March 5, 2017

GAY SEX

By D. F. Effiong

“How did you do it Barnabas” Professor Henry inquired with a glow of excitement. “Do what Prof?” “Your project on ‘Riz Ahmed’s concept of the Importance of Representation” was rated the best during our last Academic Council meeting. With a twinge of pride, followed by a stretch of silence he said, with hands clasped, “thank you very much sir! I mean ehm..mm Prof!” That was the day he would go home forgetting about the harmattan. The day his legs were hit by a drunk ‘okada man.’ In Abuja where his parents stayed, the harmattan was a mere veil of haze, but in Kaduna, it was a raging mercurial presence; the mornings were crisp, the afternoons ashen with heat and the lights unknown. Clothes would even, when washed inside the room get dried up quickly. The leaves from the tree just outside the apartment were nothing but a depressing look at the romance of the cold breeze. Attoh would at most nights, snuggled next to him on his mattress, listen to the whistling pines howling outside, in a world suddenly fragile and breakable. Barnabas’ legs were hurt and weak . 

He lay on his belly, and Attoh would go ahead to cuddle him, expecting a soothing relief from the ranging cold. He straddled him, massaging his back and neck and drawing his hands from under his thick shirt down to his navel. “Come on, let’s praise the weather.” “Yes.” They laughed together as if those words were heard outside the room. Barnabas groaned in pleasure-pain as he raised his two knees to Attoh’s hands. “You should have treated it before you came back na!” Attoh said in a whisper while thickling his underarms and kissing his neck. His body looked frail next to his huge frame, and they seemed somehow to fit effortlessly. “You know what?”

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just go on.”

“Bae, don’t forget that when you say nothing, it’s always because you don’t trust me enough to tell me the something in the nothing.” Barnabas chuckled. He was refreshingly different, muted and quiet but never tearful. He longed for a world that would be proud of what he shared with Attoh. A world that’ll still celebrate his success despite his choice. Yet ironically he couldn’t face to tell Attoh about the most recent of events. Attoh was horny already and wouldn’t even listen to him even if he wanted to say anything. So he thought.

“Nothing…ehm don’t worry,” Attoh’s hands had already found it’s way down his pelvic area. Barnabas had a 6 inch penis that was capable of responding to touch in the speed of light. “Ahh! he gave a piercing sound, half certain. He did not want him to stop, but Attoh had imagined this differently. “Come on bae,” he said, gravid with meaning. Barnabas had turned over, not surprised at the swiftness of his erection, stiff nipples and raised hair. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling. So that Attoh would continue to bask in the euphoria of anything happening, Barnabas undressed himself and did not stop as usual at his underwear. Despite the rustling and cracking of the pages of text books on the table and the descent of the sharp cold wind, Attoh also pulled off his clothes and  raised Barnabas’ legs slowly to his shoulders. As he kissed Barnabas on the lips, he would imagine the impact of April’s first rain. The same month he’d always remember what Pastor Danbaki did to him. He was just 12 years old then. Barnabas laid there thinking about how he will memorize Riz Ahmed’s speech, “representation is fundamental to what people expect from culture and from politics. It’s only when government steps in to set the rules of the game, that you will foster true innovation.” He wished that during his project defense, he would talk about inclusiveness too, as relating to what Riz wrote about. But he feared. He could feel Attoh’s hands moving softly towards his small buttocks, darker-coloured than his legs. Releasing a stirring and throaty moan, he said with eyes closed, “don’t forget to use Mbaka’s Olive Oil.”

  • Time elapsed and my struggles hardened,
  • Sooner or later we ate not the meat again,
  • I sat and pondered what wrong I did too,
  • But discovered you never saw me as human.
    1. Do you think gays deserve to be elected into public office?
    2. Do you think gays deserve to be called humans?
    3. Do you think gays are sexual deviants destined for Hell?

    My name is David Francis and the nature of my engagements include:

    Philosophy (University of Jos, Nigeria); Researcher (St. Albert’s Institute, Fayit-Fadan, Kaduna, Nigeria); Editor (Sapientia African Leadership Formation Programme, e. V Address: Badenstedter Street, 99 30453, Hannover, Germany); Literature (S. E. M. S. Nassarawa State, Nigeria); Former Associate Editor, “Periscope Magazine,” Abuja and Columnist, “Seekers Delight Magazine,” Kaduna.

    I simply try to question the ‘happy darkness’ by encouraging more hands to minimize ignorance. Just a dose of knowledge, is enough in training the mind, to conform to nothing except truth. Let’s ride this train together!

    Send a message, or for inquiries to  francisaquaticus2@gmail.com

    Submit your work (researches, stories, articles, etc)  here.

    2 Comments

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