A tale of two men, thumb theory, golfing…Season Greetings?

I’m fucked up. Duh! All zega men lives are. One day you wake up and every man you run into is instant eye candy then the next day you don’t even have an eye for any of them. Yes, on this second last article of the season, I have a tale of two fine men…

This morning during the usual dance-while-you-are-naked-dressing-for-work session, I decided that the gangnam style is totally ridiculous and just like anything that goes viral, it's no longer a fad.

So last time after hosting the money boys’ article which by the way seems to have picked up as my best piece thanks to your kind and well deserved reviews, I headed out to shop for some birthday gifts for probably the most important girl in my life: My honorary mama. Well, it was an afternoon well spent and in case any of you wants to get some gift items for your husband baby, HMB or even that gay digger who devotedly gives you head then I think you should take a stroll to Enka – Rasha. At the jewelry section just next to the entrance there is a counter which has some low cost (Kshs. 500) but classy watches that I think will give that personal touch to anyone you hold dear. I got one for myself of course on impulse; maybe I should get 2 or more to reward any of you who’ll give me an incisive feedback to most if not all of the bitching my guests and I have done here. Had lunch with the sister figure who accompanied me that afternoon since it was a joint effort then just when I had boarded the bus home, some two men walked in…

Behind the Scene(s)

There was a woman whose elderly husband adored sugar which wasn’t good for his health so she really desired him to stop. The woman went to seek the counsel of Mahatma Gandhi over the matter. Gandhi advised her to go back after 3 months. When the lady went back after 3 months, he advised her to again come back after 3 months. When the lady went back after this period, Gandhi now authoritatively advised her to go tell the husband not to take sugar. Why did he send her back and forth in those previous visits? Gandhi was known not to give advice to things he couldn’t do. He had to stop taking the sugar himself before becoming an authority on the matter. Have you registered as a voter? Well this past Saturday I woke up and that was the only thing in mind before the other activities in my social diary. Of course I went to my barber at least to get my hair trimmed a bit. What? The camera on the BVR kit is really flawless and a pretty boy got to look nice for such a noble and National importance appointment! One of my colleagues looked at my Job and National ID’s, my utility card, my drivers’ license and now the voter details screen shot and has since concluded that I’m so vain. Oh Please, isn’t it all in the code? A pretty boy shall pose when any lens is availed before him even for Government documents! Okay, let me be sober now. 

Being a registered voter means I have a warrant to bitch about all these politicians as I please. Forget about those of you seated behind computer screens playing armchair activists and whining on social media yet you are still unregistered. It only takes you 3 minutes and instantly gives you this aura of self-importance of participating in National affairs. Get your damn ass to that center and register, I have!

Golfing ideas, missing holes…

On Sunday I had a meet and greet courtesy of one of you (I do meet my fans). It was originally supposed to be a coffee date but when he finally arrived in the company of some equally adorable pretty boy, plans promptly changed: We went to play putt. Okay being a first timer to some amateur expensive hobby I had to do some little research for the purposes of this article and some of you:

‘Putting is the most precise aspect of the game of golf. The putter must be designed to give the golfer every technical advantage including smooth stroke, good glide, sweet impact, and bounce-less topspin ball launch as well as every technique advantage including perfect fit as to shaft angle and length.’  – Wikipedia.

Maybe it’s just me but the above definition was undeniably supplied by a zega man (check the highlighted portions) Then there is also the bit of missing holes or using too much force to putt! MB even made things worse by softly requesting us to take care of our balls lest we pay a fine of 100 shillings each! Who doesn’t take care of their balls? Thankfully, he clarified what balls he was talking about and we started the game. Of course I sent a quick text to the only golf pro I know in my man inventory telling him I was out playing golf: David. He responded immediately asking me where and with whom. Men are just so fickle at times! 

