kito | Zikoko!

Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics, including physical assault and sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised.

Meredith* (33) always knew she was different. What she never knew was that the journey toward understanding her sexuality would put her in danger more than once.

In this story, she reflects on the turning points that shaped her identity and the dangerous incidents that led her to embrace her sexuality.

This is Meredith’s story as told to Mofiyinfoluwa

It was a slow Saturday morning. My mother had gone to church, and my brothers were out. I was hungry but too tired to cook, so my mind went straight to Peace. We often cooked for each other. When I called and told her I was bored and hungry, she said I was lucky. She was at her aunty’s place near my house and had just made rice. If I didn’t want it to finish, I should come quickly. It was only a ten-minute walk, so I got dressed and left without thinking twice.

When I reached the spot she described, she came out with a tall, lanky man in a black hoodie, a red bandana pulled across his head. She introduced him as her cousin. I greeted them and noticed how her arm was looped tightly through his, and how her eyes kept darting around. I teased her about the 2go crush she’d been telling me about, but she quickly changed the topic. We walked together, talking about the universities we’d applied to, while the man stayed silent the entire time.

The road led us into a compound that looked nothing like the family house I’d imagined. It looked abandoned, like an old hotel. My steps slowed. I glanced around and realised there was no one nearby. I had barely begun to ask if this was really her aunty’s house when the man’s hand landed on my face.

My cheek stung. Before I could speak, he started shouting that I was the one spoiling girls in town, that I was a lesbian. I stared at him in confusion and turned to Peace. Tears streamed down her face. It took a few seconds to realise she had outed me.

He pulled a gun from his pocket and waved it in our direction. Any denial I had prepared died in my throat. He marched us inside the building that smelled of dust and old wood. Somewhere above us, screams echoed down the stairwell. My body began to shake. I stumbled through explanations, swearing I had never done more than hug a woman, grasping for anything that might save me.

***

As a child, I remember playing ‘daddy and mummy’ with the children on my street. Whenever the game needed a husband and a wife, and a boy chose me to be his wife, I would become upset and start to cry. But when it was only girls playing together, everything felt different. I loved the way we would cuddle and pretend to cook together. Those moments made me feel happy and safe in a way I couldn’t explain.

For a while, I assumed it was because I grew up with six brothers who were always trying to control me. I was closest to them, always borrowing their clothes and running around with them, so it made sense that being around girls felt refreshing. I thought that was all it was.

It took my first real kiss to make me realise it was deeper than that.

It happened in 2004, when I was twelve. I had just started secondary school and gone home for the holidays. That was when I met Vera. She was the daughter of a family friend, and because her parents had a program in the town we lived in, they left her to stay with us for two weeks.

One afternoon, we were playing hide and seek when she cornered me in a quiet part of the house and pressed her lips against mine. The kiss was brief but electric. I felt a tingling run through my body and stood there in shock, waiting to see her reaction. She simply continued the game as if nothing had happened. From that moment, it became a routine. She would kiss me whenever we were alone, and the moment she heard footsteps near the room, she would pull away and act normal.

I was too young to fully understand what was happening, but my body did. I started to develop a crush on her and look forward to the kisses. When the two weeks ended, and she left, it felt like a part of me was missing. I sulked around the house for days begging my mother to let me visit her, but she refused. I didn’t know how to explain the ache I felt.

Around that time, I also began to notice how people around me talked about same sex relationships. My brothers would make jokes about people being gay, and I’d watch them get offended. In church, the girls’ fellowship often prayed aggressively against “the spirit of lesbianism.”

I couldn’t connect any of this to myself until I was fourteen. I was running an errand when I saw a group of boys beating up a girl in the street. A small crowd stood by watching, not one person stepping in. I asked a passerby what she’d done, and he said she had tried to kiss another girl.

In that moment, I understood that whatever I felt for girls wasn’t just unusual where I came from — it was dangerous. So I tried to redirect myself toward boys, hoping it would fix whatever was wrong with me.

