It’s 2013: Poor Dating, Walks of Shame & Cum Bucket Aside; I’m Getting Rich & Hitched (Perhaps?) – Part 2

Previously on T.S.R©

…come to think of it I have only dated the one guy I met online for 3 months in the first year I got on to social media so in essence my idea of a date is what I read in books and watch in movies …why continue living as someone’s secret when you can be making it in someone else’s major headlines? …I don’t subscribe to that primeval notion that when you swallow a man’s cream he will treasure you for eternity …I'm sexy and I know it! Nah, you're slutty and you blow it bitch! …I quickly lied I had no condom with me when he asked for one so as to assert no pumping was going to take place …JK has probably never brought a girl (or boy) in this room 

I recently read that if a guy cums on your face, it's his way of telling you that you aren’t his boyfriend material, Hello! Sasha in quick rejoinder affirmed: ‘There is no fronting nowadays, get sprayed! Besides, cum is dermatologically proven to smoothen skin!’ Morgan threw his weight behind the whole discussion and argued: ‘When cum is already in your mouth, do him the honor and swallow it!’ Hmm…when was this memo dated again? Maybe it’s time to fire my moderators!

This morning on my way to the bus stop I was nibbling a piece of chocolate I just found on my kitchen shelf… 

Behind The Scenes

So, I have finished drafting my 2013 obligations. Normally I make my objectives in February when all of you have flushed yours down the drain. Last year I achieved most all the things I’d scribbled to do. Having recently finished some assignment and geared to take up a more competitive role, I’m worn-out and could really use some sabbatical of sorts however ephemeral it may be though I’m sure I won’t. I’d have used the breakout to do some deep soul searching. Of course with my newfound love of photography and bowling every Sunday mid-morning, I think I got this. Notably I want to put my foot forward in the murky water of relationshits love just for the experience now that it’s public knowledge I’m dumb in the dating scene. Methinks everyone merits those prolonged phone calls and cute texts I see some of you giggle at in matatus from some bloke whose judgment is totally impaired when they think of you. Then there’s school which I’ll enroll in next month (I’ve technically saved for it), encourage virgin minds with a fertile bias for literary works some more. I do what I do on T.S.R for fun. The day I stop having fun I’ll just walk away to new interests.

*****

… I realize it’s the same chocolate JK gave me the other day when we met at the ice cream bar. ◄◄ REWIND◄◄ 

The birds are chirping outside as some light penetrates enters through the massive window in his room. He’s holding me too tight. He’s been doing this the whole night. I summon up the events that led to this. Him getting me a towel to take a bath, joining me in the expansive shower room while trying to hide his nudity (rolls eyes), helps me clean my hair and my back. The hot water bites my skin as it flows right through the crack of my ass donk down to the turquoise tiled floor. The shower gel oozes some fine aroma that wafts through my nostrils. I love this feeling. I feel fresh, different even. I turn to face him. His eyes are bloodshot. He maintains a steady eye contact carefully weighing my intentions. I give him a soft peck on his lips. It almost throws him off balance and his breathing has all of a sudden altered. He holds me steady and regards me warily until I feel a poke of something hard and wet right above my belly button. Oh No!

The lampshade next to my bed is on. I am seated in bed my head resting on the wall. My hair is still wet and he has suggested that one shouldn’t dry their hair with a towel so I allow it to dry naturally. I think it’s just his way of keeping me awake. He walks back into the room in blue boxers. He definitely has a lighter skin tone, still growing but definitely has meat in the right places. When he approaches the light, I notice he spots a mark somewhere on his left rib cage. He takes my left hand and starts making some circles on my wrist. ‘I love these, they make you mysterious but kinda cool’, he says in reference to my small body art. He initiates a kiss. I put both my left fore and index fingers on his sternum and gently push him away. 

‘Good Morning, why are you awake this early beautiful?’ He interrupts my reverie. My senses are instantly alert. I need to go home. I look at my phone. 5 missed calls from the senior of the Mutahi brothers (I thought I told him I won’t be back until morning) and two text messages. One from Eric the cab guy wishing me a festive season and the other one from my Ex. Fuck!

