“Should I or shouldn’t I?” I had wondered for weeks and was still wondering a few hours before the event, the Deolu Oniranu Lagos Hangout organized for the 6th of August 2022.
“Won’t I be out of place there on account of my age, which only a generous estimate would put at middle age?” I had repeatedly asked myself.
What demographic is likely to take part in a party in Nigeria organized by a sex stories site, if not possibly teenagers and people in their 20s and 30s, zones of time I have left behind decades ago?” I speculated in continual indecision.
”But I am a consistent reader of stories on that site”, I encouraged myself, the Deolu Oniranu Bubble site of African Erotic Stories, thereby giving support to an emerging genre of Nigerian literature, the erotic story, particularly the free online erotic story, similar prominent sites from the West include my favourites Literotica, ASSTR and the erotic comics’ site Zizky.
To these, I have added Oniranu.
I have even written a few short reviews of one or two stories on Oniranu celebrating the success of those stories in localizing the universality of sexuality. I celebrated enhancing the ubiquity of the erotic by giving it a local habitation and a name, as Shakespeare describes the power of imagination.
Those stories construct social situations, names and settings distinctive to the Nigerian context, such as a story depicting a sequence of sexual encounters occurring on a bus as it travels across a number of Lagos bus stops.
The erotic story, for me, is more interesting than the pornographic film.
A good erotic story is able, even within a short compass, to pack more narrative flexibility, range of reference and characterization than pornographic films, although I wonder if such relatively sophisticated pornographic film-makers as Marc Dorcel have been able to develop the various elements of their narrative to the same level as their gorgeous cinematography.
”You need to do something different from your routine,” my mind eventually insisted. ”It’s better than lying in bed on break from your usual writing, wondering what the experience of being at the party would have been like,” my mind continued.
”Okay, I’ll go” I decided. I had wanted to go with a female friend of the same age as myself, beginning with asking her ”do you read erotic stories?” but this friend is a person whose life is carefully shaped by her Christian faith and I was not surprised when she declined, but she encouraged me to go.
The taxi moved smoothly across the Third Mainland Bridge, linking Victoria Island, where the party was to take place, and Lagos mainland, where I was coming from, the sun luminous in the sky before sunset.
I arrived at the location, Retro Citi, 29a Gafari Animashaun St, Victoria Island, met two young men and a young woman, introduced myself and waited for other arrivals.
Drinks were served, music blaring from the club’s speakers, as the place began to gradually fill up. Most of the attendees were potently built young women, some with eye-popping mammaries.
The robust bottom that is the special endowment of the Black woman was generously visible among most present, at various degrees of prominence. All the women were at the peak of physical power and erotic vitality faces glowing with a vibrant life in striking contours of bone and brilliance of skin.
The MC asked us all to introduce ourselves, say what we did for a living and what we like, in general terms, passing the mic across the group.
When I spoke, I hoped my voice was deep and clear enough to project my manliness, which I wanted to make sure was not mistaken. The introductions made it clear we were all people with conventional jobs, there to mutually explore private aspects of our existence.
As I had anticipated, I was the oldest person there, going by the obviously youthful faces of everyone else, the average age range of the others being in their 30s.
The erotic tenor of the party was initiated by a question-and-answer game in which a bottle of alcohol was passed around as music was played. The person holding the bottle as the music stopped would be compelled to answer the question with a “yes’’ or a “no”.
I was asked if I had ever fallen asleep during sex. I giggled happily at being asked such a question even though the very concept looked odd to me. The answer was ”no” so I did not have to drink.
Later I wondered why I, in particular, was being asked a question about such an unlikely idea…a form of discriminatory question asking? But the questioner was reading from a prepared list on a phone.
Salacious questions they all were.
”Have you had sex outside a house before?” or something like that.
“Have you tried woman on woman making out?”,
“Have you had different sex partners on the same day?”
“Have you ever done a threesome?” among other questions, inspiring much laughter and perhaps sober thought behind the animated faces.
Impressive assorted food flowed freely, people choosing what selections they wanted to be served from rice and stew, pizza, fried yam and other enticingly arranged offerings presented by the club’s elegant servers.
What followed was the MC asking if any of the women wanted a vibrator which was on offer as part of the fun. “What size?”, was the response from one woman. It was a small one that seems to operate differently from the more conventional kind, perhaps making size irrelevant.