Later that year, I got close to Mike*, who liked walking with me around the area. I knew he had a crush on me, but our conversations felt like a chore. Still, I leaned into the friendship, desperate to prove to myself that I could be normal if I just tried hard enough. One evening, during one of our walks, I decided to test myself. I pushed him gently against a wall and kissed him. He kissed me back and started touching me. I let it happen for a moment, waiting to feel something. But there was nothing. It was flat compared to the tingling I’d felt with Vera. I pushed him away and walked home alone.

Around this period, I discovered 2go. It became my secret doorway to the world. I joined group chats about sexuality and found older people who spoke openly about liking the same sex. They answered my questions and shared their own stories of discovery. I realised that what I felt was not random or strange. They showed me that there were others like me.

I began to buy magazines and hide them under my clothes, searching for anything that explained what I was feeling. I snuck romance films that had same sex characters and read articles online. Over time, I accepted that I wanted more than harmless kisses. I wanted intimacy, closeness, a body that responded to mine. I couldn’t tell anyone in my physical life, so my online friends became the only people who knew the real me.

Through 2go, I met Peace in 2012. She was the only person in my town who felt anything like I did. Meeting her in person felt like breathing out after holding my lungs tight for years. By then, my brothers had already begun suspecting me. I behaved like a boy, had never dated one, and didn’t even bother pretending to like any they mentioned. Their questions came like accusations, and each time, I denied it fiercely. Being around Peace made me feel less alone. I even used her as an example when trying to convince my brothers that some girls were tomboys without any deeper meaning.

Over the year we spent as friends, Peace and I began to experiment with our curiosity. We kissed and cuddled, sometimes letting our hands wander. Each time it happened, my mind flashed back to a girl beaten in the street when I was fourteen, and I’d pull away in fear. I didn’t want that to become my story.

Eventually, we decided we were better off as friends. Peace leaned more into 2go and started talking to women from there. And a few months later, I found out what it meant to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

***

That Saturday morning, the man kicked Peace aside and signaled to one of the four rough-looking men in the room, who grabbed her and dragged her upstairs.

He turned back to me, ordered me to kneel, and snatched my phone from my hand. As he scrolled, he said he knew me from 2go. He called himself Snake* and claimed he’d messaged me before, but I’d ignored him. He called me proud and rude. I had no memory of ever seeing his name, but it didn’t matter. My life felt tied to whatever he decided, so I begged and lied that my brothers didn’t let me chat with men.

While Snake scrolled through my pictures, he paused on one, and his expression changed. He held up my phone and asked who I was with in the picture. When I told him it was my older brother, he burst into laughter and announced that I was Sparrow’s sister. Sparrow was my brother’s street name. Snake said he and my brother belonged to the same cult.

His attitude changed after that. He told me to stand up, walked me outside, and slung an arm around my shoulder like we were friends. He suddenly became an adviser, saying that I was too beautiful to like girls, and that men were the ones I was meant to enjoy. I nodded and played along, lying that a man had been asking me out and that I was tired of girls and ready to give him a chance.

After his little speech, he still liked me and wanted me as his girlfriend. We exchanged numbers. Then he said he would only let me go if he saw my naked body.

The request made my skin crawl, but I would have done anything to get out of there. He led me into a room and watched in silence as I undressed, his eyes following every movement. He told me to turn slowly, and I obeyed. When he was done, he pointed toward a smaller room and said I should dress up, then leave.

Peace was there, sitting on the floor in her underwear, rocking like a child. Her eyes went wide when she saw me. She started talking at once, saying they had caught her with another girl from 2go before I arrived and brought them here to be raped. When my call came in, they searched her chats and forced her to bring me too. Her words poured out in a rush, but I couldn’t absorb any of them. I wasn’t ready to feel pity for someone who had just led me into this.

When I ran out of the building, I could still hear screams coming from inside.

***

I blocked Snake and Peace and deleted 2go. The trauma felt like a heavy coat I couldn’t take off. Peace had been my only real-life friend, and now every memory of her was tied to the event I wanted to forget. For almost two years after that, I buried my sexuality and tried to pretend it didn’t exist.

