It’s 2013: Poor Dating, Walks of Shame & Cum Bucket Aside; I’m Getting Rich & Hitched (Perhaps?) – Part 1

Previously on T.S.R©

…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 31^st 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

Of Hopeless Romantics, 40-year old daddies and the diva wannabes’

Last season on T.S.R

 

…Professional students’ are a bunch of crazies who have outlived their breastfeeding; …People think that at the end of the day a man is the only answer to fulfillment. Actually a job is better for me.

I just turned 25, OMG! Like WTH!? I'm already a quarter century old! I'm not sure whether I will be able to keep up with 'em twinks –Are there even twinks in Kenya? – But hey I got the looks and still feel like a virgin! But…

Prologue

Happy 2013!  

Yep! It's a new season. It’s been an arduous plan to come to T.S.R. Acknowledgments are in order to one Cole Mutahi through one of my customary scandalous online bitching rendezvous. Since November 2012 when this noble idea was conceived, a lot has happened in between though nothing much has changed. Being a new year I urge all you fellas to work hard, smart and dress for success! The bottom line being, you are your own ultimate goal! Don't make any excuses, remember time and chance happen to all…speaking of time, it’s like a flowing river; you can't touch the same water twice of the flow that has already passed! Enjoy life, take chances because at the end of it all the only regrets that you will have are the chances you didn't take, the relationships that you were too afraid to have and those decisions that you took too long to make.

I am Derrick Mathenge Muthoni. Yes! You did read that right: Muthoni! She is the iron lady who single handedly brought me up in the infamous Kawangware slums. I used to share a one roomed shanty with my mum, an uncle and two male cousins the youngest of the three being sixteen. It's through this hardship that my mum was able to mold me into the man I am today: a self-motivated, independent-minded and responsible young man. I am gay as they come; well I guess that's quite obvious and not one of those impostors we seem to be having lately. I have been gay since time immemorial! See, I am one of those few guys who never went through all that self-discovery, self-denial, self-acceptance and coming out phases that constitute many a zega man’s life cycle thanks to the aforementioned household structure and those ill-mannered uncle and cousins of relatives I had. They effortlessly undressed in my presence. This kind of environment aroused my naughty and curious mind to sample the three male d*cks at my disposal and at the tender age of six, I knew I derive both pleasure and leisure from masculinity. Since then the script has never changed. Now you know!

…I still feel like the gods have conspired to seal my fate in the world of loneliness nevertheless I'll dutifully, diligently and faithfully continue to wait for my knight in shining armor though that doesn't mean a pretty boy isn't entitled to some fun if you know what I mean (wink). Faithful and committed men are hard to come by. I think they have never existed but then good men abound in plenty especially in Nairobi. I mean, just look around you and all you see are fine looking men all over the place!

Being a new year, it's that time again we are all back to square one; drawing up resolutions! Tragedy is once our faithful employers’ deposit our January perks into our otherwise famished accounts, all the said resolutions are tossed into the one oblivion corner. I strive to achieve at least 75 % of my resolutions and that's quite a good score. This year I only have one resolution that I have drawn up: the kind of men I hope not to meet or date. I'm not sure whether I'll be able to stick to my list considering some douche bag somewhere will make a fool out of me taking into account that I remain active in our otherwise so chaotic zega social scene with it's never ending drama. So who is this I hope not to meet? Come closer. 

The Hopeless romantic!   

I was in a relationship with a hopeless romantic for one year, Yep! A whole 12 months of the calendar in fact within a span of eight months the relationship had moved from a simple date thro’ an engagement to a fully-fledged marriage complete with a ring on it! – In short within one year I had become someone’s wife!
So who is a hopeless romantic? A hopeless romantic is not as hopeless as the name might suggest. On the contrary, he is a true loving caring guy who believes in true love, fairy tales and happy endings! He believes in roses, candlelit dinners, walking on the beach at sunset and dancing in the rain while kissing. This is quite a sweet guy on the outside. He knows how to treat a man. He will go to any lengths to make sure his partner’s needs are taken care of but he expects something in return: Total commitment and loyalty which if not given back in equal measure will reveal the dark side of him.
Having dated a hopeless romantic, at first it really appeared so sweet that a guy would put so much effort into making another man happy. Thanks to Safaricom and its occasional offers. Unlimited SMS texts would flow into my phone endlessly 24/7 ranging from the usual texts between lovers, the edit and forward ones to the not so important ones like ‘I'm going to the loo’ and this would happen every minute of the day. Considering I was in college and I had a lot of time in my hands, it was fun but the guy had a day job! Where does he get all this time to keep texting even trivial matters!?

