…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 31st 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
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