Things changed when I met Chidera in 2014. She became my first real girlfriend, and to my surprise, the relationship was great. We still had to hide, but we were honest about our feelings and talked about our future together. But when she left for school in 2017, the distance pulled at us. Eventually, she told me she’d met a man and wanted to end things.

It shattered me in a way I didn’t expect. I started questioning everything again. Perhaps it was truly unnatural to like women, and social media had just influenced me. Those thoughts pushed me toward the idea of dating men, just to see if I could be “normal.”

There was an older man at the hotel where I worked as a waitress. He’d been showing interest in me, so I tried to let myself imagine being with him. We talked more and spent time together, but the day he asked me to be his girlfriend, I broke down crying. I told him I didn’t see him that way and confessed that I liked women but was terrified of what that meant for my life.

To my surprise, he handled it gently. He told me to stop forcing myself to like men and advised me to find happiness in a community where I felt understood. Around that time, Badoo was becoming popular, so I created an account.

One of my first matches was Anita*. We started talking regularly, and before long, I found myself falling for her. She posted pictures often, and I spent hours staring at them, thinking she looked so beautiful. We exchanged numbers and began talking on the phone. Anita was direct and confident in a way I had never encountered. She sent suggestive pictures, and I didn’t hesitate to send mine.

She wanted us to meet in person, but she lived in another town, and my job made it hard to travel. After about two months, I finally managed to get a day off. It was raining that morning, and she promised to make pepper soup. We spent the night before talking about how the day would go. I even bought her small gifts.

I told my mother I was going to see a friend and might sleep over if it got late. The town wasn’t far, so she agreed. When I arrived and called Anita, expecting her to be at the park like we’d planned, she said her mother had sent her on an errand. She said her brother would come to pick me up instead and described the junction where I should wait.

I called and texted for nearly two hours, but got no response. It was getting dark when a random man walked up and asked for my number. I snapped at him. I was cold, frustrated, and just wanted to meet Anita. When it started to drizzle, I gave up and began walking back toward the park.

While I was leaving, Anita finally called. She said her brother had been waiting at the junction and hadn’t seen me. Instead of going home as I should have, I turned back. She described him as wearing a black hoodie with a bandana on his forehead, and I spotted a man resting beside a tree. I waved at him.

But as he pushed off the tree and started walking toward me, every hair on my body rose.

The person coming toward me was Snake.

I could have run, but fear made my legs heavy. I remembered he had a gun that Saturday morning as he grabbed my arm. People were passing by, but it felt like the whole street had emptied, leaving just the two of us.

He grabbed my arm and said I hadn’t changed. He claimed he’d been using Anita all along, waiting for another chance to catch me, and that the way I reacted to the man he’d sent earlier proved everything. My tongue felt heavy. I just stared at him, unable to form a single word.

He held out his hand and demanded my phone, saying he wanted to delete his number since I’d ignored him. The moment I gave it to him, he turned and walked into a side street. I followed, begging him to return it. That was when he shoved me aside and ran. I screamed, and a few people joined me in chasing him, but he vanished into the streets. Eventually, I stopped. I was exhausted and shaking. All I could do was turn around and go home.

I cried the entire way home. When I got in, I told my mother and brothers that my phone had been stolen, leaving out everything else. By then, I was already shivering with fever from the shock. They believed I would not stop crying because I was ill, and ended up taking me to the hospital.

When I got a new SIM days later, I kept calling my old line. One afternoon, Snake finally picked up and said the phone had already been sold. I wanted to report him, but held back. If things escalated, my family could find out everything about my sexuality.

I cut my losses and moved on, but when I got a new phone and restored my WhatsApp, I was met with blackmail using the nude photos I’d shared with Anita. Snake demanded money if I didn’t want him to send the pictures to my brother.

First, I sent 40k, which was my entire salary. Later, he asked for 50k more, and I borrowed from my friends at work to send it. Still, he kept threatening to post the images. When he asked for 100k the third time, I told him to do whatever he wanted and blocked him.

For a long time after that, I held my breath, waiting for him to expose me, but he never did.