The Walk of Shame, Yikes!

I almost jump out of bed. JK releases me swiftly and is also up in the same frequency. As I scurry about the room I think I notice a bulge at the apex of his loins. Probably the normal male morning erection, I have to leave this place. What will people think when they see me? What will –now what was his name again? – Jo, the watchman think? JK is so relaxed arms crossed and is grinning at my performance. ‘They are on my brother’s bed.’ He finally talks. I feel silly not knowing where he had kept the clothes. Just then my phone rings. ‘Buenos Dias El Hermano!’ I pompously respond. If you have ever had a fling or just a sleepover and ended up sleeping in a guy’s bed; you have probably had to face the difficult thing we always do the morning after when you have to leave: the walk of shame. 

I find my way downstairs. He’s at the kitchen that connects to the dining room. ‘Just wait!’ he commands as he hurriedly joins me in the dining room, gives me a soft peck on my lip and pulls a chair. Who does that! He’s beaming which surprises me. Shouldn’t a guy be somewhat chasing you away if you didn’t give him some the night before or at sunrise? But then no one had a condom so that kinda neutralizes everything. ‘Can I keep this?’ I display the new toothbrush he gave me just after I’d confirmed to my brother that I’m okay. He nods his head in approval. Isn’t this guy just so sweet? He retires back to the kitchen as I reach for the current edition of some conspicuously placed People Magazine. He places some hot water and milk before me and some nicely done cupcakes. I ask him to serve me coffee. He treats himself to some mug of Horlicks. Carrie Underwood is warbling ‘Before He Cheats’ and is later followed by The Script’s ‘Science and Faith’ I notice he increases the volume when Jill Scott hums ‘a long Walk’ Ooh! (Patting the right side of my chest)

After breakfast I help him clear the table. While at the kitchen he offers to formally give me a tour of the mansion. I make a mental note of how the sink is pretty messy. Intuitively he says that he’ll have to get back once he sees me off and do some cleaning. This African boy is well bred! We start with the full pantry just adjacent to the huge kitchen; we then head upstairs bypassing his folk’s room. The room we passed last evening to the balcony is his sister’s. We come back down after I’ve picked my watch, phone and dressed up. I sprinkle some of his cologne on me to smell fresh. He notes my concern and draws close, tips my chin upwards to face him, ‘I’ll be with you in that walk of shame you are too apprehensive of.’ I turn as he leads the way down stairs; we pass a sedentary area opposite his folk’s bedroom I hadn’t noticed earlier. I see a guitar on one of the stools. Hmm…then the best place in this house: A mini bar! I’m so impressed. He asks me to sit on one of the high stools ‘I’ll have some Cosmo’, I teasingly say. ‘We have none of that sir’ he willingly joins me in this game. ‘Okay some chilled mojito then, lots of lemon please and a teaspoonful of honey!’ I implore him as I giggle. He stands right in front of me. I belatedly notice that we are the same height when I’m seated. His eyes redden. Oh No, he’s horny…again!

The ferocious dogs are very composed after being warned to be nice. I get to see the rest of the compound surrounding the mansion including a solitary gazebo with white furniture. ‘I initially wanted the dinner to be here but with the rain and cold, my hands were tied.’ He explains. Jo finally shows up. He wasn’t at the gate and having locked it from outside, I couldn’t leave earlier. It’s time for the walk of shame.

While reading Robert Greene’s 24 Laws of Seduction, I came across something profound that he equally cited in his book. For my purposes I’ll just give an excerpt:

…Indeed, one’s attachment to a man depends largely on the elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser sash, rolls up the sleeves of his court cloak…stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash-one really begins to hate him. – The Pillow Book of SEI SHONAGON.