Wait! I must also address my mind to that absurd quote of the week the Identity Kenya boss shared on his timeline last week. I just have to jerk it off my chest because next season is too far and I’ll probably have forgotten all about it. It was something like this: ‘Being bottom is not a disability.’  I think the primary intention of this avowal was meant to be frivolous but I have since articulated to him that it’s misdirected, demeaning, barbaric and ought to be treated with the utmost contempt it deserves. You really want to get me started on those chest thumping tops that come just 5 minutes into foreplay then leave the over excited ‘pillow biter’ high and dry? What about those whom when they are finally in take ages pumping and thrusting in all manner of positions but nothing comes out of it then they start blaming outside sources like alcohol and stress as the poor bottom nurses a sore man pussy! Please, let’s not get over our heads being top is not ability. These two roles need each other for their relevance and without one the other is disabled redundant, Period. Hope this position is now clear to the original draughtsman of the above-mentioned quote. 

A tale of two men…

The bus wasn’t full and I was conveniently seated next to the window just getting my reading matter (By the way this morning I finished the second book in the Trilogy, it wasn't as graphic) and highlighter. When I raised my head to survey how the capacity was, the two guys walked in. The first one was not so tall, darker than me though but definitely fetching. He had a muscular body that is a product of regular workout; had on some black plain V-neck T-shirt that emphasized his chest features pretty well. I mean the firm nipples were conspicuous and he was carrying a gym bag…I’ll come back to him later.

Number two was similarly tall; very light skinned (but not the mixed race type), had a muscular body that oozed the scent of some not-so-cheap male fragrance and absolutely gorgeous, damn! With the fitting blue T-shirt that accentuated his broad chest and biceps that made me feel tingly in my secret places, he looked like one of those things you see in those glossy Men magazines on the newsstands!

See, they had just walked in together, the dark guy ahead of the light one and the two seats next to me were still empty. For a moment I thought they all play rugby going by their fine chiseled physiques. I immediately relinquished my window position for number one and moved to the center. The stunning number two opted to sit with us but upon reflection (because he had been going to the rear of the bus) such that now I was conveniently sandwiched between two beautiful men. That was the beginning of my problems…

The bus finally set off. Glad I’d folded my shirt sleeves and considering I was reading (or at least pretending to), my arms of course momentarily rubbed with theirs making me feel totally helpless. Guys, someone may look so busy and all professional but the evil deeds they are doing in their brains!

Number one’s phone rang and he got into a conversation. I was too close so I could make out the context of the same. That’s not eavesdropping, No? I think he was talking to some equally smitten lady (or guy). He professed how he had missed her and told her he was just heading for training at Impala. Shit! He’ll alight before me. ‘I’ll call you once I’m back in town at around 8. Love you.’ Fuck, he’s taken!

 

Of course the rest of the journey was screwed and the usual Nairobi traffic wasn’t helping. In fact I withdrew my right arm a bit so that the brief rub didn’t occur any more with number one then I started doing what zega guys do when they can’t get the man they want. Even his voice isn’t as authoritative as I thought. At some two intervals I looked outside and when he turned our eyes met. Gosh he had those dark piercing eyes that only God knows how we’d use them if we were in a desert alone. I quickly considered his fingers particularly his thumb. Call me sick or crazy but I don’t know who told me or where I read that when you look at a man’s thumb you just need to triple it to get the actual size of his erect… so it wasn’t really a loss!

The conductor reached our seat to collect fare and the two hunks of men quickly removed their wallets to pay their fares and I thought I secretly saw lady photos (No offence girls) in their respective wallets. Holy Fuck, they are straight as arrows.

 

Reprieve of sorts and a man’s thumbs…

I whisked my fare payment card out of my man purse and gave it to the conductor. Since I had to turn towards number two as I waited for the conductor to swipe it, I thanked the gods. The edible number two looked intrigued. After the conductor had done his thing and my phone had acknowledged the transaction through a text, number two requests to have a look at the card. Thank you Jesus! The guy not only has a killer smile but his large brown eyes are manly. His light skin is flawless and his goatee and chest frame is a fantasy I think I have kept safely for my future husband pursuits. I belatedly notice that the top two buttons on his T-shirt are open and I can see something like some hair underneath. To be open, I was totally disarmed. Maybe this is what E.L James was talking about when she asked: How can anyone look this good and still be legal? Then just when he’s about to ask me something his phone rings. Shit. I officially hate mobile phones!