That second encounter with Snake became a turning point for me. After losing so much to secrecy and fear, I stopped caring as much about who knew I liked women. My family eventually found out a year later when the same brother went through my phone and saw messages between me and a woman. This time, I didn’t deny it. I told my brothers to accept me as I was.

As they pounced on me and my mother sobbed in a corner, I closed my eyes and thought of the girl I’d seen beaten in the street when I was fourteen. The difference was that, at that moment, I didn’t feel like the frightened child hiding in the crowd anymore.

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Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics, including physical assault and sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised

Dating apps promise easy access to love, but for many Nigerians, the reality is far less romantic than chaotic.

We recently spoke to five Nigerians, and their experiences are chilling, to say the least. They share how swiping right has led to awkward encounters, and in some cases, actual danger.

“I found out I was catfished after two months together” — Mary*, 31

After a string of disappointing encounters on dating apps, Mary* thought she’d finally found ‘the one’. But when they met in person, all she knew was a lie.

“In January last year, I moved to a new city. I didn’t know anyone, lived alone, and worked remotely, so it was hard to meet people. The only place I could really socialise was church, but that wasn’t working either. By May, I decided to give Bumble a shot since it was pretty popular.

I wanted a Christian man and only looked for people with similar religious values. The first guy I matched didn’t click, and the second sent a dick pic barely two minutes into the conversation. I blocked him immediately, and that was my cue to delete the app.

After Bumble, I turned to Christian dating apps, but they didn’t help; most were dormant, expensive, or didn’t cater to Nigerians. In July, I got lucky and found an app called Raya. It wasn’t Christian-based, but it looked legit and seemed good for networking. That’s where I met Fred*.

Fred was the co-founder of a financial investment startup, and I verified this online with his pictures. We texted and had voice calls, and he never said anything inappropriate. I liked him and wanted us to meet in person by the second week, but he said he was travelling.

We kept talking, and by September, we finally made plans to meet at a restaurant in Ikeja City Mall. I got there, looked around, and couldn’t find him. Then I got a phone call and a short, bald man started waving at me. I was confused. The Fred I had been talking to was tall and light-skinned. That’s when it hit me: I’d been catfished.

I confronted him immediately, and he had the nerve to say he only used the photos because he knew I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. He said I’d fallen for the person he was, just not the body. If I wasn’t shallow or a gold digger, I’d understand and stay. I was speechless. I just walked out and never looked back. I deleted all my dating apps that day.”

“They robbed me, beat me and threatened to out me” — King*, 29

King* assumed dating apps would be a safe space to explore his sexuality. Until a violent encounter nearly cost his life.

“My friends suggested dating apps when I told them I was looking to meet new people. I had just started embracing the fact that I liked men, and it helped that I had a few queer friends who made the process less lonely. Tinder seemed the best option since it was popular and they had good experiences. I met some people there, but the one who stood out was William*. We’d talked for a few weeks, and things went smoothly. One afternoon, he texted saying he was working from home and would love to hang out. I agreed. We planned to meet at Shoprite, and after walking around a bit, he suggested we return to his place.

He hailed a bike and we headed to a part of Abuja I wasn’t familiar with. When we arrived at his place, he told me to go into the compound while he locked the gate and sorted payment for the ride.

I stepped inside and found several men already waiting. Before I could fully register what was happening, they rushed me and beat me to a pulp. Then locked me in a room.

I had over ₦1.2m in my bank accounts, and they emptied everything. They forced me to call my family and friends for more. I had to lie that I was stranded and needed urgent money. I sounded calm on the calls because they threatened to kill me if I raised alarm. Once they drained all they could, they took my phone and tortured me for hours. They eventually gave me ₦1k and dropped me off at the express to find my way home.

I told my friends what happened, but I didn’t go to the police. The men threatened to out me if I reported, and I knew the police couldn’t be trusted either. We got some lawyers and activists involved, but the case eventually went cold. It’s been nearly three months.

That experience didn’t just traumatise me, it made me painfully aware of how unsafe it is to exist as a queer person in Nigeria. I haven’t been on a dating app since.”

