The Fap’ Depot…

Sections of this discourse contain coarse and highly suggestive language. Reader discretion is advised.

There is something about time: It fucking heals!

Sunday 9^th October 2011 (3 am)

His sitting room reeks of rubber and KY jelly. Marco’s right leg accidentally kicks broken the glass of vodka he was having before our bodies lost attraction to the clothes they had on as he slowly switches us to another position ensuring his tumescent, studded-condom-covered manhood deeply buried down the depth of my man pussy rectum ass doesn’t pull out. My legs are now perched on his broad shoulders. We’ve been at this for the past thirty minutes. The continuous thrust, thighs colliding sound and his heavy breathing filled with pleasure affirms that I’m meeting a need despite the excruciating bittersweet soreness down there.

His now bloodshot gorgeous eyes regard me for a moment. ‘Don’t cum yet babe.’ He warns planting a French kiss on my wet lips making it plunge even deeper. Lord Have Mercy! I feel horny. I feel pain. I feel the blessing of bottomhood. I feel fulfilled. I feel Marky…

*******

Behind The Scenes

1. Still on our newfound religion Lupita. (Pull your seats) Now it's reported that Brad Pitt - Yeah, that hot sexy 50 year old next best thing after Adam - is keen to take her under his wing and work with her on projects through his own company which co-produced 12 Years a Slave. Hmm. Still with me? They even had brunch at his LA home on the day of the SAG Awards after Brad flew in from Australia. In Angelina Jolie's absence they went as each other's dates to both ceremonies and were locked in conversation all night. I don’t even know the moral of this story since some American dykes in an online forum decided to argue that AJ and Lupita make a hot couple. Oh, the shudder at the thought! Ladies, please let’s behave. You win!

2. Now despite its ban locally, The Wolf of Wall Street was one fucking great movie. We are talking orgies, substance abuse, hookers, lots of paper and fucking yachts until one of you decided to take advantage of the rest of us in our state of ogling at nudity (some of us due to long-drawn-out dry spells) and regretting why we never majored in Economics in college. It’s good to bring to our attention that a Kenyan name is actually in the movie. Seriously though, how do you even notice this? What’s wrong with you? Are you asexual or something?

*******

The Modern Coast bus zooms its way past a dead Ntulele town. It feels like driving on a freeway along the Bible belt state of Missouri. Adele passionately squeaks ‘someone like you’ in my ears. Marco asks for one piece of the earphones. ‘Nice.’  He whispers as he squeezes my hand reassuringly underneath the silence and darkness of this Migori bound bus. A black polythene bag with my Bible in it rests between us.

…I reminisce of the events that led to this.  Met at 4p.m the previous day for a first date after I’d come from church even though it was in a pub and diner located in a considerably almost dingy street of Nairobi’s CBD (Thankfully not Reke Marie). After a four-hour conversation on mutual areas, we went to another watering hole where he danced regularly keeping an eye on our table me. I remember making him serve me my soda, something he was very shy to do at first but all the same he did. What? If a homie is gonna have you for the night he ought to earn it by doing uncomfortable shit. When he asked for my hand to check the time and realized it was 1am, he asked me to take a road trip with him. This remains one of the wildest things I’ve ever done in my life as a homosexual. What if he was a serial killer!

We arrive at Narok town at almost three in the morning. It’s very chilly with countryside buses stopping for refreshment or health breaks for their long distance passengers, motorbikes waiting to ferry their drunken clients home or brothels and vendors selling roasted maize. He offers me his jacket before we board the motorbike which he allows me to climb first before joining me and resting his chin on my neck. I sense I’m missing something but I can’t immediately place my mind on what exactly. Horny much? 

The bike finally pulls over in front of a huge green gate manned by a Maasai guard whose vigilance is a rich area of benchmarking for his heavy-eyed Nairobi counterparts. Marco pays the motorbike rider his dues and ushers me in occasionally holding my waist as we walk along the rocky driveway with immaculately constructed blocks that define his neighbourhood.

