Portraits 2: Chidi

Today, we’re back with the next instalment of Portraits. In this second story, we meet Chidi, one of Ameli’s (read her story HERE) romantic interests.

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Dayo watches me puff quickly on the haphazardly rolled up weed with longing. I take one last drag and pass it on to him. “Your Papa go just kill you if he smell am for your body.” I tease in horrid pidgin English.

 

Dayo smiles and throws me the middle finger as he takes a long drag.

“Fuck you and Fuck my father,” comes his predictable reply.

 

I chuckle, collecting the weed from him. “Omo Pastor,” I grumble and he throws me another rude sign. I ignore him and inhale, trying to forget about everything else but the decision I have just made.

 

What is wrong and what is right? Common sense screams at me to reconsider but truth be told, there is no time for that when it comes to the affairs of the heart…or body as my case would be.

 

I am tempted to tell Dayo what’s on my mind and I eye him speculatively.

I chew my lips and decide against it. Some things are meant to be kept to one’s self.

I also want to believe I am old enough. 17, just out of secondary school.

In two days I’ll be off to Bowen, the ‘good university’ my parents have chosen for their brilliant son.

Of course, I am brilliant – forget the fact that I am hiding in an uncompleted building of questionable reputation, sharing a blunt with a junkie.

There is intelligence in weed, you judgmental fucks.

 

Thinking about leaving brings Ameli to mind. I’d have to tell her soon. I wonder if she’ll miss me. Pretty Young Thing. I smile a little at the thought of her; so willing, so worldly.

I hope she doesn’t miss me. Even if she does, she’ll get over it soon enough. Things would be different by the time we meet again; if by the end of today my suspicion is confirmed, a lot of things would change.

 

Suddenly restless and given a temporary buzz by the plant, I get off the cement floor, dusting off  my True Religion jeans. “Dude, I gats scram.”

I throw him the almost finished blunt. “We’ll see later.”

He nods at me and without ado, I leave.

I check the time once I get to the street.

“Just got about enough to get this shit done with.” I mutter to myself, pulling my hoodie over my head, just in case I run into someone I know or someone who’s had the misfortune of knowing me.

 

It would do no good to have someone see the son of Chief Orji on this kind of street.

That is who I am; not Chidi Orji but the son of Chief.

I have no identity; I am just the scion of a great man’s loins. Every little thing I do would rub off bad on my father’s image, won’t it?

My mood sours and I spit in irritation.

 

“Bros, where you dey go?”

An okada man blocks my path, looking at me eagerly. I had thought about taking a cab but what the hell.

“Animashaun” I say, jumping behind. The man charges me an exorbitant price, most likely having taken in my expensive looking clothes. Daylight robbery but I don’t complain. After all, money is never a problem and my mind is on more pressing issues.

 

There’s no going back this time.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

It’s him.

I get nervous. “Yes?”

I answer hesitantly.

“Still coming?” the voice says.

“Yea. On my way. Gimme some minutes.”

 

I cut off the phone before he says anything else. Quickly, the bike takes me to my destination and I overpay him, waving off his shouted thanks as I jog to a particular house. I walk into the compound and taking a deep breath, I hit the buzzer. I wait, scuffing my sneakers on the concrete as I hear the footsteps come to the door. A bolt unlocks and he opens the door.

Without a word, I step in, ignoring his greeting.

I stand, taking in the tasteful furniture and art ensemble. “Nice house” I murmur, for the lack of anything better to say.

That’s when he sidles up to me and plants a little kiss on my lips.

I hesitate, unsure of what to do for a moment.

He leans back.

“You came” he whispers, smiling at me.

I shrug. “Yea… I did,” I murmur.

He frowns slightly,maybe miffed at my nonchalant attitude. “Why?”

I shrug. “To prove you wrong…To prove myself wrong.”

 

He walks up to me again and this time the kiss is longer. I close my eyes, yielding to his surprisingly soft lips. He presses himself to me and I feel his hard bulge and with a sudden revulsion, I shudder and draw back.

He notices my disdain and from the flare of his broad nose, I know he’s pissed.

“You liked it” he growls, grabbing my crotch as if to prove a point. I fight myself and make a conscious effort not to push his hand off and bolt. I came here for a purpose after all.

“It was…nice.”

He pushed me to the sofa and I look at him bewildered. Oddly enough, I feel myself stirring at the sudden tension in the air.

I smile suddenly. “So what exactly can you do?” I bait him, voice intentionally haughty.

The veins on his neck throb and without a word, he roughly unzips my fly and pulls my hardening penis out. I watch in fascination as he sucks me, fighting the crawling feeling of wrongness on my skin.

 

To prove him wrong.

I close my eyes, imagining him to be one of the countless girls that have gone on their knees for me.

I find myself holding his head, thrusting into his mouth roughly.

I stroke his bald head and the images of Ameli and Sandra and Ekeoma slip and reality settles in.

I do not move away.

Maybe…

I ejaculate, eyes closed.

I listen to my shallow breathing and slowly open an eye.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

There’s a smug grin on his face. I shrug, pulling a face and smiling in my head as his eyes narrow.

Eyeing me speculatively, he begins to unbuckle and my eyes widen with realization.

 

Suddenly, it hits me.

I buckle up and get up fast. “I want to leave.”

He laughed dangerously. “You can’t leave.”

“I want to leave!” I shout louder and he winces. I see a look flit across his eye as he decides whether to force me or let me go.

“Fine. Fuck off…” he growls angrily and without a thought in my head, I dash out.

It is when I am back on the street I realize my hands are shaking. My legs feel rubbery so I stoop for a while, breathing deeply.

When I regain some form of normality, I walk to the cab park and enter into the first one I see.

“Adeola Odeku.” is all I say and the bald, bearded man at the driver’s seat nods, starting up his car.

 

As the car slowly rumbles along, I try to think.

So, I didn’t find the answers I was looking for; I still do not know if I am gay or not.

I mean, I only liked the blowjob because I imagined a girl giving it to me…right?

Am I bisexual?

My fingers pick at an exposed thread on the car seat as I chew my inner cheeks, craving for a smoke.

I think better when I’ve lighted up.

 

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Photo courtesy of Logor of Africa

Chioma

Reader. Writer. Artist. Wannabe-adventurer.

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