“He planned a threesome for our first date” — Jola*, 23

In Jola’s* case, what was meant to be a casual hangout left her questioning how easily safety and consent can be brushed aside on dating apps, especially when sex becomes the assumed end goal.

“I was on holiday in the US for a few months and thought it would be a good chance to meet new people, so I signed up on Tinder and Hinge. I wasn’t expecting much, but I stayed open to seeing where it’d go.

Out of all the matches I got, I only met about two or three people in person. I was extra cautious because of security concerns. America has its fair share of crazy, and I didn’t want to end up in a dangerous situation.

I matched with Todd*, who seemed cool at first. After chatting for a few days, we agreed to meet at the beach around 7 p.m. I was with a friend that day, and when I mentioned it, he said she could come along since his friends would also be there. It seemed casual enough.

At first, I thought it was a good idea, especially since I wouldn’t be going alone. But then Todd started texting nonstop. He wanted to know where I was and checked in repeatedly. It felt too eager, and I think that was when I should have suspected he was up to no good. On our way to the beach, Todd casually mentioned that he had planned a threesome for us with his friends.

I was so stunned I never gave him the impression that we were meeting to hook up, so that was a weird card to pull out of the blue. I was just grateful I hadn’t gotten there yet. With the way he acted, I could only imagine what could have happened. We might have been raped.

Anyway, that was my cue to block him and stop meeting other people. Most of the guys I matched were just horny or shallow, and I was never attracted to any. It just wasn’t worth it.”

“He wanted to use me to pimp black men” — Fatima*, 27

Fatima* thought she was easing into a new connection that could become something more; until things took a sharp, confusing turn.

“I was single, and some friends encouraged me to try Tinder. I wasn’t expecting much, but I figured, why not? I matched with this guy, and we took the conversation to WhatsApp. We chatted for almost a month. Everything seemed fine, and he seemed genuinely interested. But when it came down to actually meeting up, I got cold feet and ghosted him.

I then decided it might be best to try a foreigner since I won’t be pressured to meet immediately. I matched with Aman* and we got talking. We got along pretty well at first, until he told me he was on Tinder because he wanted a black man to have sex with. He befriended me because he thought I could help him find one. It was weird. Why match with me at all? Why waste my time pretending to be into me?

Even after I called him out, he kept texting and pestering me about it. I eventually blocked him. That experience left a bad taste in my mouth. I haven’t made any meaningful connections on the app since then, and now I’m more careful about the people I match with. People are wild.”

“I found out she was still talking to other men, and even hooking up with them” — Lawal*, 25

After one connection that seemed promising turned out to be anything but, Lawal* found himself dealing with unexpected heartbreak

“I joined Bumble in 2022 because traditional dating just wasn’t working, but the app wasn’t any better. Most of the women I matched with wanted hookups and couldn’t even communicate clearly. It was frustrating. Even when I connected with someone, they were usually too far away for anything to happen.

The only person I met was Ella*. We matched because she was nearby, and I liked her vibe. Ella came across as someone who wanted a real connection and was genuinely interested in me. We had similar interests, hung out often, and had a good time together.

Eventually, I caught the love bug. I’m a lover boy at heart, so I told her how I felt. She said she felt the same, but for some reason, she didn’t delete her Bumble account. That didn’t sit right with me, but I ignored it.

Months later, one of my friends who knew about her matched with her on the same app. That’s how I found out she was still talking to other men, and even hooking up with them. When I confronted her, she said she never agreed to be exclusive.

It really broke me and my feelings for her died after that. I’d joined the app hoping to find something meaningful, but what I got was just another heartbreak. We cut contact for a while, but later reconnected, and it became a casual fling. Since Ella, I don’t think I’ve felt real emotions for any woman. The whole experience left me jaded.”

If you want to share your own story, I’d love to hear it here.

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Sex Life is an anonymous Zikoko weekly series that explores the pleasures, frustrations and excitement of sex in the lives of Nigerians.

The subject of today’s Sex Life is a 33-year-old gay man who didn’t have sex for years after getting kito-ed — a term for being set up and extorted by a straight man pretending to be gay.

