CHAPTER ONE
Henry closed his eyes to shut out the light, his nostrils drawing in a lungful of breath into his body as chaotic thoughts raced through his mind. He could hear the incessant annoying drone of the ceiling fan in the room as the blades churned out cool breeze in the hot air of the afternoon. That precisely why he sometimes felt that he hated Nigeria; sometimes the afternoon weather in Lagos could be so atrociously hot, the sun beating down on the inhabitants of the country’s most populated city with a feral ferocity that burned at the skin.
And his mother’s refusal that he could attend the Business Executives Convention which was hosted in Cairo, Egypt, with her when she was planning to go, compounded his problems. He’d always wanted to go and see the cradle of civilization with his own eyes; to see the very magnificent pyramids; watch the artificial irrigation methods that had been utilized by them in the ancient times, but Rosalie had been adamant. According to her, if he went, then he’d undoubtedly miss out on a lot of his lectures on campus because of the fact that the new semester was already around the corner. So he was left here in Lagos with his friends, all of whom were the spoiled sons and daughters of the elite social class like he was.
He made a snort of annoyance and buried his face into the feathery softness of his pillow. Oh, the hell with it.
‘Henry Johnson.’
He squeezed his eyes tighter, pretending to be asleep so that Richard, his best friend, would vanish into whatever thin air he’d materialized from and leave him alone to enjoy his dejection. He was in a foul mood, the implication being that he was not in the mood to see anybody and be forced to engage in idle chatter. And who was it that had dared to let the guy into the house without first consulting him in order to ascertain whether he was in the mood to entertain any visitors? He was wondering this as he drew his knees up to his chest, curling into a fetal position that he hoped would convince Richard’s hawk-like eyes that he was asleep so Richard could turn round and leave.
‘Henry Johnson,’ Richard called out in his unmistakable voice, and this time, it sounded closer.
Henry peeked at the guy surreptitiously from underneath his lashes and saw the slim-fitting jeans that were in the field of his vision, then he shut them again, and his mind willed the guy to go away. He wanted to stay right here in the comfort of his room and be left alone with his thoughts without the constant yapping of the voice of his friend disturbing the flow of his thoughts. Though his lids were squeezed shut, he could feel the shadow of Richard’s body leaning forward; he inhaled the scent of his cologne, and then he felt the shadow receding, heard the thread of boots moving across the red carpet and then out of the room.
With a heartfelt sigh of relief, he opened his eyes and swung his tired feet off the bed to the floor. Moving swiftly but silently, he went to the window, parted the thick brown curtains that shut out the penetrating rays of the sun, and then he peered out into the garden, his eyes fixed on Richard Oke as the latter walked to his compact car.
Henry sighed and shut his eyes, his fingers balling into fists as a wave of emotional pain swept through him with the piercing precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. As was customary with his body whenever he encountered Richard, hot desire and revulsion simultaneously rippled through his frame and he shuddered. He could never fathom why he found the guy so darn attractive, and what made his dilemma worse was the fact that Richard was his closest friend; they did everything together. And every moment he spent with Richard, every moment that Richard stood so close to him, their bodies touching, sent hot flashes of lust assailing his senses but he was always unable to do anything about it and this was torture to him. It drove him crazy. It was a prospect that thrilled and repelled him_ being sexually attracted to his fellow guys was something he’d never envisaged at the onset of his puberty years, and being attracted to Richard specifically filled him with annoyance and emotional pain.
‘Henry? I thought you were asleep.’
Henry spun round to the sound of the tentative female voice. It was Mrs. Oyono, the woman who had worked for the Johnson family as a cook and housekeeper for as long as he could possibly remember. She lived in the servants’ quarters with her family, and her jovial nature, plus the motherly influence she’d asserted over Henry, endeared her to his heart. However, what she didn’t know was that he’d had sex with Linda, her eldest daughter. He’d done that because the chit had come on strongly to him, and he’d also needed desperately to reassure himself that he wasn’t queer; that he couldn’t possibly be gay. Such a thought was inconceivable; not in his father’s house, and certainly not in the Nigeria of his time which viewed her gay citizens as demon-possessed souls who had to be either committed in a psychiatric ward or delivered into the hands of pastors for exorcism.