I feel I’m finally at a stage I’m eyeing more. Kind of reminds me of when I made out with a friend we’d been platonic for over a year. I grew distant as well. He’d been through shitstorm with a number of zega guys. Fine, now he’s all about NSA but today we are more productive at the friend level. He’ll make quite a keeper someday. In 2013, I can no longer afford to be a cum bucket for men who are not going to commit to me. Just like a business venture on the brink of liquidation, it’s no longer a viable gamble for me. In Date No.1 I undoubtedly liked the guy, enough to realize that I wanted him to hang around my world a little longer but too fucked up only to mess the moment. This explains why I got lots of respect for people who love being pursued. It buys them time for a guy to appreciate the good aspects in them. Well, dinner was great etc. but one should never feel like they are obligated to recompense.  You do know that the big d!ck guy everyone seems to talk about just because he screws the whole town good does get lonely?  In the same breath: The usual town hoes are getting hitched to some cultured gentlemen while our good church-going boys are getting deflowered by men they would bribe God for no one to find out. 

While David* (The crush mentioned on Tuesday) and his cronies keep sending all these beautiful texts occasionally, I find myself giggling most of the time. Don’t you just hate when people text you hours later, trying to continue a conversation? Bitch, the feeling is gone! It’s ridiculous and a waste of time. Why would I put my life on hold for a guy who’s probably jerking off elsewhere? I hate to see pretty boys beat themselves when a bloke they have a romantic interest in isn’t forthcoming and end up changing some of their values and drinking themselves into oblivion just because a bunch of bitches who ain’t getting laid are misadvising him! (Remember Neville’s special groups?) Always address your mind to the maxim: If a man's being shady with you cut him loose! A true diva is too busy walking on sunshine to chase a man in the shade!

Over the holidays I was reading Sherry Argov’s ‘Why Men Love Bitches’, In P.107 she profoundly observes: 

…the second you work overtime to make yourself fit his criteria, you have lowered your standard of that relationship.

So I’ve finally agreed to the idea of meeting the Ex one of these days for a conversation. Izaak’s having none of it because he detests him with passion and regrets having rekindled conversation between them. It’s 2013. A year I will be asking myself questions before making any commitment be it financially, socially or otherwise. I quote an online resource I went through recently: Can you see yourself marrying him or being with him forever? No. If not, why bother? Maybe you are just looking for a good lay; he’s not your stunt penis that can just slip in for the action scenes. 

Izaak may be right. You can’t have meaningless sex with an ex — there are feelings there. So, maybe I’ll go find me a new boy toy. But then JK in Date 2 is definitely not a toy. He’s young, focused, has strong manners, TALL even but intimidates me in little ways. Shortly after the dinner under the stars moon date, I decided to treat him to pizza (an offer he never turned down). While walking me to my stage, he asked me ‘Cole, where do we stand?’ Luckily we were passing Asile (the shop opposite the Supreme Court where they sell pleasant bags) ‘Do you have your credit card with you?’ I asked him and he was elated at the joke but deep down I’m sure he knew I’m being dodgy!

It’s now public knowledge that I’m not an authority in dating but I think it also means one opening themselves to options and experiences before you really zero into that one person, No? It’s not like I’m looking for a Chanel rock here…

Way Forward…

It’s going to be an intriguing journey and I’ll keep you posted as much. Some adage I may have to force into my seemingly thick skull is not to force friendships. Get into this for the experience and know people with no agenda. The right ones always stick.

The pretty boys’ code is clear: Never expect to be treated like number one if you're playing the role of number two. I pause here and ponder why many of us are governed by the fear of losing a man. The real price to pay is when you lose yourself.

I’m all about getting rich. Money is definitely relative so look at it in terms of strong values and a strong character as some guy told me months back.  You want to cum on my face? Nah! I already have a spirited skin routine before bed time!

Thank you TSRIAN© for your time!

Cole x

The Situation Room (T.S.R)

By Cole Mutahi 2013©

It’s 2013: Poor Dating, Walks of Shame & Cum Bucket Aside; I’m Getting Rich & Hitched (Perhaps?) – Part 1

Previously on T.S.R©

…Of course the tall, dark and handsome qualities are constant. Wait, that dark part doesn’t apply entirely. My crush is of Arab descent and I just don't date brief people though I hear that the shorter the monkey, the longer the tail. He’s also got to be really confident, intelligent, funny, a gentleman, sensitive, sweet and above all a friend, oh and no riff-raff. So far I’m privileged not to have trained a boyfriend ...I don’t subscribe to that primeval notion that when you swallow a man’s cream he will treasure you for eternity …He has an attitude that is smarmy in other men.