What was your first sexual experience?

I was 13 in JSS 3, and there was this guy that had been bullying me since JSS 1. We were in the same class, and even though I became voted class captain, that didn’t stop him from making my life a living hell.

So, there was an evening I went to lock up the class and as I was leaving, I saw him at the door waiting for me. I immediately began to panic because I was sure he was there to rough me up like he routinely did.

I tried to run out of the class, but he cornered me. I recoiled, expecting him to hit me, but he didn’t. He just pulled me close and kissed me. Even though I hadn’t had any sexual experience before that, kissing a boy immediately felt right.

Oh? What happened next?

We made out until we eventually had to leave the class. For the rest of the night, my mind was whirling. I had a ton of questions, but not necessarily about kissing a guy, it was more about why the person that had bullied me for years suddenly switched on me.

Was that the moment you realised you were into guys?

I’d actually had my suspicions before then. In JSS 2, I was inexplicably drawn to one of my very popular classmates. I didn’t know or understand why, but in hindsight, I clearly had a crush on him.

There were also other instances that made me know I was different. While boys my age talked about girls incessantly, I could only ever see them in a platonic light. I guess that’s why I wasn’t thrown into a well of confusion about my sexuality after the kiss.

What happened with the bully?

It turns out bullying me was just his messed up way of trying to get my attention, because he turned into a completely different person after that. We became romantically involved, constantly making out and jerking each other off.

We did that until the end of the term, and by the time we returned to school after the break, he’d completely moved on from me. I was so heartbroken. We’d gone from enemies to lovers to strangers.

Ouch. So, when did you end up having sex for the first time?

Funnily enough, when I was in secondary school, I didn’t realise guys could have sex. There was a guy I dated from SS 1 to SS 3, and all we ever did was make out, give each other head and jerk each other off. I had no idea penetrative sex was an option.

Then one day in SS 2, I was hanging out with some gay friends and they were all talking about their sexual exploits. I was so confused. That was the first time I ever heard about anal sex, and I was absolutely horrified.

I eventually suggested it to my boyfriend, and we decided to give it a shot. We didn’t get very far because the pain was unimaginable. That pain stayed with me for a while, and I was really afraid of ever trying again.

What changed?

Well, it was in my first year at university that I finally gave it another shot. One of my coursemates, who I became fast friends with because he’s also gay, introduced me to a guy. We immediately clicked, and we made plans to meet up again.

When we finally met up, he wanted us to go all the way. I was apprehensive, but he promised to be gentle. I reluctantly agreed, and to my surprise, it was a much better experience. I barely felt any pain.

So, you began having more sex?

Not for long. A little while later, I had an experience that traumatised me for a very long time. I was set up and extorted by someone I liked, and that made me very apprehensive about getting with guys.

Seriously? What happened?

I had a gay friend at a different school, and we’d occasionally meet up to hang out. One day, we were hanging out at his friend’s place, and there were a bunch of other guys there too.

I wasn’t sure if it was a gathering of just gay guys and I didn’t ask, but I was into the guy who owned the place. We were making a lot of eye contact, so I became convinced that he was into me as well.

I think the first mistake I made was not telling my friend that I was going to make a move, mostly because I didn’t want to hear his disapproval. Anyway, I found a way to get close to the guy, we talked for a bit and I eventually collected his number.

Then what?

We were chatting for about a week, and he invited me back. So, I went to his house, we talked for a bit and started making out. Next thing, he was getting me out of my clothes. I noticed that while I’d gotten completely naked, he still had his shorts on.

Whenever I tried to take off his shorts, he’d evade my hands. I was still young, so I didn’t think anything particularly shady was happening. Next thing I knew, his door — which I figured he’d locked — swung open and a guy stormed in.

Holy shit.

Yup. The dude came in screaming, “HOMOS”. He was slapping us around, but even while I was panicking and begging, I began to notice that I was the one getting the brunt of the beating.

Whenever he focused on the other guy, it just seemed like a shitty fight sequence in a bad Nollywood film. That’s the moment I began to suspect that something shadier was going on.