‘Yeah, I’ve already worked on the estimates, what you can do is just send me the final quotations…’ Phew, thank God he’s all business but wait...he’s speaking funny.  ’…I’m already on my way to Ngong Road so I should give you feedback by…sure…mwambie tutawasiriana baadaye.’  Fuck! He isn’t Kenyan. 

He asks me to explain to him how the card works which I gladly do in my impeccable English now that I’ve realized he’s Tanzanian (He has that Hemedi of Tusker Project Fame complexion). I quickly scan the fingers as he hands back my card gratefully. Shit, there is a wedding band. Maybe it’s one of those metals men use to keep ladies (or men) at bay. His thumb in this case if I go by the Tripling theory, let me just say I’m protective of my ass! I suddenly feel a bulge underneath my man purse. Holy fuck, I’m horny!

Facing the truth

The bus is now on Ngong Road and I’m trying to make a mental note of these two creatures because I won’t be with them for long. So I get into reality mode. Cole, calm down. They are just eye candy cupid has sent to help you zero down your choices in men. Number one is now on his phone texting or something. He’s the kind of guy I’d just have a one-night-totally-protected fling with because he’s that type of guy you instantly don’t trust but seems quite like an acrobat in sex-ercise. I bet he uses that ‘I’ve missed you’ line on all the ladies (or men). My future flings (if any) ought to accommodate this type and hey, who knows? That thumb theory does not entirely reflect the actual size on the ground!

Number two is the guy I’d show up with at a party an ex is attending just to flaunt him. Make sure I’m seated on his lap, my head resting on his well-developed frame where I’m drawing some circles as he chats with his friends the whole time we are there and upon retiring home, make sure I aim to please him hoping he lifts me at some point during foreplay, tie my wrists and do some bad things with me before falling asleep inside his arms but then I’m Cole. I don’t date men whose hotness I realize instantly. It’s not only a risk but a bad omen. I stick to the men whose beauty you realize shortly after seeing them. He’s definitely a trophy boyfriend material (of course with the risk of competition from these horny boys all over the place) but he’ll sure be a good sperm donor for some future babies damn!

He got off at the next bus stop after Adams Arcade just opposite Executive Motors car bazaar of course with a quick but too officious adios. I think he is putting up in one of those beautiful apartments. So the bus ride with number one continued with me still pretending to read (I’d only flipped 5 pages from the CBD) He finally alights at the Impala club. There is a reason I said somewhere in this blog that I don’t date brief men. These men had height, whoa! I gladly took back my window position and remained undistracted until I got home. I was already many eye candy ahead of the zega humanity!

Happy Holidays!

Since I’m probably the second last host on T.S.R for this season, (next week there is someone I’d like you to meet to wrap it all up for us) I do take this opportune moment to say it’s been a prolific year and we ought to be appreciative for the little things life has availed our way. Make sure you spoil yourself this festive season, you merit it! Thank you to bits for taking time off your busy schedules to visit T.S.R. I have my journal to diarize all the juicy escapades I'll undergo for the next season. I’ll be on stand by so kindly feel free to interact with me on our official Facebook page (T.S.R– By Cole Mutahi) By-Cole-Mutahi. On my part (until the premiere on 15^th January, 2013) , a feisty festive season, good health and emotional wellness are my wishes to you. Come closer: Mwaaaaaaaaaah!

It's your kick ass, raunchy (and IEBC registered) Host:

Cole Mutahi.

