The Straight Man Varsity Crush – PT 2

Prologue

Karenju puts aside his cue stick and spreads me on top of the olive clothed pool table. Our naked sweaty bodies rub against each other our breathing clearly in synch as we both burn with desire. Carnal desire. He reeks of male sweat typical of a construction worker who forgot to freshen up. I’m redolent of a musky scent courtesy of a mild masculine deodorant. I run my fingers through his short dreadlocks as he skillfully gives me head and once he’s done I equally comply stealing a few glances from him. His mouth has formed a neat ‘O’. He thrusts himself forward making his tumescence almost choke me. He steadily holds my head in place and gets down reaching for his wallet in his stained jeans and fishes out a sachet of studded condom handing it to me to do the needful.  He flips me over. I close my eyes in wait for the next ordeal and just then a phone starts wailing. I open my eyes and realize it’s one of my morning dreams again! The prefix number +40 (Romania) on my screen instantly sends shivers down my spine…

I reside live in stay in a huge two-wing flat in Dagoretti. It’s not a high end location though it's largely middle class. I occasionally spot some German recons on the feeder roads; there is the learned friend cum silver metallic Mercedes C 200 owner with hairy legs who lives in a duplex across the road and jogs quite early on Monday mornings; As residents inhabitants we also get to hang out at The Junction Mall which just like when waiting for a delayed flight at Mombasa Airport’s terminal 4 on a cold Sunday night is good for celebrity spotting e.g. Wahu leaving the establishment with an all grown up Tumiso in a silver metallic beamer or Risha, our resident event entrepreneur being chauffeured in a white 4WD pickup etc. All this as you sip your glass of iced Cappuccino at Artcaffe. On the front wing of my flat are some establishments including an exclusive Pool Table place where Karenju (the landlord’s nephew) hangs out most of the time. I don’t date short people but no one said anything about sleeping with them. Only time will tell whether he and I eat the forbidden fruit. Can I hear an Amen? Maybe it's all just in my head but the sexual tension between us is just too strong. My fantasies of him range from him accosting me in the hallway to the flat during a black out, tying me up and making me his sex slave in the rooftop that is still under construction among others that I may not be able to divulge here. Basically him doing bad things with me. *Hides*

It’s a bright Saturday morning. I get out Roseline after pumping some air into her wheels and mount the paper bag containing the suits I’m to take to the laundry on her handle bars. As I make my way down the stairs with the bike, a short, dreadlocked, chocolate complexioned man with unshaved facial hair in a black and white jumper and cargo pants that reveal well chiseled calves like those of a seasoned Manchester United Player looks at my direction with a broad smile. ‘Niaje Collo (Hi Collins)!’  I almost miss a step. Fuck!

*****

Behind the Scenes

So last week I was finally clearing my desk and some of my immediate former colleagues decided to go mushy mode. There’s Edwin who particularly decided to give me an incisive lecture on how I should now get a respectable girl and wife her citing my estimable sense of responsibility and ability to educate some little devils. I roll my eyes. Then there’s Bob. ‘We’ll miss you,’ he said. I particularly feel I should have at least developed an interest to know him more. I mean last year I was working with him in Mombasa and he’s the same guy who made me grace the famed den of sin Casa Blanca. But then he has a beer gut, drinks like a fish and he ain’t rich plus I hear he also has a weak loin when it comes to womenfolk. What a ghastly list of qualities! Wait, why am I even talking about him? Delete that.

The Madaraka weekend was largely spent outdoors. Saturday was shopping for shoes and a pressure cooker. I flog the bus while it's going downhill and since it's still in motion, the tout lifts me with both his hands on the steps instantly making me smile awkwardly because it feels ticklish. I think the two men seated on the second pair of seats from the door noticed because upon me getting in (the bus that is), I do sense they are checking me out questioningly. My inner goddess with its arms akimbo be like ‘Whatchu looking at?’  I sit my proud a** on a window seat adjacent to them. I liked it!

The Lunch Date…

I get to the city center and give Simon a call. He picks on the second ring and accordingly gives me directions. ‘Let me know when you are in a matatu (public vehicle)’ he says.  I decide to get into a supermarket at least to get some soft drinks, crisps and confectionery. I’m going to a bachelor’s house. It’s always good practice to carry something when visiting someone’s (boyfriend included) home. People may have been starving in that house and you may as well be the Jesus they need to multiply the five loaves and two fish.

