Behind Closed Doors

Chapter Twenty-two

The White Phoenix glowed with dim blue and red lights, and gorgeously dressed men and women milled about, drinking cocktails, playing card games, and talking. It was the hottest ‘happening’ club currently in VI, packed with action, both sexual and otherwise. Men pulled up in their sparkling cars, smoked expensive imported Cuban cigars, and drank up their wealth in expensive liquor, while the women were all dressed to kill, their long, bare legs flashing with scented oils, their high heels giving their heights more inches, their long fingers which ended in lacquered nails clutching at tall glasses of ginger ale with the sophistication brought on by the wealth of their sugar daddies and loaded boyfriends.

In an earlier incarnation, the White Phoenix had been a restaurant that catered to the hot-blooded youths of Lagos and the older generation who were on the prowl for young women they could lure into their beds for nights of sex on the sly in return for the cash they had in abundance. It was also the place where the upcoming actors came to, the soon-to-be musicians and soon-to-be-hot-models came to, hoping to get their feet into the establishments they wanted to get into.

But the casting directors were sharp, and they could easily lure the girls and even the boys, most of whom were very pretty, into their cars or offices to be thoroughly fucked and then dumped because of the fact that most of them had zero talent for the screens and the soon-to-be musicians had the voices of wailing hyenas. Occasionally though, a real star was discovered, as had been the case of the now sensational model Tope Odusote who was now strutting the London catwalks and earning mega bucks.

From where he stood in the wide hall, with its erotic art paintings, vases of flowers, and the blue-painted walls, Phoenix could see into the main parlor where the real thing was going on, where the rich men of the deliciously decadent Lagos society and the madams paid to gain entrance so they could engage in same-sex liaisons with the members of the younger generation. So many men had been after him for sex and he’d politely but firmly turned them down in such a way that there were friendships that developed, and when the White Phoenix went up for sale, he went and acquired it. He knew the perfect use for it: a spot where the horny people could come and satisfy their sexual urgings by picking out the legion of youths there that were available for the fucking, both male and female, all for a price.

It had been ridiculously easy to circulate the news, albeit secretly, in the right ears at Surulere, Mile 2 and the other happening spots around the Island where the gay people thronged, all hoping for fucks, and along the Lagos mainland areas; get young men who were tops, bottoms, and everything in-between in the gay culture, to come to the White Phoenix, buy drinks, invite their friends, play games, drink cocktails, and then eventually hook up with dates. It was the perfect place for homosexuals and high-playing prostitutes to meet in the city, away from the prying and censorious eyes of the society. If you went into the White Phoenix, then you were sure to hook up with someone before you left so long as you’re in the game.

Then he spotted Henry Johnson as the guy walked into the place and stopped to take the scene in, his long trim body still, his eyes flicking disinterestedly over the three hot guys that were standing by the entrance, eyeing him expectantly. He’s used to being wanted, to being the ultimate specimen of the desirable man, Phoenix thought, not without a twinge of jealousy. That Henry was so masculine, so rich and so beautiful as a man, and then so gay, but with his sexuality masked from the glare of the public eyes, made him all the more desirable. And he knew that Henry felt very possessive towards him; that much had been obvious to him the very moment the reporter called him with full apologies. It also made him to understand the fact that he was in a way special to the young man, that Henry would be willing to really hurt those that hurt him.

With a small sigh, Phoenix turned and headed for the small private booth he’d had Henry installed in. He parted the long swinging curtains, his eyes narrowing to slits as they adjusted to the dim red lights that illuminated the circular table in the middle of the booth on which reposed a bucket filled with ice cubes, chilling a bottle of wine. Soft New Age music wafted forth from concealed speakers, and Henry was nodding slowly to the beats.