Suck d!ck for success? – Part 1 of 2: Gay diggers.

I hope you guys normally give me credit for making me dig my man archives in order to fortify the various pieces I do here. I doubt very much whether I have ever mentioned to you a Daniel (yes, like the one who killed some giant in the bible) I happened to have interacted with much earlier in my silly life. We met at Klub Bettyz (I clandestinely like it because they occasionally ask me for my identification to prove my age) after a weeklong of those flirty Facebook messages. He was not so tall but not so brief either, not so thick and also had no pot belly like many of his age mates who have somehow figured out it’s a good indicator of how the economy is doing. Donned in some bright Tommy Hilfiger shirt that I later came to learn had been carefully suggested by his wife (Yeah it’s depressing, he was taken) earlier that morning, some designer fitting pants and of course the bulge was there! He immediately recognized me and I straightaway acknowledged him just right outside the Men’s even without him telling me how he was dressed and damn! Wasn’t he fine! The kind you hope will be a sperm donor of some sort and you’ll get to raise his two babies of course with a piece of golden metal encrusted with small pink rocks on your finger and an expansive lush garden that includes your house! What? An honorary girl is allowed to dream right? He motioned me to a convenient table and thank God he wasn’t one of those guys who were past his bedtime that some of you hang out with. This was about 9 p.m. and considering I was a homeboy then and still naïve in matters zega, I was too vigilant of how I would get home though he reassured me he would drop me which was so not such a welcome idea. You and I know majority of pretty boys think that any man who intimidates you with his success is NOT supposed to know the dungeon where you live – Mistake No. 1 (Thinking that it spoils your chances and he’ll judge you based on that)

I adored the banters including the fact that he had once taken his Ex down to Jo’ Burg for some discreet fun…Aww of course in my mind I was like yes, I will be your boyfriend – Mistake No. 2 (Thinking that we are better placed to enjoy the privileges that come with having him)

After a great evening full of soft drinks - paid by him - and good conversations, he gladly dropped me home at about 1 a.m. Wait, I haven’t talked about the guzzler he was driving. It was some silver metallic (agreeable color for a man) beast. The one that men have when all is said and done not those ‘things’ these teenage boys usually force you to make out in then you keep on hitting your head on the roof before giving up all together. He gave me the honors to play any station I wanted (as if I even knew how the cockpit operated). The things you pretty zegas make respectable married men do at some not so godly approved hours! Did you know a man’s car speaks volumes about his persona among other things the kind of life you are bound to have with him? Let me not get over myself here, a car will not service you. A pretty boy still has needs!

Disaster waiting to happen

You know how the cycle goes; I text him sweetly after he has dropped me. He confirms he’s got home safely. The next day I break the pretty boys’ code and decide to call him hoping that he’s as available as possible for the next date. He was taking his family for something (There I was like it should be us with our kids). He reluctantly agrees to meet me again the following weekend because he either hopes I will find it in my disciplined naive self to give him some so that he can proceed to the next zipper or he’s plainly scared cautious of me (which in most cases is the truth). Dr. Clark has already opined somewhere in this blog that older guys look at us young zegas as disasters waiting to happen. Give a guy some credit; while you are head over heels for him, he probably knows you are the new fool dazzled by his wealth.

Yes, this is how the gay community has progressed. Holding all other factors constant including who wears the skirt in our circumstances, if such a guy went down on his knee on a first date, it’s an instant I do. We might as well get to know each other in the relationship. Sometimes I tend to agree with Denis (the Identity Kenya boss) we are all sex workers. The only difference is your mode of payment. While the authentic ones charge on the spot (per shot or otherwise) others have just sophisticated it a little bit to make it an affair of an easy life where clothes (including under wear), fancy restaurants, leisure locations, luxury spending and living on the other side of Uhuru Highway is the order of the day. Fooling around is not a problem because love and such meaningless pursuits are off limits. The guiding motto here is: I don’t date hustlers but that doesn’t necessarily stop me from sleeping with them and in certain extremes: you don’t call me honey if you don’t have money. Tough times I tell you, morals and emotions off the window, survival for the fittest horniest (sic).

Recently I was having a conversation with another man. He had kept on asking me why I had been working my ass off yet I’m still young. Okay, leaving office at almost 8 can be pretty ‘refreshing’. Well, I volunteered information to the effect that I’m trying to save for my sabbatical leave due next year. He gave me a baffling rejoinder to the effect that if I can avail latex, KY jelly and myself then maybe he will find it in his heart to make my efforts a little bit easier! I have since avoided him like plague - speaks volumes about where he ranks me in his defective radar.

Maybe that it’s a cruel world out here and how you present yourself to a guy on the first man date determines how he’s going to relate with you. Look, you present yourself dressed in some pale official trouser (a.k.a trao ya material for my East African readers) and sports shoes then honey, you have no right to complain why you ended up at Magomano or some dingy joint in downtown CBD where the menu is verbal, read on a wall and/or is handwritten in charcoal. When you find yourself at let’s say The Clarion where you used the hot white towel for wiping your face and your embarrassed date had to request the waiter to get an extra one mumbling that you were feverish or something close to that then you have no right to complain why he has since been M.I.A.