The journey on the Thika Super Highway is smooth and being a Sunday it isn’t exactly eventful. I have no idea where we are going but carefully know that I'll be alighting at the final bus terminal. The vehicle makes a turn off the freeway onto a busy street and as it surges forward, I notice the area is highly industrial. The only familiar sight is Chandaria Industries just because the name rings a bell. In a few minutes, the vehicle halts. ‘Hapa ndio Baba Dogo (This is the place)’. The tout informs me; I make a further phone call and upon Simon’s advisement board a motorcycle that wades through a dusty road. I tell him to drive traverse carefully as I’m not used to being on these death traps. I also get to find out that public vehicles don’t access this road and the motorbikes operate until late. We finally stop in front of a flat that intriguingly spots at least a CCTV camera. I pay the rider and he bids his bye. As I make my phone call, I see some young men in a shade playing draught.  A tall, dark and fine African man – wearing an Arsenal T-shirt – finally waves at me from the first floor balcony and says he’ll be down shortly. He’s carrying a female toddler…

So Simon can still pull a manly hug while balancing a kid who already disapproves of me, what does he think; it’s a group hug now? ‘You have a beautiful daughter...’  I say to him as he finally closes the gate behind us. He has probably missed the cynicism in my voice. Smiling almost immediately, ‘…actually it’s my niece, don’t worry she’ll warm up to you soon’. He says. My conscience is twirling like Kenya Moore. As we enter the house I notice I can see the Kasarani stadium on the other side of the valley and once he has introduced me to the young and fine handsome man seated next to the window with a game pad on his hand and the lady who I immediately gather is the sister, I hand him over the bag of goodies. The diva of a child beams as she follows the mother to the kitchen.

I take a seat on the three-seater orange couch. There is a bottle of Blue Moon on the table and a bottle of black currant soda too. The screen is showing some paused game. Asked on what I want, I settle for some sprite (it’s among the drinks I bought). I scan the spacious living room. It’s naturally well lit with neat tiles of a floor and high bright walls. He probably moved in here recently going by the huge chunk of space. Carrying a glass and the bottle of soda, he serves me and sits almost next to me (Point). He replenishes his glass of liquor and asks me whether I’m interested in playing the game but I immediately pass on it offering to watch how they battle it out. After some sword wielding and several blood smears. It’s Game Over. I feel relieved. Men still play computer games? I ain’t old but really guys?

He recommends we watch the One O’clock News. My grasp on the ongoing Parliament vis-à-vis the salary interchanges with the country’s remuneration commission is clearly valued going by the nods I’m getting from the two gentlemen. ‘I see you are a gunners fan?’ I say to him feeling sententious on my ability to pick a safe 'man topic'. He holds his shirt with two tips of his fingers. The goddess has dropped the akimbo posture and it’s up in arms busy shouting Strip! Strip!  ‘You mean this? No, it’s my brother’s, in fact thanks for reminding me, I shouldn’t step out in it!’  I gather the brother is out of jurisdiction. The subject matter of the recent election petition at the Supreme Court is also palatable though it’s the only area where we hold opposing views until the sister brings a meal of white rice and beef for us to devour. The aroma is invigorating! Simon moves inches closer to me to make space for his sibling(Point). 

After the lunch I ask whether he has anything interesting to watch and just then a text message from my buddy Jo-C comes in. ‘Cole, I’m attending the European festival at Alliance Francaise from 3. Feel free to join me.’ I type a quick rejoinder seeking a rain check. He suggests we go out to get a movie citing it will also be great to familiarize with the area. I grab my camera and put it in my pocket. Simon walks on my right and the cousin flanks me on the left. ‘This is Lucky Summer. I’ve been here for a month now since I moved from my folks place in Southlands’. I keenly listen as he explains. Once we are past some dusty playground, we get to a very busy street. ‘Hawa ni vijana wa mtaa, wamependa madre (these guys are the locals, they love drugs and stuff)’. The intuitive cousin explains my interest in some not-so-Mutahi-approved young men seated next to an unfinished construction site. He points to me the famed Dandora dumping site on the other side of the valley. I feel like taking a snapshot but when he mentions that a slum starts at the end of the path we are in, I abandon the interest altogether. ‘Collins, ever been to Dandora?’ Simon intriguingly asks me. I shake my head in full agreement. ‘Yeah, I was there last year on my community health work side hustle…’  We take a left turn and run into a neat alley (well, almost) with some two beautiful block of flats and enter a kiosk that is playing some loud Luo music. I can effortlessly make out the words Nyathi Maasai until the lady attendant reduces the volume to attend to us.