‘Richard dropped a note for you on your dresser,’ the woman continued quietly. ‘You should call him later today.’
As the woman turned to leave, Henry almost called out to her to have some lunch sent up to him in the room, but the truth of the matter was that he couldn’t bear to choke down whatever morsel of food that would be served to him into his mouth. He was loaded with dread due to the fact that he was the only son of his father and the sole heir to the sprawling Johnson family estate which was an import/export conglomerate that had ruthlessly swallowed up its less prosperous rivals. They had over a thousand employees nationwide, and they conducted their business with countries across the globe. The Brian-Johnson Ltd earned the bulk of its money by doing business with countries where the labor was ridiculously cheap so as to maximize profits and expand its horizons. They were a very rich and very powerful family with connections in all the right places.
‘We want you to know the real value of what we have in this family,’ his father had said succinctly. ‘A man must appreciate what he has in order to be able to use it properly. So, you’re going to study Business Administration.’
That had been in 1997, when Henry was twenty, and he’d gone to the University of Lagos. Now, two years later, he could feel everything moving on more swiftly; he was now becoming more actively involved in the business of his family; he attended a myriad of business conventions and worked in the family offices during the semester breaks. . . it was a fast-paced, heady life, one that was filled with fun and excitement, pleasure and responsibility. But he was dreadfully scared because he knew that very soon he would have to start a family of his own so as to ensure the continuity of the Johnson family name. Their legacy must live on.
But, deep in his mind, he felt that he could not be what everyone expected him to be. He had no sexual feelings for women; his liaison with Linda had thought him that lesson. It had made him aware of where his sexual fantasies really lay.
THE ROOM WAS VERY VAST and filled up with young men and women who were all dressed to kill. The men were all smoking and chattering and drinking and the women were sipping their drinks from tall glasses and flutes with the sophistication that could only be achieved by wealth.
It was the third day of April, the first Saturday of the month, and the rich youth of Lagos society all wanted to celebrate it grandly. There were female belle dancers standing on raised platforms, all of them scantily dressed in shimmering bras and short skirts and they were all twisting and shimmying seductively to the tunes of the Eastern music that wafted forth from concealed speakers. They were all magnificent creatures, their lithe bodies swaying and turning to the beat, all to the lascivious stares of the entranced audience.
The tunes of the music changed dramatically. The lights were turned down to a dim intimate red color, and there was an air of anticipation hanging over the room. The dancing young women moved together in one body towards the main dais which was now lit up with bright lights that hurt the eyes. They formed themselves into a circle around someone who had materialized from behind the curtains, and as they danced, they spread out their arms wide which were covered with shawls. The light reflected on the materials, captivating the audience further; a hush had descended over the room.
‘What is going on?’ Henry Johnson demanded in a low voice to his companion, Richard.
‘The main act of the night is about to begin now,’ Richard replied, chuckling. He pointed one long finger to the girls who were slowly executing their sexy dance. ‘They are hooking our attention so we can be prepared for what’s coming next. Watch now, Henry; they’re almost done.’
And then the throng of dancing women parted, revealing a figure that stood there with the deathly stillness of a marble statue. Simultaneously, the entire assemblage in the room gasped, Henry included. The person whom the attention was reverted upon was a young guy. He was slender, and was wearing nothing other than g-string parties and a strip of shimmering red material that barely covered his buttocks. He had light brown skin that glowed with good health, round feminine hips that was greatly accentuated by his near nudity, deliciously long legs that belonged on the catwalks. But it was his face that held the most attraction. It was a stunning face, with the chiseled features framed by a shoulder-length black wig, a small straight nose that looked as if it had been chiseled by the hands of Michelangelo himself, exquisitely shaped pouty lips, and high cheekbones. He was the most beautiful guy Henry had ever seen.
