Love and sex in the city

Episode 4

   The bar cum restaurant in Yaba where Jonathan had us gathered was already becoming full of life at about 5pm the next evening. It was a public holiday, and so, none of us who had jobs were here after a hectic day at work. So far, we were all present except Adebola.

And Bryson, a little voice whispered inside my head, as my heart picked up a slightly faster beat at the recollection of his name. I craned my neck around to the entrance of the joint, but there was no sight of the two guys that were yet to arrive.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Ekene said beside me, “he’ll be here.”

“Who’ll be here?” interjected Paschal as he leaned in toward Ekene and I from my other side. He looked at my face and continued with a grin, “Oh, you mean, Bryson, Mr. Straight-guy that Declan here says fucked him.”

“Hey, he did fuck me,” I snapped at Paschal.

“Right,” drawled Paschal, “I believe you.” His tone implied heavily that he didn’t.

“This is not fair, I’m saying the truth,” I protested.

“Honey,” Biola cooed from further beside Paschal, “what you need is a boyfriend, to fuck all these fantasies you keep having about Bryson away from your head.”

His voice carried, and there was a thrum of laughter from everyone at our table. I felt a surge of irritation at them go through my body. The idiots. Was it so hard for them to imagine that a straight, pussy-whipped guy such as Bryson had actually had sex with me?

Because he had, goddamnit!

You see, Bryson is Adebola’s friend; he’s this absolutely hot dude with a whipcord, lean, build, a face that is all angles and planes – a photographer’s dream – complete with high cheekbones and a full, pouty mouth, and a Mohawk he perpetually wore which seemed to enhance his sexiness. The guy is a walking, talking, breathing turn-on for all of us who were Adebola’s gay friends. And it didn’t help that he was also gay friendly; he knew about Adebola’s – and our – sexualities (something that pissed Jonathan off to no end; ‘Who sent you to go and tell him I fuck ass!’ he roared at Adebola the day he found out Bryson knew about him). But Bryson doesn’t judge; he loves hanging out with us so much that some time ago, Yinka and Biola had gotten into a spat with Adebola because they believed Bryson was a closet homo, against Adebola’s adamant negations. Biola actually pursued him for some time, and got a curt rejection for his efforts. He needn’t have bothered. Adebola had lamented several times of trying to seduce Bryson and having no luck. And when a whole Adebola can’t get a guy to bed him, no one else can. With cherry-red lips and a well-rounded backside that has been driving all ages of men – gay, bi and straight – crazy for years, my friend had quickly earned a reputation which made us say often: If Adebola can’t gay him, then he must really like pussy.

As for me, I was also not immune to Bryson’s good looks and sex appeal. But my own was to die in silence. I responded to him only when he talked to me, I laughed at his jokes during our hangouts, and I tried to control my hard-on whenever I saw him in Adebola’s apartment, bare-chested and oozing all that careless gorgeousness that guys who don’t know the power they have over other males have.

That’s one tasty dick I’m never going to see or have, I told myself awhile ago, and made my peace with it.

All that changed, however, several nights ago during Adebola’s birthday. He threw a bash in his Festac apartment, and invited people. Lots of guys, and quite a number of girls it didn’t take me long to realize were lesbians. His place was jamming, drinks and conversations were flowing, and bodies were rocking both to the music and to the frenzy of hook-ups here and there. At some point in the night, I came out of the house, escaping outside to soak in some fresh air. I’d intended it to be a quick one, but somehow, I got seduced by the chilly feel of the nightly breeze and the separateness from all the party noise. And so, I located beside the house a tattered upholstered futon that Adebola had thrown out, intending to discard; I sat on it and stared out into the night.