*****

I'm sexy and I know it! My subconscious dissents almost immediately. ‘Nah, you're slutty and you blow it bitch!’

I have never belonged to any sorority and one of my Facebook friends sums it up for me nicely. He doesn’t believe in special groups. He further and candidly opines something that tickles my fancy: ‘In my pursuit(s) of dick, I hunt alone. I try my best to avoid those cliques of fake, uptown, elitist gays who think they're more special than everyone else.’ 

Behind The Scenes

Over the weekend I was meeting Izaak M (who’ll be hosting you on T.S.R next month while I’m on some brief vacation) and his beau for bowling and lunch. So while at the counter paying, I notice these scratches on his neck. Look, I’m very sure he doesn’t do BDSM and his beau is as harmless as a lamb so definitely a man wasn’t involved. Apparently he got into some altercation with one of the security guards (female) at Club Envy. I know he’ll develop this story further when hosting you in a week’s time but I’ll tell him this: I have never been there personally but bitch those downtown clubs ain’t good for a fagulous pretty thing like you! 

The New Year has had some intriguing twists on my end. I think of when I was trying to get this new look from my barber. John does a pretty good job shaving me but after the washing, my hair either looked like I’d just fucked or some black, rained on pussy cat. He promptly had to trim it to look short. Some of us got a professional image to preserve – Just to be very clear, I’m talking about my head here.

Then there is the weight gain. Whoa, I have never hit 72Kg’s that effortlessly! So between December and shortly after mid-January I added 9kg’s? Even over the weekend I had to get the opinion of the lady who helps in cleaning my space whether the pants I had on for some meeting were tight. Thankfully, I have reduced it to 69.2 (as at this morning) I was naked fresh from the bathroom and my scale is the analog type with no error so it’s quite something, right? All this was minus the help of Roseline who apparently I’m too lazy to take out lately and if I do it’s just within the hood maybe to get milk or light groceries which reminds me: In case any of you belongs to a biking group which operates on Sunday mornings, kindly get in touch with me, a brother can really use some inspiration here. Maybe I may even get some courage to get those body hugging speedos that accentuate body features I see my cycling counterparts with on some Sunday mornings. That said, you got to love the fine ass that adding some weight gives you. Of course I can’t afford to have a massive booty but a firm sustainable one works. By now you all know that for a black man, it’s better he sees you going than coming! Hello donkey booty owners!

Same lesson, different dates.

Breaking News: I am really bad at dating. See, while on that high horse of being an opinionated bitch with little or no respect for men, I lost my intuitive skills to tell when a guy is having a boner for me. Now before you go all Judge Judy on me some facts are not in question here: I had my first boy kiss while in high school which made me an obsessive slave for that man for almost a year and secondly, come to think of it I have only dated the one guy I met online for 3 months in the first year I got on to social media so in essence my idea of a date is what I read in books and watch in movies. Still wielding your swords? I didn’t think so. Please take a seat.

Date 1: I walk in at the Prestige Plaza food court. It’s 6.45p.m. He’s still in office and he’s advised me to give him a few minutes (Workaholic sign) to clear his table. I order for a latte from the all too familiar waiter, fish out my laptop and modem and get busy as I wait prominently seated next to the elevators and stairs just in case he’s one of those people you need to pull that ‘I got an emergency call’ on. My phone buzzes minutes later with his pseudo name; I get this beam on my face when I see him on the other end of the hallway. I signal him and he briskly walks towards my table grinning from ear to ear. He’s a tad taller than me, has a light shade of chocolate complexion and an athletic body type. He has a pullover on so his chest features are quite overemphasized, has very fitting gray pants that bring out his man thighs. I ignore the groin area as he gets close lest he notices. Boy he’s quite something! I rise and extend a handshake promptly motioning him to join me as I shut down my computer and stash it away in my backpack. I suggest we relocate to the window which he gallantly obliges and offers to carry my half full mug of latte and my specs. A man with beautiful manners it is.

