Of Kuchus, Tacos, Dating, One nighties, anything…Church?

(First Published in Identity Magazine's March, 2012 Article)

August 2009.  

Enough is enough! I have to get out there and explore. These loin bulges have become one too many. The porn on the internet is aiding me become a pervert and wasting lots of my modem money considering I’m still struggling in the workplace thanks for being a new staff in a lower cadre. I don’t hand in my college assignments in good time and never even had time to read anything despite the hefty cost of education with my meager income. Keeping up appearances on the outside but very contaminated within though very modern at it is the order of the day. Thank God I’ve not got to the fasting bit like my friend Sage’s partner but what I know is that I pray a lot to God to take away these feelings. Some God that I’m not sure I believe in. I’ve been fighting this for long. Aside from the high school experience where attention from the men folk reigned supreme and preferential treatment was like a Grammy to yours truly, this outside world has a harsh reality on me. I want to meet men and I want to be submissive to an ideal one since they are the ones my loyalties have always been tilted towards since I was eight...but where are they in this homophobic flavored city I live in?

 >>I >>I February 2012.

‘This is to all the men I’ve been with: Your pen*s is kinda nice, too bad you are still attached to it!’ (Quoted from some feisty bitch) I pause here and ask you my queer reader: Just how many men have you met and/or even slept with since you chased down the demons of keeping and suffering to your queer self? Let me do a quick math. WAIT! Kindly hold this thought, we’ve moved way too fast…

I<< I<< September 2010

I am seated strategically at this establishment’s terrace for the first (and probably the last) time. I have no clue what happens here. Other than some guys seated opposite me strangely smiling at me and my fine self enjoying  that ice cold bottle of ginger ale, I feel relaxed until some not-so-bad-looking man joins me at my table. ‘Expecting someone?’ I nod my head sideways. He orders for a big bottle of St. Dublin Gates, 1759(Guinness Kubwa) which is to be served chilled. He starts a conversation with me which I hesitantly join. We get on to the country’s politics including the recently promulgated constitution. He actually admits that he’s impressed by my grasp of the whole discussion. ‘Gosh, the painful attempts at wit. Clearly this guy thinks he’s hot shit on a stick with rice. I do agree with the shit part, though, but I definitely have my suspicions about that stick.’ My mind wanders. The waiter hovers over and he offers to buy me a second bottle of my drink as he replenishes his when he asks. ‘You don’t take beer?’ I hurriedly with all Mutahi modesty admit I’m on a dentist’s austere instruction not to sip anything with alcohol nuance in it for a fortnight. He buys it. So talk goes on, I respond to a few texts from strange men I’ve been talking to in the past week. His hand is suddenly on my right thigh. I’m a bit shocked but after casting a few glances around the place and notice that no one is really watching, I indulge him. I also comply until I get to the bulging part, unzip it. He’s visibly uncomfortable but we are pretty easy. Satisfied with the act of surveying, I suggest we get out of this place, go somewhere private. He suggests his car across the street as we are on the stairs. 

>>I >>I Today

Now my senior brother columnist Barfly somewhere in this magazine may not necessarily subscribe to my sentiments but Tacos just like its counterparts across the world is like the biblical harem. Those of you who have a hint of anything biblical, remember Esther, that fine ass lady who impressed a King or something to be crowned a queen? Yeah, only that in this case you don’t have a prince to choose in the harem but rather you sample the best d*ck to go home with. Unless circumstances have changed but the last time I was there, the tables at the terrace and the lighting just make it the best for this sinful but vital task. My loins have really done for me a lot of thinking in the past.

Recall that time I found myself in a man’s kitchen on a Sunday morning boiling some water at least to have some black coffee before leaving for home? See, I’d met him the previous day, had a great time with him then I went home with him at some not so godly-approved hours of a Sunday morning 130KM or thereabout away from the city. The dilemma with a one night stand is that it’s just that. The pretty boys’ code states that you shall not wake him up but rather leave without bothering him. How many of us have lost all those husband material men we’ve always been looking for to this thing? The last one nightie I had, he woke up prematurely and found me gearing up to leave so when he inquired where I was going I told him that I was heading home and absolutely had no problem If he never got in touch with me and he looked a bit puzzled I must admit though he was very dignified.  

The pretty boys’ theory suggests that there will never be something tangible if you expect a connection with him after a one nightie. You were too easy for a first date and Morgan, my guy friend opines that even gay men like hunting just like their straight counterparts. This reminds me, those pretty boys who think waking up and trying to tidy his messed up digs will make you the one; pretty, you are wasting your time. Your responsibility is limited to the night before. Have you ever realized that guys always end up serious with some random bitch that you clearly never saw coming when you thought you were the designated one?

Then there is that date from June 2011 who suggested we meet in his church on Sunday saying how he’s vibrant and wanted me to become part of it. Okay I’m told Kuchus don’t do church and it’s actually swag. Personally I can’t remember the exact last time I interacted on a personal level with men of the cloth unless those ones who occasionally get into public vehicles on Ngong Road. I think it was somewhere around October 2010. I know I’m a lost course when it comes to matters religion but I think it’s quite a susceptible issue and just because you have your deep convictions I don’t think you should really impose them on anyone.

I won’t close my eyes to this thing of gay dating. You interact with someone online and they’ve already done a wedding, honeymoon and are already in the future with you. When you come around to the coffee date, expectations are very high. The last time I touched this area, somebody labeled me too opinionated but this is exactly how nice guys operate. They treat all encounters with pretty boys as a form of speed dating and then get annoyed when it’s revealed that the bitch getting coffee was, in fact, actually getting coffee rather than cruising for an emotionally co-dependent shit storm.

Have you finished the math? Fine! My list has been divided into three categories. The total number of men I’ve met since August 2009, the ones I’ve slept with and the ones I’ve seriously slept with. It’s in the tens, tens again and ones respectively! Oh and I’ll keep track of it from today henceforth!