To cut the long story short, dude had game i.e. shagging was like flying first-class.  We dated for four months. He said I used to bring out the best in him. Oh well, (feigning nonchalance) of course I’m not the type to just lie there as a log, isn’t it a two-way street? He was a real top who could service you good. I bet he still does. He was the first and last person I talked to in a day. Embarrassing as it was, he always examined me during our shower time because he understood taking d!ck was not an easy call. However, I not only suspect that he used to suffer from sex addiction but also, he surreptitiously used to bang women too. Some of those bedroom gymnastics! *Fanning Myself*

In fact during this past festive season, while sipping a pristine club’s special mocktail called ‘Apple of my eye’ and I saw a semblance of him, I was persuaded that he is not anything like these commonplace alleged tops of nowadays who want you to stimulate them with your finger to make them cum or better yet when you sleep together give you their backs hoping for some act from you. *Shaking My Head* This has happened to me and as expected, I lost my erection. True Story. He however called me on 1^st January, 2014 to wish me a Happy New Year after a two year hiatus with prospects of a catch up date. Oh I wish. Got to thank him though for inspiring this piece!

*******

An unattended to 15ml bottle of Nivea lotion rests precariously against the old Pentium 4 computer. Some white crinkled up serviettes whose use are alien to me lie next to the mouse. I reach out to push them to a nonexistent dustbin on the dusty floor that has patches of wetness and more used serviettes strewn over. In the process my fingers touch some wetness of sorts. Yuck! I say audibly prompting instant attention from the other patrons in the cyber café who all simultaneously look at me in shock and silent humour. 

I reach out for one of my moccasins and use its rubber heel to push the serviettes down the floor. I then grab my brown canvas man purse and fish out my Dettol sanitizer. I sniff the wet patch on my forefinger. It is redolent of someone’s cum. I rub my hands against each other after applying the sanitizer, all the while the dark man in a red and white striped T-shirt and some stylish jeans seated adjacent to me regarding me circumspectly in some sort of anticipation as he sips his 300ml bottle of Stoney Sparletta soda that he had rushed to purchase a few minutes ago. His computer isn’t logged on so basically he’s intentionally doing this. I smile broadly prompting him to look away. After some consideration I look around me and notice everyone seems to be occupied. Feeling fidgety on this seat after the cum incident, I decide to move positions to the next booth. The dark guy looks up at me looking worried that I’m parting.

I finally rest my ass on a warm seat. The man previously seated here was the one Mungai had told me during our pre-visit of this place that he had once made a move on him but when he saw him unleashing his junk complete with a blue condom on, he had felt disgusted and had been thrown into a place of worry and confusion on when that condom was worn or whether it his is practice to walk around with one on. 

Tonight the cyber is quiet with some now all too familiar whiff renting the air. The eyes of the people behind the computer screens dart with alertness and guilt to stop doing whatever they are doing when anyone walks in to the upper part of the establishment. The tall handsome man with rugged hair doesn’t disappoint. He’s in a blue T-shirt and his developing muscles are noticeable. He briskly walks to a guy’s booth at the far corner on the left of the stairs. He hangs around there for a while in some sort of negotiation and at some point seemingly drops something. He bends over to collect it. His companion’s eyes close as his head leans against the wall that has a rusty fan above. I belatedly realize he’s being given head! Doesn’t he fear contracting some HPV or something? It then confirms my source’s tip on his extensive experience for sucking d!ck. He hurriedly rises up when he hears some steps from downstairs, rubs his wet mouth and pretends like he’s helping his now alert friend access a document. Yeah Right.