‘Wow!’ Henry exclaimed, part in fascination and partly in scandalized horror. A huge python was draped around the shoulders of the guy, and it was hissing and slithering through his chest and stomach as if it owned him. Henry couldn’t stifle a shudder.
Richard had seen his reaction, and he laughed heartily, enjoying himself. ‘That’s shocking,’ he said. ‘The guy is marvelous. He’s a belle dancer that really knows what he’s doing with his craft. He’s more spectacular than the women dancers, and so everybody comes here to watch him dance and do his thing. I hear that he also doubles as a whore, selling himself to the highest bidder_ to the highest man or woman that is ready to pay for him.’
The young dancers had flanked the young guy, and the lights had dimmed once again to a dull intimate glow. The guy danced in a synchronized move with the women, and with each twist of the sensual hips, the snake moved on him. The guy and his giant plaything moved together with perfect symmetry, one move flowing seamlessly into the next, and on the guy’s face was a look of total rapture, as if he was engaged in a sex act, orgasms ripping through him. Every single move executed by his incredibly lithe body captivated the entire audience who watched him with a mixture of fascination and scandalized horror.
As they watched, the guy gently unwound the snake from his shoulders, and the animal turned its head back to his neck. He emitted a low laugh before prying the animal loose from his neck and handing it over to a dark man who had appeared behind him. The sensual beat of the music changed, and became a little faster, and the dancer smiled, revealing a set of white teeth. His eyes scanned the beer-drinking crowd slowly, before swiveling to Henry with a mesmerizing intensity that almost made him squirm. He found himself looking into luminous brown eyes that were as expressionless as a china mask, and as hard.
The dancer moved forward, all eyes fixed on him, and then he stopped before Henry’s table. His dancing began again, and the club lights played on him, lighting him up in different shades of color as he effortlessly did his belly rolls, backbends, a walking shimmy; he whirled like a dervish. His choreography was superb; his emotional expression was one of languid sensuality and confidence in his abilities, and Henry was so entranced, he could not take his eyes off the guy. He could swear that the guy was dancing specifically for him, turning him on, sending waves of heat through his body as he stared at the provocative hips which were encircled with the tattoo of a snake. The sensual moves, the beautiful body, were all playing tricks on his body and his senses, and he could feel the stirrings of an erection in his pants. It was a feeling that astounded him and filled him with anticipation of what would happen if he were to meet the dancer, for he knew that what he was seeing was a hustler who was on sale and no doubt hawking his wares.
Abruptly, the music came to a halt, with the dancer turning in a backbend with perfect form. Screams filled the room as all clamored for more.
‘You’re wonderful,’ Henry said breathlessly, and the beautiful dancer smiled at him. That smile nearly made him lose his senses, and he quickly withdrew three bills from his loaded wallet and stretched them out to the guy. ‘Here, take this for your performance.’
The dancer smiled gratefully in thanks, and as he took the money their fingers brushed and their eyes met. It was only for a brief moment but within that moment, something deep inside Henry snapped. It could be called attraction, it could be called lust, but right at that moment, he knew that this was what he wanted, this was how his body worked; he wanted to go to bed with this dancer. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the guy as the guy made his way across the room, collecting tips from adoring male and female fans as they stuffed money into his palms and rubbed their hands all over his body as if they had the right to do so.
There were other delights for the night, but Henry was not interested in them. His thoughts were centered on the dancer. He could remember the moves, and that stunning face, plus the snake . . . he could think of nothing else, and when, fifteen minutes later, a girl with long lacquered nails tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a note which read: Meet me in Room 106, he was filled with elation.
‘I think it’s time for me to go and fuck some ashewos,’ Richard announced, rising to his feet and chuckling. He was half-drunk, though still in control of his body, and he was now impatient to go and fuck some of the female whores before the faster guys took over the more beautiful ones. ‘You can come too,’ he told Henry. ‘The girls are marvelous.’