All who wanted the vibrator should identify themselves, choose a partner to give a lap dance and the most applauded would get the vibrator. Eventually, the winner was selected by asking participants to stand up and queue behind the winner, then the MC counted the people behind each candidate like a Local Government Election in the 70s.
It was a hilarious affair, as a certain candidate campaigned and wooed people on the floor to queue behind her,(Not sure what she promised them, lapdance?) at last, she got enough votes to win the first vibrator. A night of laughs, weird behaviours and incredible excitement.
Erotic demonstrations galore. Bottoms gyrating in rhythmic and frenzied rhythms. Bodies undulating with seductive force. A luminously skinned beauty with pores rich with exquisite care, got the prize.
The atmosphere was steadily heating up, a thick emanation of anticipation, mounting pleasure, escalating freedom from inhibitions, a dynamic sense of excitement, charged the atmosphere.
We were then asked to each take a small cup of alcohol before moving to the next phase. Dancing. The price? a remote-controlled vibrator.
At this point, the party steadily entered its climax, an explosion of imitation orgiastic dancing, styles of the most erotic explicitness, lyrical gyrations of nubile forms, as people danced their hearts out to the rhythm of surging music pouring from powerful speakers.
The man and woman seated at my right entered into a dance in which she ground her bottom into his crotch as the man did his best to keep up with this invitation. The woman who had been sitting at my side had left. I had admired her looks and her exquisite shape but did not feel motivated to speak.
“Is this how I will remain seated”, I asked myself, while people are enjoying themselves.
“But I don’t like dancing,” I told myself.
“Not completely true, another part of me said. Remember that club in London and that dance you had with that woman, with interesting consequences…” (A story to be shared someday)
I was eventually able to make myself join the dance floor as I observed the radiant-skinned beauty who won the prize for the lap dance dancing alone. Why should such a delectable creature be dancing on her own? I should be able to take advantage of that.
We danced. I held her waist and enjoyed the feel of her bottom as she turned to back me. The invitation of her exquisite skin was electric but I did not dare do anything about it.
Superb dancing was on display from various quarters as men and women went wild with controlled abandon, dramatizing the artistic contortions of which the human body is capable, unleashing the erotic power of the human, particularly the female form. The female-on-female erotic dancing was particularly powerful.
The climax was reached with one young woman of magical control of her buttocks, enhanced by magnificent athleticism. The two globes of her bottom jiggling rhythmically, seemingly with a mind of their own. Those spheres danced in an ecstatic vibration escalating even as she struck the floor in a split, her legs stretched flat on the ground at right angles as the orbs of her bottom, raised to face the audience, jiggled with furious joy.
She won the remote-controlled vibrator, evidently it was a no contest.
As all this took place, the convenor of the Oniranu website site and central organizer of the event, Deolu Oniranu, sat in a corner and watched, doing nothing else.
”You are an introvert” I whispered in his ear as the music blasted.
”A big one” he agreed.
”But you are good at managing people,” I concluded, referencing the superbly successful party he had organized without taking part in it.
However, he was present at it, and the beautifully constructed website of his brand, regularly updated with new stories, possibly involving various writers, and a brand active on various social media platforms.
This kind of contrast was what struck me most about the party.
After the erotic abandon of the dancing, but without crossing into the explicit, the same people who danced with such sensuous dynamism became quiet, calmly seated interacting with their phones.
They had again become who they were in their everyday lives.
The chef who had danced with particular fervour of bottom and waist, gyrating them into myriad combinations, had retired into becoming the quiet young woman seated at a table.
The lady with overflowing breasts, her body alive with sensuous force, had withdrawn that energy into herself, her massive mammaries now concealed behind the t-shirt given as gifts by the party organizer.
The magical dancer of electric bottom and supple form had once again sat on those exquisite double globes, the bottom being the primary point on which the human form rests when withdrawn from physical activity, gathering her dynamism into a quiet, composed personality.
The men who had cavorted in various erotic dynamism were once again quiet people seated peacefully.
Everything had become normal again, life they say is for the living, and forming of new memories, finding new people to friends or acquaintances with, admiring and exchanging Instagram handles with people you barely spoke with hours ago, and hugging them tightly as they leave. And to the guy and girl who were quietly gyrating in a corner, who thought no one saw them, yes, we didn’t see you, *wink*.
It is all better now, for it is better to have lived a little than not to have lived at all. To those who couldn’t make it, you missed quite a lot.
Written by Oluwatoyin Vincent Adepoju (Compcros)
The next Oniranu Hangout will be happening in Atlanta, US in October 2022!
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