I digress. The computers at this cyber café operate on Linux, a very frosty freeware Operating System designed to ward off bugs that are commonplace due to the heavy access to porn sites(the movie folders on the desktop and the porn scenes that greet you when you click on the web browsers are sufficient to support this averment). This, if you have any techie interest in you is economical for their operating expenses. I mean being in the CBD and in a relatively reasonable street, they have rent expenses et al. The surfing price per minute is 50 cents higher than its counterparts despite its low speeds but it remains full with a constant traffic of majorly horny customers. No one has or will ever convince me that they are working on a project or printing some serious work whilst here.

The tall under–the–table–giving–head man walks to the corner booth where he was previously seated when he notices the new arrival that interrupted his tryst is walking towards his place. A bulge is conspicuous on his groin area. The man on my left is talking in hushed tones on his phone. My phone interrupts my assiduous observations. It’s Mungai. How convenient! I rise up to fish it out of my pocket. I make a mental note that the guy on phone’s computer screen is on some serious gal on gal action and his hand is massaging his crotch before I sit down.  ‘Cole, any action yet?’ He inquires. I restrain a response. ‘You need to stop concentrating on your phone and at least show them you are easy. That will be your passport to a story.’ He opines. ‘What do you mean by that exactly?’ I ask him. ‘Jeez you are such an amateur. Do this. Just lay back against the wall, pretend you are also watching something erotic, touch your nipple area or even let your hand hover around your crotch. If someone stares, give them your usual plastic smile. That should lead you to something. And for God’s sake log on to Facebook, I need live updates via chat despite your reservations…’ My phone drops on the floor towards the booth on the right interrupting our conversation. As I bend to pick it, I notice the guy on my right is massaging his uncut cock while watching something on his screen. He winks at me.  Holy Shit!

“What are you wearing?” The gentleman on phone asks in a low voice but his deep voice sells him. I notice from the corner of my eyes that he’s staring. From his conversation, I have since gathered it’s a girl he either admires or banging and feels the need to ‘be faithful’ due to the long distance between them. The tall tower of water rises up and makes his way to the staircase, he stops by the booth where he was sucking some man beef momentarily, takes the dude’s number and leaves amid the usual darting eyes (except the guy on phone) that escort his sagged pants exposing his Emporio Armani boxers. Classy.

Start Session

Bowing to Mungai’s pressure thanks to one of his usual long worded text message that has spilled up to the third page (homie never abbreviates words), I click ‘Start Session’ on the Computer tab for the first time and when it finally opens, it reveals a web page of some serious interracial porn.  I attempt to close it only to reveal another web page on an ongoing gay orgy where a white twink is being shagged by some two muscled Afro–American looking men. I close this web page too and it reveals the last where the Google search results tell the person was searching for ‘Girls fucking horses’. Seriously guys, what is so difficult about pressing CTRL–SHIFT–DELETE? When typing Facebook on the URL box, the list of history that drops down is some pretty messed up shit. We are talking Thug List, Raw Rods, and White old woman being fucked by a gangsta to the typical sites like Romeo.

‘Feel at home.’ He tells me when he notices I’m looking at his sustained fondling of his genitals as I ridiculously pretend I’m fondling my nipple area. Mungai, I’ll sue you for this! The room’s population has shrunk with two Ethiopian Somali looking men seated together directly opposite me. A clean shaved man has sat on the seat where the Armani boxer guy was and a slightly tall but regular patron of this place (going by Mungai’s brief) is seated on the booth on the right of the uncut cock guy occasionally struggling to raise his head and see what’s going down there. 

