We were startled by the shattering sound of glass and I almost jumped out of my skin. Chucks and I were butt-naked waist down, with our dicks protruding like waving flags; Mrs Dike, Chucks’ mother, stood by the sofa staring at us as if she had seen ghosts. The broken pieces of the glass casserole dish were scattered all over the coffee-brown rug in the living room. I took my denim trousers and schoolbag, forgetting my green polka-dot boxers, and ran out of the house, heaving heavily and yet regretting not having climaxed.

Monday, I searched for Chucks in school but he was nowhere to be found. His classmates said he had not come to school. His phone had been switched off since Saturday and I was afraid to go anywhere near his house. Two weeks later, I overheard some girls in class saying he had travelled to London to complete his education. But he had never contacted me.

I always wondered if it’s just me or if everyone was only pretending to enjoy the vicar’s sermons. It was Palm Sunday, two months since Chucks disappeared, and the mood was sober. “Repent for the Kingdom of God is at hand!” shouted the priest through the speakers. Despite the racket, two pews away from me were people snoring, their heads tilted at an angular position moving in rhythmic nods.

“Brethren, we have to be on our watch and pray harder because the days are evil!” He said the last word, “evil,” with so much grit – painting the picture of a horror flick with aliens taking over the planet earth.

“My brother and sisters, what is the world turning to? I read the newspaper yesterday and it was reported that the police arrested four men who were caught having sexual relations in a bar. . . . Can you imagine, homosexuality?!”

People who had been snoring jumped to their feet.

“All gays will go to hell!”

Everyone in the chapel was nodding in affirmation. Some people were praying in tongues, while others were waving their bibles in the air as if to bind and cast the demon of gayism.