At some point when the cousin is talking to the attendant, we are lost in our own conversations. Badmouthing former lecturers, I making fun of his bulging beer gut. He only smiles and rubs it with a vestige of pride. He forgot to remove the Arsenal T-shirt. The guy clearly loves his pints. He picks a movie, seeks my approval and asks whether we should leave(Point).

Conclusions

Ice Age 4 was a great animation to watch despite me dozing off briefly. Simon slept through almost the whole thing and only momentarily feigned alertness when I was replenishing my drink and/or when he had to enlighten me on Drake and Nicki Minaj’s voices. After the flick, he opens his playlist and starts playing some very depressing music. “Yellow Tape” by Lil Wayne ft. Fat Joe et al (Thanks to Google, now I know this). What a better way to crown an affirmative position of straightness BUT…

Shouldn’t a straight man be busy with his girlfriend or something on a weekend? He has since offered to pay a visit to my neighborhood when he returns from a work related rendezvous. I’m absolutely agreeable to it. The universe seems to have a way of always bringing us together. Perhaps he's shy and fears making a move. Maybe he’s that guy who likes taking his time. Maybe he's as straight as an arrow just the way my first instinct has already ruled. But his warm embrace was again offered at the bus terminal just before I boarded a vehicle back to the city center... Okay fine, I need to stop this BS of denial. A zega man can use a straight man for a friend right? God knows we have scarcity of these. Probably it’s the universe’s way of telling me that for once I can use a friend for a change and not just a random dick loving man in a Chelsea soccer T-shirt!

P.S

That Romania phone call is a whole different article. We can’t cloud Simon’s day on T.S.R with another High School blunder. Oops. I’m out.

Cole Mutahi

Next Time on T.S.R

‘Can I get you some ice cream?’ He asks after the movie...

…it is very important to compliment some of our men. I mean, isn’t there a saying that when you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life thinking it’s stupid?

The Straight Man Varsity Crush…

Prologue

I’m in Stan’s striped turquoise Van Heusen shirt with barely anything underneath safe for some briefs. He walks into the room and effortlessly lifts me with his sturdy arms, walks across the hallway like he would with a one year old in a playing ground my barely covered ass flagrantly suspended in the air and finally places me on the kitchen counter.

‘It’s time to feed you babe’. He says.  

Bare chest and only in his pajama pants he briskly walks across the kitchen area to the fridge. I regard him greedily. Finally, I got my own naked stud that every gay man dreams of serving me breakfast.  After pouring us a glass of fresh pink Guava juice, he fishes out some eggs and a packet of bacon and places them on the centralized kitchen table and comes to where I’m seated instantly disrupting my wandering mind. He places a soft peck on my lips as he turns on the electric kettle about 30 centimeters from my right thigh. I stretch my arms towards him and he gladly obliges. His embrace has a direct line to my loins! ‘You are very unquenchable Mr. Cole Stanley!’  He says to me as he places down the glass of juice he had in his right hand. He slowly starts unbuttoning the shirt until a phone that sounds like mine rings…

And just like that my Sunday morning dream is accordingly ruined at least one hour before my usual wake up time. Further, I may never get to find out the identity of this beautiful man who called me by his name!

*****

Behind the Scenes

I’ve just come from a very appetizing lunch this afternoon with some two gentlemen at Mocha Mocca, (my pronunciation is still off but I’m catching up) a neat and cozy establishment located on Koinange street. Their thick cocktail juice on the house courtesy of the manager who was introduced just after I’d placed an order for lunch! I think it’s a great place to like go on a date. 

I can neither remember the last time I cooked in my small kitchen nor the last time I got some yet I’m still at a constant 75kg’s (Hides under the table) since the New year festivities.  Maybe JK (remember him?)must have put something in that meal devoured under the stars moon. When my grey Dunhill suit pants can be easily worn without a belt, then I know the universe has my attention. Despite my best efforts to skip a meal daily or even resume my 40 minute walk from town to Prestige at least once a week, nothing seems to be forthcoming. But then is there harm if I crave for some ice cream mixed with some small pineapple and chocolate pieces, a hint of mint all laced with a spread of maple syrup on a Friday night? I’d also like to make myself believe that  I’m not the same person who was toasting sandwiches with ham last night after watching News for today’s breakfast. Good thing I always make like three or four extra to share with my three colleagues. At times when you are ballooning up, you may as well create a support system that compliments your culinary skills learnt from attending buffets at diverse restaurants in the city. So it’s high time I probably give a familiar name from a chapter in my past (that is into personal training et al) a ring this weekend.