He’s a dark man in white shorts and a black top fitting shirt that hugs his muscular chest resembling those bouncers you see at Club Envy who I’m still struggling to understand whether they are hired for security or their sex appeal. I will address this shortly. ‘I’m at home.’ I respond matter-of-factly. ‘Oh you’re a top!’ He blurts out. I right away rebut his sentiments, something I feel I should have just let slide. Did I even owe this stranger any explanation? ‘I’m Pato. What’s your name?’ He asks. My heart is pounding like a drum. His hand is still busy on his junk, his eyes ushering me to look. It’s not as promising, and the way his muscular frame had given me hope. ‘I’m Collins.’ I respond. Silence. “So you’re are gay or just getting the stuff off your system?” I ask feeling sententious. “I’m Bi.” He responds. I look at him expecting him to specify. “Can you show me your stuff? You’ve got a nice bulge going on there.” He remarks. “It’s too small. I don’t think it will tickle your fancy.” I reply realizing I’m fucking hard just by talking to him. Mungai had told me not to dare unleash my wee wee in such a public place.  “So…now that you said you’re Bi, what role do you…” “I love getting fucked.” He interrupts my question halfway with an answer that throws me off balance. Whoa, Kumbe Role si muscle (So role really has nothing to do with muscles!) I keep it to myself feeling slightly dejected. 

The guy who was struggling to peep at his booth comes back from downstairs carrying a Maasai fabric and a purple plastic stool. He strategically comes and sits between us but more inclined to Pato’s side because I seem not to be interesting as none of my wares is out.  Just a crotch protuberance.  He opens his zipper and uses the fabric to partly cover his loins as anyone climbing the stairs would notice if they looked on their right. He seems quite massive and a good fit for Pato who has since confessed to me that he doesn’t take anything below 7.5’. But he leaves sooner than he came. When I ask Pato why he let the guy leave that fast yet he met his credentials, he says he was a turnoff.  

A Shocking Revelation

Since I’ve declined to relent on my stance, he continues massaging his rod until I hear a groan of sorts and a relief indicating that he has found released the contents of his prostate. He tells me that he ought to head home before his wife starts calling him. He further tells me that he has a 3–month old girl. I am like Aww. The straight guy from earlier rolls his eyes reminding me that I’d forgotten to witness what heterosexual climax sounds like. Must be a quiet affair I think. How lousy. Pato stands and puts on his blue sweater covering his muscles but his lifted chest is too conspicuous underneath that pullover.  My screen is still stuck on the Facebook log in page with my accrued surfing fees at almost forty shillings (For doing nothing) I start typing the first letter of my name inadvertently pressing the next key on the keyboard revealing an email of a now household name: Marco. Shock much?

‘Do you have a phone number?’ Pato disrupts my nomadic thoughts. I take his phone and enter my phone number. “Nice fingers”. He says as he gives me a missed call, of course tetchy on why I only have an Airtel line. I smile oblivious of his lamentations as he walks away excited. 

Have I just discovered that I was seduced from this place? It now makes a lot of sense. My first date with Marco was in this same building. While I was waiting for him at the diner and restaurant upstairs, he had asked for at least three minutes to join me saying he was within the building running some errand.  Errand indeed.

As I rise to leave, the heterosexual guy rises at the same time adjusting his zipper. We bump on each other at the squeezed corridor towards the stairs. He smiles allowing me to go first. The things Men do for me!  Before descending down the flight of stairs, I momentarily stop and survey my surroundings. The TV screen is showing Vivica Fox’s “Three can play that game”. She’s talking about when a man gets an erection…The ever alert men’s faces are now up their eyes darting with guilt as anticipated. 

I think of the influx of men who patronize this place to cure a horny urge or satisfy a porn addiction. I think of my fellow counterparts who have been seduced to Narok and such other places at hours of the hyena just to get a good lay.  I think of the cleaner who has to clean the cum-soaked strewn serviettes on the floor every morning or even keep the forgotten jar of Vaseline or bottle of lotion.  I think of my last relationship and where it was born. I smile to myself when it finally dawns on me: This is the Fap’ Depot!

Next Week on C.D.R:

…Personal space already breached, she looks at her the way I would want a man to look at me. This is some fucking hot lesbian dyke love!

What’s with homosexuals and self entitlement?

‘The guy seated with your friend is a pastor that has a big dick. Please don’t ask me more. I am just sharing some useful information.’ Mungai tells me as he dances to…I make a reminder in my head to pray for him for misleading a man of God.

This and more next week when we talk about: The Balcony of Men’s Hopes!

Cole