‘So you are really Cole, I expected someone older but I like what I see.’ He says. I instantly blush. I always have that effect on people. He’s visibly checking me out. I purse my lips to give them a wet glow. Shit! I’m actually playing his game. ‘I like that, you should do that again.’ He retorts. I am feeling so disarmed. I quickly assess him again. He has this boyish charm spread across his face and it’s pretty infectious. This is a guy I’d definitely love to belong to one day ceteris paribus! The waiter interrupts my illusions and our silent mind war. ‘Hey, thank you and kindly get me your drinks menu…Beatrice.’  He flirtatiously tells the waiter who’s visibly smitten. I belatedly realize he’s just read her name on the tag on her left boob pocket.

‘Wow, I finally get to meet the babies, can I?’ He says and after scanning the environment around us, he requests for my left hand. My shirt sleeves are apparently all Obama like. He’s now persuaded I’m Cole and just like a pupil who wants to impress his language tutor, he proceeds and asks about my ink and from then on it’s tête-à-tête auto pilot. Beatrice soon returns, he places an order on my behalf of course after requesting for that honor (Guys I hope you’re taking notes). Now that’s what I call initiative! We talk about work, articles, people, politics, approve each other’s pulchritude, flirt some more etc. His phone soon rings and he begs to respond to it (confirms it’s not a date after all) Beatrice brings the meals requested and he quickly thanks her. She blushes some more. I roll my eyes just before he turns back to me smiling. I’m beginning not to like this girl. He’s pretty intuitive and I think he’s having a field day at this silent war. We start eating. Honestly I’m famished. He dexterously slices the strips of roasted pork on his end. I regard him with awe and lots of respect. He equally has great fingers. The things we could do with them! He places the first two pieces on my plate which instantly bring me back from my evil thoughts. Of course I pretend that I’m relaxed but my subconscious is throwing a nude party. A man has never done this for me …except my father but you know this doesn’t count! We talk some more until he gets a text which he gladly asks to respond to. I oblige. He retreats from his plate and asks to go the Men’s room. I look at the time and I’m like Oh No! It’s already 9p.m. I finish my last piece of pork on the plate. He soon joins me and asks whether he can replenish me with more slices. I’m tempted to so as to see those fingers at work again but upon reflection I thank him on his offer and tell him I’m well fed. 

Beatrice returns with the bill. I insist on us going Dutch but he politely declines as an afterthought. Men and their charming mentalities! He requests all the remaining pork pieces, a mound of mashed potato but some not–so–well–done French peas to be packed for me. He’s now all bossy and giving directives. Beatrice must have gotten the memo that I’m the one who calls the shots here.

It’s half past 9 going by the timing on the TV screen in front of us. I excuse myself for the mens' room. It’s the first time he gets to see me parade away from him. I turn and notice he’s looking. I absent mindedly moisturize my dry lips in the mirror because he had complimented them earlier. As I walk back he’s busy on his phone. I run into the earlier waiter and ask him to replenish his bottle of White Cap and get me some tonic water. I make a mental note that other than some white couple, we are the only patrons at the food court at this hour. He’s so elated when he sees the waiter with a bottle of beer. This man loves his drink all chilled. I absent mindedly purse my wet lips for the second time making him twitch on his seat. I must be a turn on! After some more flirtatious moments, he offers to drop me home. I instantly feel two faced about this offer. My groin may betray me and I may end up spoiling this. I look at his thumb and my thumb theory seems to be spot on. Fuck the paperwork, he’s dropping me home! We reach the basement where he has parked his car and it’s all deserted and we are just the two of us. Being already at the driver’s side, I decide I won’t labor him to open for me the passenger door. He offers me some chewing gum. This means something, right?  I start feeling tingly in all my secret places. He drives pretty fast and finally pulls over at the gate to my flat. The gate attendant opens. He parks like he’s been here before. This guy is comfortable with me. I thank him but of course he insists on making sure I am home and dry. I climb the stairs as he trails behind. Once we are finally in, he stands right behind me hoping to be formally welcomed. I urge him to sit. To cut the long story short and since T.S.R upholds some family values, let me just say at the end of it all it was a strictly scripted make–out–until–you –are–naked–then–get–weird session. With his sturdy arms he could lift and hold me against his fine chiseled body my legs coiled around his butt like one of those steamy movie scenes and boy that man could kiss! ‘I swear I really want to fuck you like right now!’ he muttered in between the passionate kisses then the unthinkable happened… I became distant.