Audrey Mbugua hit the headlines yesterday in very intriguing News (Well, of course the ever crappy heteros on social media are still having a field day making fun of her yet they ain’t getting laid) where she has sued the Kenya National Examination Council for using a male version of her name after undergoing a sex change. In my opinion not only as a passionate person to matters LGBTIQ but also a Law enthusiast, I do think this move is by all means timely and good fodder for our sublimely talented LGBTI activists to make a point but in the same breath Ms. Audrey’s application to the constitutional court is frail. It will probably be dismissed with the usual arguments such as ‘Your Lordship, allowing the applicant’s (avoiding her/his references) application will open floodgates to….blah blah’. Then while at it they’ll rely on inter alia the Robert Muasya case (which was dismissed by a three judge bench) as an authority. To bring you up to speed, he’s the locked up hermaphrodite intersex man who was awarded half a million for the inhuman treatment he experienced in prison due to his sexual condition. The court stated in its judgment: 

“Kenyan Society is predominantly a traditional society in terms of social, moral and religious values. We have not reached a stage where such values involving matters of sexuality can be rationalized or compromised through science.”

Based on the foregoing, I think Kenya is pregnant with the bias to question things. I mean from ‘Dog porn in Mombasa’ through ‘Man defiles dog in Limuru’ to the ‘Cabinet Secretary in charge of Defence questioned on how she will curb homosexuality in our disciplined forces’ or better yet ‘Deputy Chief Justice designate being asked on her opinion on Homosexuality as a subject of legislation’, these conversations are a sign of an evolvement of sorts and be that as it may, Audrey’s case will be a milestone model in itself. Any reasonable legal mind would tell you it’s all good for development of Law in this country.

<<< OCTOBER 2008

It’s an early evening. I get to the Lecture Theater where my Economics class is supposed to be only to find out that the lecturer has left instructions to the effect that there will be no class today and we should read the handouts he’s left with some reticent looking young man that I right away gather is a graduate assistant.  Once I pick my handout and safely stash it away in my rucksack, I make my way towards the Strathmore University cafeteria for a deserved cup of tea and two andazis (deep fried buns, sort of).  After the tea I look at the time on the cafeteria clock and realize it will still take time before 8.15p.m when the first bus leaves for the city center. I take the stairs to first floor and briskly walk towards my favorite time passing spot: Suswa Computer Lab.  Once settled on a machine and provided the requisite password. I get onto Facebook, My Yahoo mail and also its OMG page! My social media time soon gets boring after a few chats and when I finally raise my head, I not only notice that I still have about fifty minutes to go but that the laboratory is almost empty safe for a few heads engrossed . I decide to have a quick glance at the handout and make a few notes.

“Excuse me, can I ask for some assistance?” A deep male voice interrupts my focus.

As I turn to face the direction where it came from, I instantly abandon all my previous concentration. He’s dark, has a neatly shaved goatee and a fine moustache that still manages to emphasize his looks despite his slightly jagged hair that is almost anti - Strathmore. The white shirt with light shade of red pin stripes hugs him in a way and I can remotely sense he has some broad chest underneath.

“Sure” I respond. He smiles a little.

“How many banks are currently in the country and which one do you think has the highest lending rate?” He poses a question to me.

“ There’s Stanchart, KCB, Stanbic, DTB, Equity, Chase Bank, Ecobank….” I respond noting he’s ticking and scribbling against some notebook. I make a mental note of his long fingers.

“I’d left out Stanbic and Ecobank in my list.” He interrupts my wandering thoughts.

‘Then there’s also Citibank and this Muslim one located  in ICEA…Gulf African Bank!’ I respond with some zeal and notice the approval in his eyes.

“The highest lending rate of course I would bet between Stanchart and Barclays. Did we include it in the list?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, it was in my original draft, thanks. I’m Simon by the way. I study BBIT”.  He acquiesces extending a handshake. His grip is firm. How beautiful!  My subconscious is having none of it. Cole Focus!

