chose that moment to come to my section of the gym. There were other squat racks and gym equipment at the other far end of the vast gym floor, well away from the not so fragrant air around me.

Again I ask why do people walk into the room just after I have farted?  I am sure the answer can’t be blowing in the wind. 

This happened in June and I haven’t seen them since. 

It is now December

The Prayer II – Finding Jesus

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So it’s Christmas day and I see a missed call from my aunt. (The same one who prayed for a wife for me in the Prayer click here). I had sent her some cash for Christmas, earlier in the month and half expected her to call me to acknowledge receipt.

In fairness I did try to answer the phone, but it only rang twice and stopped before I could pick up. This is not unusual among my people and is called flashing. This is a  type of call collect where the calling party  (e.g someone from my village without enough phone credit as is always the case) makes a call at the called party’s (someone living abroad or deemed to always have enough phone credit) expense.

And woe betide you if you don’t return the call within five minutes, especially if the call is from an elderly relative. You and anyone else who has ears to hear will Read More »

Conversation with the Barber

Went to have my hair cut on New Year’s Eve by my regular barber. His name is Emenike. Good looking, average height, well-groomed beard, with a lean physique you get from hard labour – he hardly has any fat on him. Naturally, I have checked out his butt and he has absolutely nothing to be ashamed about.

Ngo Okafor

When I go to see him, I tell him what I want done and he does it. We never have any conversations. He hardly talks anyway; he just gets on with it, unlike other barbers who like to give their unsolicited opinion of everything they see on TV, Nigerian Politics and outside the shop window.

Half way through cutting my hair the following conversation ensued:

Emenike: You no travel?

This is not an unusual question to ask between Nigerians around the Christmas holidays as it is customary we travel home to celebrate with our families. It is also an opportunity to show real or often imagined affluence and showcase ourselves.  In the process  single straight Nigerians get future spouses. Being a gay man and not being out to my village, I am not prepared to spend £££ on a 2 week trip to be bombarded with questions about my marital status and be subjected to a long array of potential brides to choose from. So I use Skype to stay in touch during the festive season and feign bad connection when the question of marriage comes up.

Me: No, I didn’t. Work has been too busy.

Em: What part of Nigeria are you from?

Me: The East. Imo state.

Em: Eziokwu!!? E na su Igbo? Really? Do you speak Igbo?

He said this with the joy of a proverbial shepard who has just found his long lost sheep. Igbo is the language spoken by the Igbos  from the Eastern part of Nigeria, where I come from. 

Me: Ehe nu. Ofuma ofuma (Of course I do. Very well for that matter) 

The rest of our conversation is held in Igbo.

Em: Did you know I am Igbo? Why haven’t you spoken it to me before all this time you have been coming here?

Me: No real reason. Most times I just want to cut my hair and go. Ndo biko. I am sorry.

Em: Ok, no problem. When was the last time you went home?

Another question we tend to ask each other to ascertain if we have the correct documentation to allow us back into Britain or we just don’t have that many family ties left at home.

Me: 2008. My family (brother and sister) are here. My parents visit every year.

Em: Are you married?

Me: No?

Em: Eh? Why?!?

There was shock in his voice. Like it is a mortal sin to be male, Igbo and living in South London.

Me: It just hasn’t happened.

Em: You have a girlfriend?

Me: No

Em: Ah ah? Why now?!?

Now he is really worried for my existence on this earth

Me: Women don’t interest me.

WTF?!! Did I just say that in a testosterone filled  Nigerian Barbers’ shop??

Em: What interests you then?

Me: Men.

Em: Ok. I wouldn’t have guessed. You don’t look it.

Igbo

Em: Are you proud? Do you hide it?

Me: I am telling you now, aren’t I? If anyone asks me I will tell them. I have come too far  to start denying.

Em: Are you male or female?

Wow…that threw me a bit…He is asking if I am top or bottom. Is he interested? Going by all my escapades both published and unpublished on this blog and my recent failed attempt to bottom, my response wasn’t a lie.

Me: Male.

Em: There is a guy from my village who lives around here. He is like a brother to me, so we talk. Everyone knows he is a female. The way he carries himself, but he is still hiding it. I told him he is here now in the UK, he can live freely. He got married to a white girl and got his papers then the marriage ended. The other day he told me he went home and got married and the girl is pregnant(!) I really don’t know why he did it?

There was even more disappointment in his voice than when I told him women didn’t interest me. He was genuinely concerned. This touched me.

He took out his phone and showed me the guy’s picture. Yup he is fem. I recognised him. I have seen him sashaying on the high street. A blind dog would know he is gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It is just the way he is built.

Me: As long as our people continue to demonise homosexuality, you will find people like your kinsman all over the place. They will continue to hide because they are scared of the fall out and the shame they might bring to their family.

Em: Do your parents know?

Me: They know but we don’t discuss it. They have stopped asking me about a girlfriend or when I am getting married.

Em: Are they happy about it?

Me: Probably not. A few years ago my mother asked me again, I told her I wasn’t getting married to a woman just to make her (my mum)happy? It would be unfair on the woman and I wouldn’t be happy. So she just has to deal with it.

Em: Hmmm. Have you had girlfriend’s before? Don’t women “move” you? Isn’t it a choice?

Me: Nwokem, my friend, it is not a choice. It is how God made me. Yes, I have been with women, but they don’t ‘move’ me as much as men do. What is a choice is how I have decided to live my life. I can either be happy being myself or unhappy trying to make my mother happy and my ‘wife’ unhappy.

Em: Do you go to church?

Me: Yes.

Em: But not our Nigerian Pentecostal church?

Me: No. I attend Church of England. In Nigerian Pentecostal churches, everyone wants to know your business and being gay is not acceptable. They will start binding and casting out demons on my behalf.  Meanwhile the church elders are either in the closet or committing adultery. I have no time or offering for closet cases or blatant hypocrisy.

Em: Nna, I hear you. Our people hide the thing well.

Me: Please continue to support your kinsman. Let him know you are there for him. With open minded Nigerians like you there would be hope for us all.

With that I paid him and shook his hand and left.

I thought to myself, he is quite open-minded and reasonably vast in the ways of western ways of life. He mentioned a couple of other gay Nigerians clients of his, so he is reasonably comfortable and exposed to the gay way of life. He is not saying “we do not have gays in Nigeria”

I just wonder if he would be the same if he went back to Nigeria and settled down. Society has a way of changing us. Maybe I am just being cynical.

Time will tell…..

More Sex in the Gym Sauna

I had a very stressful day at work with a very difficult client and at the end of the day I came to the gym to workout the frustration and reduce stress levels. After my workout I went into the sauna with the intention of relaxing the tense muscles and hopefully melt away the stress.

So there I was alone in the sauna minding my own business, trying to get my zenitude (calmness) back , when a man came in and sat down on the bench opposite me. He was white, about 6’2” tall, slim build, brown hair with a slight belly. He was not particularly good looking and he had a long face. Grindr age 35, but looked like was in his early 50s.

I nodded my head in greeting to acknowledge him, which is the polite thing to do. He adjusted his towel so that he could widen his legs and show his dick.Read More »