But Henry was not even listening to him. He was waiting for his best friend to go out so that he could go and meet the dancer whose face and body now occupied his fantasies. When Richard left, he stood up and went down the long corridor with rooms flanking it left and right and the numbers pasted above them. When he got to the door marked 106, he stopped and then knocked on the door. Hearing clear instructions to enter, he opened the door, went in, and then closed the door softly behind him. The room looked comfortable enough, with a large bed, two chairs and one mahogany table on which reposed back copies of the raunchy sex magazine Rebecca. The carpet was worn, though it still looked presentable, and the huge pictures of naked models on the walls were rendered somewhat ethereal by the red lights that shone from the ceiling.
The beautiful dancer was seated on one of the chairs, sipping milk from a plastic cup. He was now wearing a tight-fitting tank top, and he’d divested himself of the long dark wig he’d been wearing earlier, and Henry thought to himself that the guy looked so incredibly beautiful. That kind of beauty had always disturbed him deeply, and even when the dancer waved him into a chair, he was so aware of the guy’s beauty that he looked down so as to avoid looking into his face.
‘So you came here,’ the dancer said. His voice was pitched low, a decidedly feminine voice. ‘You were looking at me as though you were ready to devour me, so I had to get the message across to you for you to come and see me here in this room.’
‘Was my attraction to you that obvious?’ Henry asked uncomfortably, shifting in his chair, his eyes looking everywhere but at the guy. He was not a naturally shy person, but he found out now that he was at a loss for words.
‘Oh, but it was,’ the dancer said, emitting a low laugh of private amusement. ‘There was a way you looked at me. Many men_ young and old, rich and poor_ have looked at me in that way. I know I’m beautiful, I know what power my beauty has over many men and women, and I know when someone is itching to lay his hands on me. And my name’s Phoenix. What’s yours?’
Henry looked up at the guy and saw the red light shinning down on his skin, cloaking his light brown skin color. He felt an urge to touch the guy seated before him, to feel the brush of his lips, to touch his skin. However, in the back of his mind, he was horrified by his reaction, shocked that he could dare to sit down here and be ready to have sex with a prostitute and a male one at that too! But instead he replied, ‘My name is Henry. What’s your price?’
At last, they were getting down to business. It had all boiled down to this very moment: Phoenix and his entrancing sexual dance; his note, their final meeting in this room.
‘Basically, I do not collect money,’ Phoenix said, running long slender fingers through his jet-black hair and flashing a smile at Henry. ‘Let us face it, Henry. What you’re asking of me is totally frowned at in this country and we could be mauled if we’re caught at it. I have to make the benefits worth the risk, so I think I’ll collect that ring.’ He pointed at the ring on Henry’s third finger.
Henry looked down at his hand, thoroughly horrified that the guy would want to collect the ring that was the most prized possession he had on his body at that moment. It was a ten-carat diamond ring that was in an amethyst setting, a birthday gift from his aunt when he’d turned twenty. The ring was nothing to him in terms of money because of the fact that he had access to the expensive jewelry of his parents, but he didn’t want to give it to some low-life male whore simply because of the fact that the guy was a beauty to behold. But what about what he was about to experience? That was the thought that hovered at the edges of his consciousness. This was perhaps a lifetime opportunity for him to really be his true self, to hold another guy in that way, to really feel the forbidden sensation of making love to another man. There was always a battery of young women that flocked to him; his parents’ wealth made him every woman’s wet dream come true. But there’d never been any single guy to indicate any modicum of sexual interest in him nor had he ever summoned the courage to do the same to another guy because he feared for his life. Now, here was this very stunning young fellow who was offering to him what he’d always wanted in his entire life, and all for what?
He made up his mind immediately. He slid the ring off of his finger and placed it on the table, and then he stood up. There was absolutely no need for words between them because they knew what they were going to do then. As Phoenix rose up, he drew the slim guy to him, inhaling the perfume of him, and then he claimed the lips of the guy in a kiss. At first, it was a mere tentative brush of his lips against the other’s, and he savored the taste of it greatly, fulfillment rippling through him, and then he was swamped by desire and he became more demanding. His tongue plunged into Phoenix’s mouth and he let his fingers trail down the smooth chest of the dancer to rest on his crotch, making Phoenix to relax and rub against him like a cat being thoroughly pampered.