“I’m Collins from the School of Accountancy downstairs”. I extend back the handshake smiling.

We resume the busy state we were in but I am happy. I soon notice that it’s already 7 minutes past eight o’clock. I decide to pack my paperwork in my rucksack. He seemingly looks busy probably working on a project. “See you around”.  I quietly say as I rise to leave the computer lab.

Two weeks later a 6 foot 1 tower of water dressed in Khaki pants and a short sleeved black shirt carrying a black folder walks into the cafeteria as I’m taking a bottle of soda and sausages before class. He turns to my direction, waves then upon being served his cup of tea joins me in my table.

 “Hey, how are you Collins Long time?” He excitedly greets me asking whether he could sit with me.  Of course I agree.

“Hi, long time it is, you know lectures makeup and all plus the traffic to this place in the evenings does me injustice”. I respond matter-of-factly. I can actually feel the tone of my response is very casual but deep down I’m excited.  Besides, I saw him with some pretty girl next to the auditorium last week and of course he doesn’t know.  The conversations are rushed as 5.30 approaches and he finally leaves me heading to the Lecture Theater as he takes the stairs. This is the blooming of my friendship with a straight man.

FAST FORWARD >> 2011

I’m walking along Ngong Road slightly past Kenyatta Hospital at 9 in the morning heading to work.  He gives me a hug. The first one between us though it’s the ordinary one typical among platonic males. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he asks me whether I’ll be free to attend his graduation next Friday. I agree and numbers are promptly exchanged. The rest of the journey to work is pretty brief as nostalgia kicks in. The Chapati and green gram meals at Siwaka Plaza since the pork chops at the cafeteria were outrageously pricy, the invite to study at the Opus dei brothers ‘ residence just before the university main gate where I got to learn more or less how single educated men who have traveled the world are obscenely rich in God?

Next Friday I get a text from him. I respond and accordingly advice him I’m on my way. He gives me specific directions to where the after party will be since I’m already late for the function at the graduation square. I ‘m in my black Marks and Spencer  two buttoned suit, my favorite blue shirt, a pencil black tie and boots. By the time Simon and his delegation reach the house in Madaraka, I’ve clearly outdone everyone including the man of the moment who’s also flogged by the same pretty girl I saw him with two years ago. Can you blame a zega man for dressing the part? I get my hug, longer this time.

It was a great afternoon right through the evening where I was given a special chance to give a speech  on behalf of all his friends who I’d gotten to know at the front porch while we were waiting for lunch to be served. Some rehearsed Luo introduction got me some points in his family scorecard but I’m sure my pronunciation was shitty going by the giggles in the room.

Saturday 4 May 2013

It’s about 11a.m.

I’ve been working from 8 as I’m on the verge of leaving my job to take up some arduous task later this month (explains the interviews I was attending early this year) So I’m slowly walking around Kencom building heading to my bus terminal to take a vehicle home donned in a black leather jacket, some very fitting pair of jeans and a paper bag full of cookies from Paul’s Cookiemans tied on my right hand which is awkwardly pocketed in the jacket and dangling on my right thigh. My eyes are failing me as I’m very lethargic after the morning obligation (Saturdays are never a working day for me anyway) and my normally streamlined hair thanks to texturizer is a bit off like one of those characters who has just been fucked in some dingy hotel room in Accra road with a married man visiting from a different county.

A tall man in a horizontally stripped grey T-shirt stops right in front of me. I raise my head slightly only to notice it’s Simon.  Shit, why of all days does he have to find me all disheveled like this? My subconscious is throwing tantrums meanwhile I am trying to loosen the paper bag of cookies and it just won’t cooperate. Simon is patiently observing my ordeal with a very unambiguous face and when my hand is finally free he grabs me into another of those straight man hugs. It feels heavenly.

He tells me he has since moved from his family home and now he’s staying off Thika Super Highway and suggests that we should have lunch soon. An idea I openly agree to. He apologizes that he lost my number and asks me for it. I scroll down to his name and call him upon which he promptly saves it. He gives me his goodbye hug and we go our separate ways. 

*****

The Lunch Date

A beam of rays penetrates my window. The phone next to my bed is literally wailing. I look at it and pick it up. It’s Simon.

‘Hey Collins, what time will you be getting here?’ He asks.

‘I’ve just woken up; let me come there shortly after midday?’ I ask.