Non-Committal Leave taking

You know that distant where a guy realizes you are distracted? That one. I just couldn’t go all the way with him at least not today. I quickly lied I had no rubber with me when he asked for one so as to assert no pumping was going to take place. He asks to go to the washroom and I quickly direct him. He puts on his shirt and gives me the kiss on the forehead that signifies the non-committal leave taking (that goodbye a guy gives you and you straightaway know you’ll never hear from him again). ‘It was really great meeting you Cole.’ He says as he looks at me straight in the eye. I see him off downstairs and he hurriedly gets into his car. I look at my watch and realize it’s midnight. I insist that he lets me know when he gets home safely. 30 minutes later he confirms that he’s got home well. I realize I don’t even know his real name. Meanwhile Fun’s warbling Some Nights in the background. I try to get some sleep but none is forthcoming. I toss and turn and soon I’m in dreamland. I see a long dusty road and a familiar yet peculiar bare chest man with a White Cap beer bottle on his left hand and his forehead resting on his right hand. He’s shaking his head in disapproval.

Date 2: I get to the city center shortly after 7p.m. It’s Christmas day evening and I’ve had quite an eventful day with family. I give my visiting brother the house keys after getting those fleshy turkey thigh sandwiches and ice cream from Uchumi Supermarket and tell him I’ll join him in two hours. I have agreed to some very ridiculous offer: Dinner under the stars! I look up to the expansive sky and see no star in sight. Maybe I should just go home but then I have really restrained myself from eating enough the whole day to the chagrin of some family members. He joins me in 5 minutes dressed all boyish and reckless, hands pocketed in his fitting pants. This is different than the first date where he was all businesslike but then he’d come from church, you got to give it to a man who loves Jesus and still meets you for coffee! He motions me to walk ahead of him. ‘You look so beautiful in pink Cole.’ He says as he quickly scans me. We walk along Moi Avenue, cross over to Tom Mboya Street at some point (I’m beginning to get mixed feelings about this) then walk upwards until we get to the fire station. He insists we board a matatu (public vehicle). I can’t recollect the route number but it was heading to the recently commissioned Thika Super Highway. The drama in me awakens. ‘Where do these matatus go to? You aren’t a blackmailer or something? I’ll head back home. You are trying to trick me? He stands there motionless, his youthful face is blank and even the little psychoanalysis I was taught in shrink school is not helping me. You people have heard of those stories of going to a man’s house after dusk for the first time. He calmly asks me to accompany him and in case of anything I should even feel free to call my brother or anyone to contact me should I go MIA at any point. I ironically board the vessel pissed and it’s a silent trip because he has urged me not to humiliate him. We drop at some point and it’s a walk on a deserted road. The only landmark I make a mental note of is some busy and elegant looking club called Roasters. We walk some more past it until we get to an area where the houses are mostly gated. We finally take a turn in a court. I hear a flowing river nearby and we have a number of trees along this driveway. ‘If he’s to abduct you, you’ll definitely never be found.’ My subconscious reminds me and I swallow a huge ball of saliva. He senses my fear and offers to hold my hand. We are definitely alone in this neighborhood and even if he’s a serial killer I’m at a disadvantage here so I comply. We then stop in front of a high gate and the mansion beyond it spells affluence. Shit, He’s one of them rich kids!