Suck d!ck for success? – Part 2 of 2: High Maintenance Boys and 'Professional students'

My friend Sage* once told me over lunch that the ultimate curse in this life is having 3 concurrent states: Being Black, Gay and Poor. It never made much sense then because I was just embracing this life. Philip McGraw once opined, ‘Some people prefer the passenger role, because it imposes no real pressure to decide or stand accountable for their life results.’  That’s why we find ourselves in peculiar circumstances discussing these things. Today we embark on the final part of our series on money boys.

Behind the scenes Update (s)

It’s official. I love my body. You guys remember those scratches I underwent while cycling a fortnight or two ago? Well, the other day during my usual dance-while-you-are-naked-dressing-for-work-session I realized something: The marks are no longer visible! Hope you normally take time to examine your body, (nude) it helps you appreciate what mama gave you! I think the good diet and exercise have also helped. Now I can get my ass back on the road but more watchful!

So where did we stop last time? Let’s see…Ha! The Museum rendezvous right? Well, to be honest it went great. I reported on time for some delicious lunch and a good conversation. I also got a few hints for purposes of T.S.R. To be brief, I’ve actually superbly matured since the last time I was there. May it also go on record that the gentleman I was in the company of still had to be supportive at that snake section. Those things are huge and scary! I’m talking about the real serpent here not those ones some of you boast to have a reputation for ‘down there’. After the tour, I opted to go to Sarit. $30 later having got myself all the books in The 50 Shades Trilogy, you might as well accuse me of marketing this book in Africa but never before have I been privileged to read porn. Of course with my pink highlighter to note all the juicy lines, I hope I do a brief review on it when I’m done. The book has that ‘I-am-accessing-planetromeo-in-a-matatu’ effect. You know the way you always hope that the passenger seated next to you is not watching? Yap! This wasn’t dominant in Sandra Brown’s ‘Where there is smoke’ which apparently my brother Eric had to make some guarantee concerning its loss last Friday while we were attending some cocktail evening at The NEST (Just so you know I got to meet and greet the hot cast of Nairobi Half Life) Damn! Call me a groupie but I absolutely appreciate men who are jagged around the hedges. Many thanks to Double G and the crew, you guys keep up the noble call of inspiring, showcasing art and helping emerging artists like yours truly connect!

Maybe I'm 50 shades fucked up, Can you imagine I’m now even thinking of exploring some BDSM fantasies? Hey, it’s just a thought. Besides, don’t you think it would be good for once to talk about a pretty zega boy involved in some kinky slave tryst? One of the men I was talking to over the weekend maintains that a pretty boy who requires a lot of tools in his bedroom will make it a very expensive and an arduous affair for him to fuck! Personally, I think a lil’ palm spanking will do when I’m not relaxing (gosh, why do they always say that when getting in), maybe loose tying of my hands with a woven pencil tie, no fists, whips or chains involved... My Goodness, let’s focus! 

I headed back to work at around four. At least I won a shopping voucher (all in the name of Christmas) which was quickly spent on one of those Nivea body sprays for men. You never know who you may be ‘touched’ to help with all these street families all over the place. 

After visiting a guy’s place during a weekend the dude gave him two options: Give him fare back to his place or drop him at the CBD. Which one would you go for? Of course he had to drop him and/or call a cab for him. He doesn’t take money from men as fare since in his world he feels like he’s being paid for a fuck he mutually consented to. He needed his convenience and public vehicles are so stuffy and dirty by his standards.                                                   

Yes, there are some bourgeois and affluent boys among us who have always been mistaken for gay diggers but in the real sense, they aren’t: The High Maintenance Boys hereinafter referred to as HMBs. They take pleasure in the finer things of life, you know expensive hobbies, sophisticated technology, leisure travels abroad, Ralph Lauren boxers etc. Making reference to the Urban Dictionary: A high maintenance is a person who has expensive taste (Re. clothing, restaurants, etc.); having expensive taste and multiple costly needs frequently.