(A child crying in the background and a lady talking) ‘Sure thing buddy…let me know when you get to the city centre for me to give you directions.’  He says.

I look at the time and notice it’s already half past nine. I get out of bed and walk to my small kitchen to boil some water for coffee. I then proceed to my wardrobe  and open my closet.

To be continued…

 

 

Cole Mutahi

Would you 'walk a mile' in a bottom's shoes? : The Conversation Continues...

Last Week on T.S.R

I am a 2 – tier virgin in the sense that pussy is off limits. Never seen it, never touched it…

I’m all about being a respectable pretty boy in the streets, a chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom but I’ll admit I am no power bottom.

Tops need stop treating encounters with bottoms as some form of speed dating and then getting annoyed when it’s revealed that the bottom getting coffee was, in fact, actually getting coffee rather than cruising for some shitstorm…

The trick is not how much pain you feel but how much joy you feel. Any idiot can feel pain. Life is full of excuses to feel pain, excuses not to live, excuses, excuses, excuses.

…The law of the land dictates the man who does the fucking calls the shot. I will never bottom for a dude because then he makes you his bitch.

A Bottom has got to learn how to open his mouth for more than just giving head.

…I don’t care if they are angry or frustrated because someone (us) changed the rules while they weren’t looking and forgot to send them a goddamned memo. Get used to it, guys. Or get a pussy cat!

*****

‘I think the biggest error is to try to raise bottoms or tops. The role identification is mirroring the current views of women towards men. Are we trying to emulate the straight society? I can speak by experience. I’ve always been a top since I was raped and had the aforesaid image. Suddenly some gem has taught me that love and sex can be either way satisfying far from prejudices.’ – The Late Stephane d’ Benito (Author of Grey, Grim and Smokey and moderator on T.S.R)

*****

Behind The Scenes

Yesterday, I made my pancakes and tea milk free. (Oh and while at it I confirmed the best way to enjoy pancakes is to create a hole in the middle of about three to five layered pancakes using a knife then pour some Marple syrup in that hole. (I know this sounds wrong) It evenly smears between the cakes making it orgasmic when it finally lands in your mouth - An angel peeing on your tongue feeling is still there) See, I’ve been indisposed these past few days but glad I’m recuperating well. Today is the final of my 3-day milk ban due to medication. My friend David opines it’s total BS but I've since persuaded him that this is an instruction I never back down from because it reminds me of my healing days after circumcision a decade ago. There was just plenty of ice cream and milk lying around still I survived without them for a week but gosh! Those sleepless throbbing nights when it's healing, Yikes! I'm just glad I wasn’t sexually active then. Dave further says that when you are circumcised after 9 years, your D tends to be longer than when it's done when you are much younger, Huh?? Well I'm glad mine was done later then. *Drops Mic*

In other News, I’m taking a timeout from active blogging for the next 3 months. I'm up to my lips in stuff at the moment and ranting about my silly life in blogosphere . However I will be open to share any guest entries if any or even make an impromptu appearance to address something. Speaking of something. I'm toying with the idea of either a second version of the Q & A article when we get to 18K readership, No? or analyzing some few dates (remember 2013 I said was a year of getting rich and hitched? Dating is not only tough but also full of intrigues) Well, the former is more ideal as it opens an avenue to demystify oneself and it's your only moment to pull me aside (Twitter DM, My Facebook Page or even E-Mail) and surreptitiously ask me anything directly (however naughty or personal). I’ll thereafter publish all my responses to your questions and yes, I will protect your name for whatever it is worth. Donge?

*****

In 2011 I ventured out on a mission to ask some tops gentlemen questions:

1  .    What do you look for in your Bottom?

2  .    Do you find him as a lesser being or treat him as an equal?  

3 . What are your perspectives on the thin line between gay roles and overall masculinity and femininity?

4  .    Would you bottom for your partner?

The immediate latter was a question that stood out in my quest and was to address the tops that have gone on record saying that they’ll never bottom for anyone. I will address this towards the end of this article.The rest are equally well considered but due to constraints of time I largely iterated the same.

“I think people should choose their partners honestly and not just think between the sheets. He might be the best bottom on earth in the bedroom but on the streets you walk steps behind him because you think he’s too fem to be seen with. That’s not fair to either party. If you can’t be seen in public together then let it go.” – Calvin.

