Shades of “Nunu” – Part 1

“Naskia wakiuliza ule boy wetu alienda wapi amepotea ka zile mbegu watu walipanda na Kanyari (I hear them asking, where did our boy go? He's disappeared like those seeds people planted with Kanyari (Nyashinski, 2016) ...”

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Last time on C.D.R...

…was meeting a bunch of homosexuals for dinner and one of them gave me quite a dressing down by asking, “Is that the only shirt you could find?”

I don’t auger well in those commonplace homosexual circles. Besides, in this business journey of pursuing dick, we are always alone…

Most of us gay people deserve Grammys for the quintessential life we map out in our creative minds way before we meet a guy. You know. A trophy, his equally approving family, moving in together, purchase adopt a Chihuahua, start a joint business, go on vacation once a year, celebrate anniversaries with only close friends…

Cole, a South African man won’t touch you unless you allow him to…

Wewe mama. Sema kupotea, kwani unaziuzia wapi siku hizi? (Long time girl, where do you sell your wares nowadays?)

To cut the long story short, dude had game. Shagging was like flying first-class…

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…

They say the best things in this life are either illegal, expensive or married to…

…a pretty boy has needs, where he gets them met is relative.

We are all whores; the only difference lies in our availability and where we go for it.

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Nunu:

noun. A word for penis or sex organ of both sexes

or

noun. A term of endearment like honey, baby, sweetie, or lovebug (Urban Dictionary)

I ascend the steep flight of stairs from the subway to the imposing Sandton downtown frequently billed as Africa’s “Manhattan”. My white coat dangles on my right hand (I anticipate the date will last until late), my college backpack precariously swings on my right shoulder. I look at my wrist and note it is only 16h05 – I am on time. My call is not answered on the first ring. I opt to consider my surroundings by awkwardly resting my butt on a stoneware bollard facing Rivonia road where the evening traffic is already building up – hoping that he has not arrived. I mean, with Grindr dates you just can never be too sure. Maybe he is even watching from a distance and comparing whether the picture I shared matches the real thing. My phone soon rings and he tells me he is slightly held up around the block but should be reaching the metro station in a jiff. He requests me to wait by the road for him to take advantage of the traffic to pick me up. I’m already ahead of his instructions and describe how I am dressed. Phew, it is going down!

A silver metallic E-Class cabriolet with a dark blue top pulls up at the dropping zone of the Sandton Gautrain metro station with its indicator lights on. I see him wave me in from the car’s windshield. I comply. Damn bitch, you just landed yourself a rich husband! I exchange pleasantries with him with over exaggerated manners my mama taught me to only reserve for her favourite guests after taking my rightful seat on the passenger’s side. I use the rear-view mirror to appraise the stranger next to me. He is slightly shorter and older from the picture he shared. His immaculate black moustache looks awesomely plastered against his biracial complexion, way better than his Grindr pic professed. His small unsoiled eyes focus on the road ahead with him only momentarily asking whether I had waited for long. While appreciating his fresh pink wet lips, our eyes momentarily lock prompting me to look away; “You're pouting…” he says. I fake a smile saying I hate traffic and the beams of the setting sun on my face. He appears not so convinced and uses it as an invitation to adjust the sun visor on my side. Shit, he’s fucking bankable! But then, could the Mercedes be clouding my Judgment? I tardily decide to place my coat and bag in the backseat. It is then that I notice the space is rather constrained. It is a car designed for two. Sex here would be a clumsy affair even. It also occurs to me that the car reeks of mild tobacco. He smiles approvingly slightly adjusting his black cap at my established comfort. I smirk in response making a mental note of the two initials emblazoned on the crown of the navy-blue cap and their matching smaller counterparts on the breast of his navy-blue hoodie. Seriously? He's branded his name on his wears? 

  We pass a final intersection after which there is no longer traffic making occasional small talk. We both seem shy I guess. He pulls over at a petrol station cum shopping outlet. I step out of the car and follow his cue. I’m slightly taller than him but he has a built body frame. I suppose the rugby interests he mentioned when I asked about his cap in the car may explain. “Sanibonani?” says an affable fair lady with a wide body frame. He responds in Zulu. I on the other hand can only afford to smile at her broadly to recompense for my lingual deficiency. As we walk out of the establishment, I slightly trailing behind him, he reaches out for a pack of cigarettes and casually asks whether I mind. I shake my head sideways. He releases a steady puff of white smoke in the clean air above asking, “You are not such a friendly person, huh?” It comes off more of a statement rather than a question. I immediately link it to the lady attendant. “I’m very friendly actually, just didn’t understand her,” I supply. “What does that even mean?” he prods. For the first time, I see his surprised face as it just occurred to him that I am not a local. “I have been to Kenya twice but it was a while ago,” he boasts forgetting to apologise for his accusation. When we get back to the car, I get to know more about his professional life across Africa. “You should have mentioned you are Kenyan in our chats,” he states. “Is it a deal breaker?” I ask. He smiles stating it is a non-issue. 

I look outside and notice that we are now cruising in a visibly affluent neighbourhood. I see a signage written “Morningside”. He shortly takes turn on the right and a huge unmanned grey gate automatically opens allowing us into a compound with well-maintained lawns. He parks in his allocated slot and steps out with the groceries as I get out to collect my wares from the back seat only to embarrassingly realise the car has only two doors. He presses his key and the automatic gate slowly closes. I offer to help with the groceries as we walk up three flights of stairs but he politely declines. Your loss, considering you’ve branded me unfriendly. We reach a very sturdy door where he turns the knob, walks in first and ushers me in. What a thoroughly-furnished pad it is! The grey ceiling blends awesomely the huge veils in the living room’s windows and the four huge ridged silver vases placed at various points in the living room. To a keen observer, they peculiarly mirror each other with some uncanny precision. A silver and snow interlace colour of the walls fittingly bring out the only white couch that occupies the living room space. The tiled floor sparkles reflecting the six bright balls of light on the ceiling and my slight slip confirms how hazardous and child unfriendly this house is. He offers to help me with my coat and suggests I remove my shoes after the incident and put them in the guest room just adjacent to the main door. The guest room is filled with reflective mirrors that exaggerate its size prompting me to imagine what the master bedroom looks like? 

I cling onto my bag as I take a seat on the soft leather couch. Feels fucking good against my ass! He returns from his supposed bedroom barefoot, he has lost the hat revealing a bald clean shaven round head that matches his complexion. He walks across the living room into the guest room. He immediately returns in a fitting black T-shirt and loosely fitting pants that slide revealing designer boxers and butt crack. He pulls them up and catches me staring, “sorry, you are probably thinking this is intentional,” he says matter-of-factly. “I am not complaining about the view,” I respond smiling sheepishly. He opens the huge refrigerator and offers a drink: I settle for something soft as he mixes himself some whisky and energy drink and perches himself on one of those swinging kitchen stools facing me directly. “You have a lovely home,” I compliment him. “Thanks, I however noticed you just kicked off your shoes but I’ve aligned them to face the wall,” he says. The Fuck? This ain’t good… 

To be continued… 
  

Cole