Jo, the gatekeeper opens upon him calling. The dogs instantly start barking. He asks me not to worry and once we are in, he yells to the dogs in their special way of communicating and the dogs instantly get respectable. He opens the front door. I quickly scan the compound. It’s well-manicured and spells lots of affluence. I make a mental note of the 4–wheel guzzler parked in the garage. Once we are in he welcomes me. I scan inter alia the family portraits. He asks me to give him a few minutes. He goes upstairs. He comes back and he’s more relaxed. He’s walking barefoot. I like seeing a man’s naked foot. It’s not only a turn on at times but helps you assess his grooming manners. I’m more relaxed now and belatedly realize we are all alone in this massive duplex. I ask about his family and where everybody is. He explains the portraits authoritatively then asks me to accompany him upstairs. We pass a hallway of some sort through a girl’s bedroom and walk into a balcony. A rug is laid out with some two scatter cushions against each other.  At the center sits a tray full of some very clean crispy French fries; another large plate has some kachumbari (raw mixture of tomatoes, onions and coriander), a bowl full of melon and apple slices and the final tray has a flamboyant spread of coleslaw salad. This guy has cooked dinner for me. Now that’s what I call determination! Did I tell you this boy showed up with a neatly packed gift of straw berries on the first date? Now you know. I got all so mushy that Sunday afternoon and almost gave him a peck but he’s one of those sensitive people who can’t hug you in public so I chose to be respectable!

He serves me a glass of fresh chilled litchi juice and offers to serve me dinner. I notice he looks fucking hot when doing this and of course my mind wanders. Here’s a man, a duplex and dogs, what more do you want Mutahi! He now just needs to go down on his knees and that will be it. Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted. ‘We were both young when I first saw you…’ Taylor Swift! I look up to the sky and notice all this time the moon has been providing the light. No one has ever done this for me. Conversation is pretty great and after a while I’m like, Wait a Minute! The fucking playlist is customized…for ME. From Taylor Swift to Evanescence, The Script right through to Esperanza Spalding! He remembered my favorite songs from the first date! A zega guy doesn’t need to do all this in order to get laid. This must be the hopeless romantic Derrick was talking about the other day only that he’s younger. We finish dinner and he clears the place. By the time he gets back I’m standing on the edge of the balcony my arms crossed admiring the view of the river beyond the trees. I can see it reflecting the moon’s light. ‘You must be cold, can I? He holds me from the back and goes about explaining his neighbors. He’s quite some tower since his chin rests right above my head. I thank him for the dinner and we clink our almost empty flute glasses. ‘To firsts,’ I say, his boyish grin sells him.

I look at my phone and notice it’s half past 9. I send a quick text to Erick my cab guy to tell him that I may need him. He doesn’t respond immediately. Meanwhile back at the ranch, he’s busy fixing me some hot English tea to accompany the appetizing chocolate cake that is on the stool before me. I’m watching (at least pretending to) one of those bitchy reality shows. He hasn’t made a move safe for holding me most of the time and ensuring my feet are covered in some warm nice smelling seat blanket. I have just told him that I’ll have to leave soon. He ignored me and asked whether I need some tea.

It’s 11.12P.M and the cab guy hasn’t responded to my text yet. This is unlike him. JK is beaming. I mean he’s made it clear that we can’t find any taxis around here and he’s forbidden to drive after some accident he had three years back. He actually has a phobia for cars(so he says). I think it’s going to be a long night. I begin to get dizzy; at some point I open my eyes and notice he’s right in front of me staring. ‘You even look beautiful when sleepy.’ He decides to show me the room where I’ll sleep. I get into his room and I instantly laugh. It’s a boys' room. It suddenly feels like a teenage dream of sorts. He shares this room with one of his brothers. I can see his brother’s pin ups of favorite footballers and sporty bed, beats by Dre headphones etc. I look at him and he’s blank. JK has probably never brought a girl (or boy) up here.

To be continued on 31^st January, 2013 …

Next time on T.S.R©

...One’s attachment to a man depends largely on the elegance of his leave-taking…

…If you’re just looking for a good lay, he’s not your stunt penis that can just slip in for the action scenes. You can’t have meaningless sex with an ex — there are feelings there.

…I will not be a cum bucket to a man who’s not going to commit to me!

Regards,

Cole x