‘I have never done this before,’ he whispered into Phoenix’s fragrant hair.
‘Oh, don’t worry about it; you’ll know exactly what to do,’ Phoenix replied, smiling at him.
They undressed slowly, their eyes fixed on each other’s face, and Henry could feel the bang of pure desire beating at him with the force of a sledgehammer. He drew Phoenix into the bed and began to kiss him again; he kissed his neck; he kissed the guy’s breasts and nibbled at the pointed nipples; he licked at Phoenix’s belly button and his flat stomach, holding down Phoenix’s hips firmly to the bed as his kisses went farther down. Then he drew away from the guy, and it was a silent command for the guy to worship him. He sighed with pleasure and closed his eyes as Phoenix kissed his lips first, and then his nipples, and when Phoenix wrapped his tongue around the shaft of his erect phallus, he gasped in shock and gripped Phoenix’s shoulders. An involuntary cry escaped from him as the tongue over the length of his maleness, and he felt so shocked at the act, so heady with pleasure, that his load came pouring right into the mouth of the dancer. Then he collapsed on the bed.
‘Oh dear . . .’ he murmured, at a loss for words, and almost embarrassed at his inability to hold his load. But the young dancer was smiling at him with the sweetness of warm candy, the smile conveying to him that it did not matter at all; that he had no control over the workings of his body. And instantly, he began to feel his deflated thing rise up once again, swelling with blood, and he pulled Phoenix down, turned him over so that the dancer was now on all fours, and he lubricated the entrance to his zone with the lubricant that was at hand, slipped a condom on, and then he slipped into him. The pleasure that swept over him was the purest sensation he’d ever felt.
He couldn’t get enough of the guy. He kissed Phoenix as they moved in their sexual dance, and his fingers caressed the body that was yielding and pliant under him. He had to turn the guy over so that he could look into his exquisitely sculpted face, kiss his lips, and with their eyes locked together, he came finally, stars exploding in his vision.
‘That was great,’ he said afterwards, after they’d cleaned up and were now reclining opposite each other. ‘I’d like to see you again.’
Phoenix agreed, as Henry was sure he would, after all, the guy had no choice really other than to say yes. Henry was a little unhappy to leave that room with that stunning fellow reclining on the bed like some seductive model on the Vogue covers, but he had to console himself that there would be more nights like this, nights which were filled with passion and blissful pleasure and heady sensations and no talking about wealth, family problems. He would steadfastly explore this avenue that had opened up to him, and he was buoyant, filled with happiness and joy, his mind floating weightlessly in the clouds.
However, his feelings of euphoria did not last. When he drove back to the family’s luxurious mansion at VI, he saw his mother’s Mercedes parked beside the main entrance doors up from the long driveway and frowned. Cutting the car engine, he stepped out of the car and let himself into the now-darkened mansion with his own key and walked past the elegantly-appointed foyer into the massive living room which was a museum showpiece of surpassingly beautiful furniture, expensive oil paintings by famed international contemporaries; two exquisite carved bronze works of semi-nude women with bowls balanced on their heads which had been hailed by the Daily Trust as one of the very best works of the century, an outrageously thick blue rug that was a perfect match with the ceiling-to-floor curtains; a well-stocked bar which had a vintage collection of the best wines money could buy.
Customarily, at this unholy hour of the night, the room was supposed to be engorged in penetrating darkness, but the lights were on, and Rosalie Johnson was seated on a sofa, staring listlessly into space. Henry frowned at her countenance, his heart wrenching with unhappiness: what was wrong with her? As he stared at her, he had to admit to himself that his mother was a ravishing beauty. Even at the age of forty-three, she still retained her slim figure, her fair-complexioned face still had the healthy glow and beauty of an adolescent’s, and her stunningly beautiful face which had won her seven beauty pageants and six positions as first runner-up from 1974 to 1986 was still painstakingly maintained with beauty treatments and diets and fitness routines. But as she sat there, staring straight ahead, there was an unbearable blankness in her face that twisted Henry’s heart with pain for her.