For purposes of this article I will not address my mind to our sex workers since they are in their legitimate trade. Who would also want one of those scolding statements from KESWA? What I would continue urging you is to pay them up and stop giving them headaches when they have met their side of the bargain. They got bills to pay you know! I will also not talk about the ‘thieves’ some of you have invited to your homes and when you went to shower they made their way with your laptop, phone or even money. 

Gay diggers (Gay version of a gold digger)
Let’s be candid, there is a brand among us who have a high affinity to an easy life: fancy clothes, fancy cars, eating exotic foods, going for those adorable weekend getaways cum road trips and engaging in some high end entertainment tête-à-têtes that you definitely have no clue about without having to meet the costs directly. You know the ones who would rather lose sleep in Kitsuru than sleep soundly in Kayole/Soweto? I know it’s good to expand your horizons and knowledge so as to have a balanced opinion in the society. Succinctly put, an affluent man is a means for them to get to their clueless end. Don’t even go so far. Those strange people you chat with on social media and upon them asking you where you live or vice versa. Your answer at most times determines the course of chat. Being a gay digger is an art. You don’t become one overnight. You must do your research. Even if you have never had the fortune of being an uptown kid, class is quickly manufactured to suit the moment. Yes, when any Runda dwelling guy asks you out on a date and asks you to pick the venue: Get those garbs you recently purchased at Gikomba market (of course your friends know you purchased them at any of the Deacons stores, you know…Mr. Price, Alcott and the like) and make sure he finds you prominently seated at Skylux lounge flipping a clean borrowed copy of E.L James’ 50 Shades of Grey (I say flipping because most gay diggers don’t read) with some tonic water on the table, a third of it served in your glass (the short type). It’s a crime to be scrolling your phone like most of us do or found to have already ordered for beer, wine or martini.  For our zega ladies – effeminate men/honorary girls kindly sit down – make sure you are seated at the bar counter at Inter Con with your big handbag open and its contents e.g. phone, wallet, keys and make-up stuff importantly displayed reading a current copy of Vogue you ‘accidentally’ picked at the Salon! I pause here and say Ipads, tabs and these smart phones that are all over the place nowadays are a preserve of a different class of boys I’ll mention shortly so at the moment they a dream to a gay digger. A gay digger knows he’s supposed to be bought for these things sooner or later.

Back to Skylux - of course you will tell him you are keeping off alcohol for a moment so when he suggests you replenish your drinks just ask for chilled Coke and an extra tonic. If the guy asks for something pricy for himself, have no fear, besides won’t you suggest you go Dutch after the date so as to save your fare home? You don’t want to create the impression that you can’t afford drinks in a place where you chose in the first place. Normally the guy in question will insist on settling the bill and if luck is your way he’ll want a second date. You have to fake this class until the two of you have something going on. 

Protecting Interests

During any anniversary or milestones, a gay digger will go out of his way to impress his man by furnishing him with a not so cheap gift - of course with his man’s money. This is called: safeguarding your interest. At least he’ll see initiative that ‘baby has effort’. You also have to keep him on toes and ensure he’s always satisfied in the bedroom so that he brings more cheddar your way and further, doesn’t develop any new romantic interest. 

Just to be fair…

Let me give him a benefit of doubt. Maybe he ultimately falls in love. Besides who am I to judge? The rest of us are quick enough to label him a social climber, a low-life, the bitch who only gets fuc*ed in Karen by guys on life support etc. but then I’m just an opinionated bitch who gets orgasm out of creating traffic for his site whereas the gay digger at least broadens KRA or IRS tax figures by helping someone spend money which ultimately helps improve the economy. One should never forget that at the end of the day you are still a man living in an African society and you still got to fend for yourself and family if any. The only problem with most gay diggers in the current zega scene is that either they are never smart enough to realize they are being taken for a ride or they are just ignorantly complacent. You can’t have a guy pay for you rent in an up market location while you just sit there the whole day sipping some costly drinks you will never afford. Reminds me of this guy who was chased by his man after a few months of being kept (refers to remaining home all day long as he works for you us to maintain your lavish lifestyle while you play wife) and had nothing to start off from scratch with. Apparently the guy retained even the under pants he’d bought him. 

How about using that guy to improve yourself? I mean, a gay digger lacks his own identity considering just like a parasite, he relies on someone else for his existence. Enroll for that class and it need not necessarily be those Hairdressing or Hospitality courses most young zega guys do or better still start that business at his expense. I mean if you really good at this gay digging business, then at least make sure your name finds its way in the car log book or better still buy your own duplex! Even Blu Cantrell says when he goes; everything goes, from the crib to the ride and the clothes! 

To be continued…

I pause here for today; I’ve got some other engagement and a journey out of town to prepare for. Okay let me just divulge since either way you’ll still find out. I got a date at the Museum this afternoon. The last time I was there 17 years ago with my mama I wailed most of the time due to fear of all those innocuous non-living creatures. This time maybe I’ll be a good sport and enjoy the whole excursion then tomorrow heading for some 4 – day training.

So I promise to finalize this discussion next week. My focus will be on High maintenance boys, those 30 – year olds who still describe themselves as ‘students’ in our dating sites and finish that Daniel story. 

Here is a sneak preview:

‘That guy is very smart; see? He’s dating an ATM…with a penis!’

‘Bitch please, men I’m neither married nor related to will never pay my rent!’

Best Regards,

Cole Mutahi.