Paul Humble says, ‘I personally view my bottom as my equal and at no time will I look at him as a lesser partner. I don’t expect him to be feminine; indeed I appreciate a manly looking bottom. Queens are just off limits for me. If I were looking for a woman, I wouldn’t be gay right? It’s that x factor in a man that attracts me to him. However I still have a weakness, my bottom has no option but respect me just like I respect him. I apply the ‘no two bulls can leave in the same court’ rule!’

My brother Eric Gitari largely and candidly dissents with the subject but nevertheless gives his sentiments. ‘Two things Cole, the whole top, bottom, versatile BS is sexist, patriarchal and stinks of heterosexism and as queers who have defied every social and sexual norm, gender stereotypes should cease especially in the very cradle of homosexuality – the bedroom. 

He further proceeds and widens my wit. ‘There is sexual identity and sexual preference. These two must be isolated and appreciated in their complexities and simplicities. Very few queers are self evolved to appreciate such critique. Two, Would I go down for my partner? Hmm…as much as I prefer to do the penetration, should I be at risk of losing him or need to salvage the ship or make him happier? I would consider it BUT I AVOID this consideration way ahead by dating someone we are sexually compatible with – someone who prefers to be dicked, Can I get back to you on this later in the interview?’

Raymond said, ‘We’ve been through this before. Bottoming or Topping doesn’t mean one is superior to the other. They are just roles each acquires to retain compatibility.’

When I got Calvin (the one guy I friend zoned) to comment on this, he willingly schooled me just like Eric but got quite graphic while at it. ‘Well, I think too much emphasis is put on attaching gender roles to sexual preferences – Bottom is ‘woman’, Top is the ‘man’. This is a terrible stereotype within queerdom that is good fodder for heterosexuals to perpetuate their usual homophobic stereotype. Gay men I guess probably feel the need to confirm when being gay in itself is being non conformist. After all, straight men are being Nyeri-rized by their women yet they are supposed to be the dominant ones.’

Balancing Act

‘Whether you are top or bottom one should always play on their strengths. People have different strengths in different things at different times and managing that balance is partnership. I think naturally in coupling, one person will come out as a natural leader in whatever capacity but that doesn’t mean that the other person should assume the housework. That’s just whack!’ He emphasizes.

When I ask him about the aspect of roles and masculinity he conclusively responds, ‘I think my guy should just be himself in public or private. When I say that, I mean that if I have accepted him (butch of fem or all the variants in between) then I should just let him be. I may want him to accommodate my wishes e.g. be a little less camp in public, fine it may be but that really won’t last and eventually resentment creeps up.

Would you go down for your bottom?

Ray succinctly summarizes his thoughts by getting all philosophical. ‘I would not exactly. Simple law of nature needs each person to find comfort in what they do hence an opposite must always be there to maintain equilibrium.’ He states.

‘Cole I’d say I’m a top and I really enjoy it. But I’d like to think I would bottom for the right guy ideally in the confines of a very committed relationship as long as he’s hot (sighs), there’s absolute respect and trust too – during the deed and after the deed. I think penetrative sex (whatever the sexuality) is so full of surprises and technical hitches. I wouldn’t attempt it with just anyone.’ Calvin jovially answers my question.

‘I thought real hard and long – yes hard and long about your query on sexual preferences earlier. If a man cannot consider going down for another – operating word here being consider – then that man is a closeted small minded fag!’ Eric concludes.

They say it ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings. I must admit, I acquiesced with most (if not all) of the averments herein. I think the zega society is evolving. We’ve are already too defensive when battling with the straight folk and inasmuch as the top/bottom debate is a pregnant point of conversation, methinks it needs to be rewritten. We can’t be further divided as a community just because of the dick goes where or better yet who’s in charge here stereotype.

Chaje in his note here says ‘I find the whole Top, Bottom, Versatile tagging just a big hullabaloo and downright annoying.  Labels only fuel prejudice. The bottom is most often than not dismissed, seen as the lesser, weaker one.  The Top on the other hand is seen as the macho one, supposedly the provider, stronger one even.  These roles become a prerequisite to interaction with other gay folk so that if one happens to subscribe to the same role as the other person, then there is no point of attempting to form any kind of connection.’

My opinions rest here.

May you live in interesting times Tsrians, Kisses!

Cole Mutahi.

The Situation Room (T.S.R) by Cole Mutahi 2013©