‘Mother . . .’ he rushed forward and dropped to his knees before her, his fingers reaching for hers and clutching them. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen?’
As if recovering from a deep trance she had been steeped in, Rosalie turned her wide-set kohl-darkened eyes to her son, her dark, shoulder-length hair tumbling into her face; she was a woman who abhorred artificial weaves and braids. ‘Your father is at it again,’ she said. Her voice was pitched low, like a bewitching musical instrument. ‘He is trying to destroy me and you too. He’s trying to re-write his will.’
Henry squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a sigh of frustration that was intermingled with pure grief. He grieved that his mother was terribly lonely, that her marriage to the acclaimed business tycoon was a dismal failure. In spite of her stunning beauty, in spite of the staggering national popularity she had received because of her beauty contests winnings for twelve years and still received because of her numerous charitable efforts, and in spite of the fact that she was the envy of her friends, she was totally miserable in her marital life. And it was her misery, the dark shadows which hung over her, that had drawn him perceptibly closer to her from his childhood. Their relationship was more of that of very close friends than family.
‘How did you know he was trying to re-write his will?’ he asked slowly, his eyes searching her face for any signs of shiftiness.
‘Yesterday, I received a call in my hotel room from a lawyer who’s a close friend of your father and a very dear friend of mine, though your father does not know it. Your father intends to write us out of his will. Do you know that your father never took me to the Marriage Registry for a proper marriage under the Act? He only had a customary marriage with me so he’d be free to do what he wants with his life, including the right to marry other wives and disburse his wealth the way he wants to. Now, the news on the grapevine is that he’s gotten a girl pregnant, and he’ll be making the requisite provisions for them in his will.’
Henry felt a sickening feeling of disgust well up within him, coupled with fear. He knew how hard his father was, how unbearably cruel and manipulative the man could be and really was, and how the great Chinua Johnson held a grudge against Rosalie and despised his only child. He said, ‘But that’s really possible, is it?’
Rosalie laughed, but the hollow sound was a mere echo of the sweet trill she usually emitted. ‘Everything is really possible, my dear child. For years, your father has been looking for a way to get rid of me because of the fact that it was my pregnancy, coupled with the strong muscles of my father, which had compelled him to marry me. He’s made it perfectly clear to me that he does not love me, has never loved me; though he admits he has grudging respect for me because of the fact that I usually bring in business for the company. My father died three years ago, and the implication of that fact is that he cannot protect me anymore. Chinua can do anything he really wants to do, and I am powerless to stop him.’
A black fury welled up within Henry and it burned at his chest with such feral ferocity that he gripped his mother’s hand strongly for support. ‘He can’t do that!’ he hissed venomously, his lips fluttering with excited furry, his chest heaving. ‘He has no right to disinherit me!’
‘But he has that right,’ countered Rosalie gently as she gently disentangled her fingers from his and rose to her feet. ‘Your father can do all he wants to do so long as he has no one to stop him. I am but a mere woman and there is nothing I can do neither can I keep on running to my family for support because they’ll be filled with scorn at my inability to handle my marital problems. You are his son, Henry, so I think you may be in a better position to handle his bullshit since you’re now an adult. But if the man was dead, I won’t be having this problem.’ She bent down, planted a kiss on his forehead, and then she headed up to her room.
That night, Henry could not sleep a wink. He lay on his bed, tossing and turning, Rosalie’s outpourings ringing on his ears. But beyond the sad tale of his father’s betrayal, he knew everything about his parents’ rocky marriage because he had pried the information out of his mother.
He tumbled from there, from the confines of the room, into the distant past . . .
Available . . .