They roll by the motto: I am not a gay digger, but I definitely don’t date broke niggers! (I’m black so technically you can’t sue me over the use of the N word here)

Maintaining standards

An authentic high maintenance boy (HMB) isn’t a gay digger. Many have been mistaken for dating men exclusively because of their wealth. An evolved HMB just wants his man to provide for the lifestyle he’s always had but in case you realize that without the man you are needy or alert then maybe you should join the gay digger team we talked about last time. The High maintenance code states thou shall not make demands of things from someone when you cannot provide them for yourself! C’mon let’s be honest here: If you’ve always had the cheddar and occasionally splashed your fine self with good stuff, there’s nothing wrong in a man spending his change on you when you are dating.  It’s called maintaining standards you’ve always had. To be fair, the HMB just like a gay digger needs money to be happy. A HMB is often confused with a drama queen, bitch, hoe etc. but the difference between him and the rest is that he not only thinks highly of himself and will never issue an apology unless he wants something from you but also also has a record for at least maintaining a relationship however fake it may appear to the rest of us. Briefly put, he’s the smart guy who gets to hang out with an ATM…with a penis!

Don’t run behind guys

Forget about these guys some of you hang out with who say ‘I shall not call you up 5 times a day and there’s no way in hell I’m buying you that engraved Rado watch at Mpaka Road. Go down on me and make me cum bitch!’  The HMB is not the one to run behind guys or be led on but waits for you at the exchange bar at The Stanley or to be realistic enough, Blancos just off Argwings Kodhek Road. In most cases you’ll stand him up if you are from the wrong side of the tracks or you are the type that starts calling him while outside thinking he was standing in the street all for you. This helps him sieve out any kawaida (ordinary) guy. He’ll sure be impressed if you ask him to select where he likes to hang out and you don’t bat an eyelid when he tells you he prefers the serene Ozone lounge at Valley Arcade or Fogo Gaucho (sic) just because he’s heard some VIP’s go there NOT because of the great food and service. You all know that fine ass who literally sucks air out of a room they walk into because they have the looks and are extremely well clad; his man thinks his favorite spots are fine dining places; personally he thinks he’s the next best gift to men after Adam and no one can challenge him. If he likes something, he won’t be refused and that’s why unlike the gay digger who is busy flipping a borrowed book, he’ll be at Skylux chatting on his iPhone or giggling on his galaxy tab that he either got as a gift from a previous man or just got it from his extra savings as he sips some gin and tonic with some lemon slices. Remember the HMB is all after a good time…at your expense!

I will not cook for you…

Remember the proverb that the way to a man’s heart is his stomach? Well, since it’s already a matter of record that this theory bit the dust when blowjobs were invented. I won’t labor the point but there’s no way a HMB is going to walk into a kitchen to cook the way some submissive pretty boys do or even wash a man’s clothes the way some of you do on weekends.

That’s just too much pressure and besides, who wants to spoil the texture of their hands or the manicure they recently got at Kenya Cinema when we can order for Pizza at Chicagos or take a drive to The Loft at Yaya or the Artcaffe at Village Market to go have some crabs and pasta with some smoothie? I mean what time does one enjoy being a boyfriend when you are busy playing wife to a guy? He mutters to himself. The HMB would rather get wasted at Casa Blanca or Gypsies on Friday, his man has got to figure out how they’ll get home safely, have lots of sin if the energy is there, and gladly take him to exotic places before ensuring he has dropped him home on Sunday evening. The mama nguo (lady who cleans his man’s clothes) also gets paid extra cash to go clean his house and do laundry if they aren’t living together. In essence his man deep down is convinced he’s dating the male version of a Kim Kardashian.

Better Men

HMB’s always get better men to be honest, almost all the time and a better life unless they are with the wrong man. Well, some boys just require more upkeep than others as a lifestyle. There are men in this city who get nervous anytime baby says he wants to go shopping. I have seen guys whine about dating a high maintenance boy but deep down every guy wants to be with one desperately. Besides, he isn’t for everyone, right? The rest of us label him a social climber but we secretly respect him and are awed by him. Not all boys can hack being high maintenance and not all men can be with him.  I know a number of fags in this city who have no idea where Westgate is located or even what pizza tastes like while their counterparts patronize high end watering holes or getting some massages and waxing facials in a SPA along Marcus Garvey Road!