The guy then said we’d have to settle him or he’d report us to the police. I initially believed that he would, but whenever my cries got louder, he’d tell me to keep quiet. That’s when I realised that he didn’t actually want any attention being drawn to this.

So what did you do?

Well, I started shouting louder and getting more dramatic with my pleas. He started panicking and asking for what I could drop. I told him I didn’t have anything, and since he’d already taken my wallet, I said he could keep that.

I also suggested that we go to the bank to withdraw more money, but he refused. The more I realised that he didn’t want to expose himself in any way, the less scared I was. He ended up just taking the money in my wallet and throwing me out.

I was very bruised, both physically and emotionally. When I got home and replayed everything in my head, that’s when I became 100% sure that the guy had set me up. I texted him to confront him, and while he denied it, I didn’t believe him.

Fuck. I’m so sorry.

Yeah. That’s when I learnt that it’s quite common for queer people in Nigeria. Homophobes pretend to be gay men so they can extort their victims by blackmailing or physically harming them — they are called “Kitos”.

Most of the people I know who have been victims of this always talk about how they not only have to deal with the pain and trauma of what happened, but they also feel a lot of shame. I was so ashamed that I never even told my friend about it.

Kito and other violations against gay men and LGBTQ persons — Source: The Initiative For Equal Rights’ 2019 Human Rights Violations Report Based on Real or Perceived Sexual Orientation or Gender Identity

Did you ever see the guy again?

A few years later, I did. He entered a bus I was in and immediately he saw me, he looked really ashamed. Before he left the bus, he apologised and admitted that he was in on it. At that point, it was already buried, and I wasn’t interested in rehashing it.

I know that some people have had even worse experiences. I hear some stories and I’m completely heartbroken. I was even lucky — I was still able to protect my identity. A lot of people get outed in situations like that.

How long did the experience stop you from attempting to hook up?

I can’t say how long exactly, but I definitely stayed away from the hookup scene for a long time — somewhere between a year and two. It even began to affect my relationships with strangers. I was very jumpy around everyone I didn’t personally know.

I wasn’t interested in going out or meeting people. Everyone who wasn’t already a friend felt like a threat to me. So, it didn’t only stop me from having sex, it also affected my ability to foster new relationships.

Do you think you’ve completely shed the fear?

Yeah, I think so. I was young when it happened, and I’m much older now. If anything, as years have passed, I have moved from fear to righteous anger about the fact that I or anyone in the gay community should ever have to deal with something that traumatic.

What’s your sex life like these days?

My sex life is satisfying. It’s pretty active, and it helps that I’m very openly gay. So, I’m less restrictive when I see a guy that I like. If I get the vibe that he is into guys too, I make my move. My friends call me a hoe, but I don’t think I am.

So, what’s your opinion about sex now?

As I was coming to terms with my sexuality, I was also coming to terms with how much I actually enjoy having sex. Immediately I stopped letting other people’s opinions dictate how much sex I should be having, I’ve been a lot happier.

Since I don’t feel ashamed of my sexuality or my sexual appetite, no one can shame me for it. So, even when people — from friends to past lovers — try to slut-shame me, I just laugh it off and own it. I consider it a signifier of my liberation.

You’ve had past lovers slut-shame you?

Yeah. For some context, I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve slept with. There are names and faces I don’t remember. So when I was on a dating app, chatting with a guy I’d apparently hooked up with years before, he got really offended that I couldn’t remember him at all.

That’s how he went off, talking about how “loose” I am. Then he said that since I’m a bottom (the receptive partner during anal sex), I’m meant to take it easy and not be jumping around from bed to bed.

I was so offended because it just reeked of heteronormative sexism. Since some people consider bottoms to be the “women” in gay relationships, we are not expected to explore ourselves sexually. Thankfully, I don’t believe in that stupid dynamic.

Good for you. So, how would you rate your sex life on a scale of 1 to 10?

I’d give it a solid 8. I can’t say a 10 because I’m not having as much sex as I would have preferred, but I’m still quite content. While I’m not out here juggling multiple hookups, I’m certainly not starved.