The great test in being High maintenance is ‘Can you still support yourself after he’s gone?’ But then you're a High Maintenance Boy, no man is irreplaceable. You won’t be alone for long. However note that you are still not the revered honorary Miss Independent everyone craves to be because you still need a man to validate your existence. If you are a man who realizes that you’ll be forced to go into debt just to maintain a facade that isn’t affordable to you then keep off this brand of boys besides an average HMB thinks he’s way better than his guy and doesn’t want embarrassment. I hate to be blunt but it makes you an insult to his gorgeous presence when he's got an image to guard!

‘Professional students’… aargh!

Then there is that bunch of some almost or over 30 year old men who you meet online or otherwise and when you ask them what they do for a living they say they are students! Advice to my little dudes and dudettes: Run like Hell, Dependency syndrome ahead! It’s troubling to see a fine 23-year old paying a bill for some alleged ‘student’ who’s 6 or 7 years his senior with his pocket money. Okay, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing because some kids definitely have more cheddar as pocket money that can pay your salary assuming you were in the Jua Kali sector and some are plainly horny and don’t mind anything that has a d!ck that comes their way. Confession: I have paid for some 50 year old man's tea in the past. Not that I'm complaining but honestly guys, Initiative is at times welcome, Hello! He said he was in the seminary or something to that effect. I'm sure I'll be blessed by Jesus, right? You should have seen how elated I was when I stepped out of that restaurant courtesy of those Safaricom notification texts and my loud extended ringtone hurriedly thanking him for the date! I know primary education is free and tertiary education seems to get cheaper by the day with all these mushrooming universities in Kenya but seriously be something in addition to that Second Degree, Masters or PhD! That's a student we can deal with. 

Princess Diana held, ‘People think that at the end of the day a man is the only answer to fulfillment. Actually a job is better for me.’  Maybe this is what some men call redistribution of wealth but then who said I’m poor? We may have all these different outfits in the zega scene to meet an end but at the end of the day you need to ask yourself. What are really your true priorities in this life? Profoundly, it goes down to your values and belief system. I looked at the pretty boys’ code while finalizing this article and it just said that men you are neither related nor hitched to should NOT pay your rent.

The gay digger missed a lot of things when growing up so this is his time to compensate and being fucked by some Karen dwelling guy in addition to other goodies is not a big deal.  The gay digger just needs to get his ass together. Start that business, get the damn papers and/or enroll for a job. This is Africa and there are expectations. One can’t be a parasite! The High Maintenance Boy probably got used to getting anything he wanted while growing up. That’s why there's that guy you know who has a good job or even an affluent family background but still wants to be showered with a constant stream of gifts and attention from some rich men. Honey, while you are enjoying the man at his expense, make sure you can equally afford a fabulous lifestyle even if he was to disappear into thin air. ‘Professional students’ are a bunch of crazies who have outlived their breastfeeding. I’ll just ask them one thing I saw somewhere a while back. Since when has being cheap counted as empowerment? Hey, we are all for getting in touch with our ‘inner goddesses’. Even pole dancers are on their way to a ‘new them’ but you can’t get lobster thermidor out of a can of tuna, Get a Life!

To the best of my recollection, the last time I met Daniel was in his office.(Okay fine, since Briancito won't leave me at peace: It's David who killed some giant in the Bible not the former) He introduced me to his members of staff and I felt humbled. There is also that time he paid a courtesy call to my place during the day and some young men in the hood were carefully checking him out. Indeed, boys dream what men do.  The good thing is that this time I had a profile and still doing something about it. Some of us are not gay diggers, but definitely don’t date broke niggers. In the same breath some of us don’t date hustlers but that doesn’t necessarily rule out the fact that we won’t sleep with them.

Neatly put, some people just don’t suck d!ck for success, deal with it!

Cole Mutahi.

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.