He would seize any opportune moment to call and "check on” me. He would call a minimum of five times a day just to hear my voice. This behavior is not limited to texts and calling. The hopeless romantic wants you to be with him all the time. He plans out all your dates and escapades out of town without even consulting you, he plans out your lives on how you will live together as one little happy family, he believes your match is made in heaven and it’s the only thing you live for. He even hopes Denis Nzioka and his cronies speed up their activism work so that gay marriage can be legalized in Kenya and you can adopt kids…and a puppy!

With time life caught up with me. I started getting busy, it got boring and I felt fatigued occasionally to a point I would not reply to most of the texts and failed to pick some of the calls, then all hell broke loose! He felt I was ignoring him and his efforts. Sometimes I'd feign lack of credit and he would immediately top up my balance so I had no excuse not to keep in touch. Sometimes I'd fake lack of fare to go and see him and that very minute: M-Pesa pap!  But I must admit the sex was mind blowing, whoa!

Putting you in your place

With this kind of behavior you soon realize that you are perfectly ensnared to an otherwise sweet romantic man but a control freak because it gets to the point where if you don't answer his calls, you do have to explain where you had been, what you had been up to and whom you had been with. He believes your world revolves around him and since you are the perfect couple, what else do you need? He gives you everything!  Sooner or later it dawns on him that his life is not going through his perfect script so he turns violent and abusive (and by being abusive I mean emotional, verbal and physical abuse) he calls it putting you in your place.

 

If you are sharp enough you realize that all this lovey-dovey and attention is suffocating you because at the end of the day you are still a man. You need space, you need independence, you need to chart your own destiny and here is a dude who wants you to give him your whole fuc*ing life! Sweetheart, you will miss out on half of your life by sticking with this kind of guy while you have nothing to offer in return! So all you hopeless romantics that live in a fanatical delusional world of happy ever after, I choose not to look at life through rose colored glasses but live in reality!

The 40 – year old daddy

This kind of guy is in a class of his own! He is most likely in his early forties or late thirties but likes to hang out with twenty-something year olds mostly "divas". Most likely he is married or a divorcee with a brood of kids and a disgruntled ex-wife to take care of. Worst case scenario: He is single! 

The former will never let you anywhere near his crib (though I hear some of you have even been quickly serviced in his driveway at the back of the car). He prefers you have sex in lodgings or if you have your own place the better. The latter is a disaster waiting to happen and his crib is famed for hosting all manner of boys majority being the boys from the countryside (they need to make a transition from the rural to an urban mentality you know); He has deflowered almost all of them like it’s an initiation into the cruel Nairobi gay life. He makes them believe that he has been looking for love for a long time and that he is the one and with a plate of chicken and chips (French Fries) at some cheap downtown restaurant. Usually he’s known to screw all rural – urban migrants then keeps them around for a week or two before another comes knocking. The former is thrown out having served his purpose! Green zega men from up country or the likes, kindly stay away from this daddy if you love yourself!

Of course the 40 – year old daddy drives (doesn't matter what make of car) and this is something that makes him quite a catch to those boys who don't "use" matatus  (public vehicles) since he gets to drive them around as they club hop. Club hopping is his second hobby. Just go to his Facebook wall which he updates like a sixteen-year old girl then proceeds to tag the usual Facebook whores and you will see what I'm talking about. The Facebook whores (mostly in their twenties) are his Bff’s! Who most of the times are after his money and all the liquor he can buy because the only place they get social is the local zega friendly bar. Never mind, trendy t-shirts and a pair of converse are alien to him!

Being a bottom is a weakness    

Daddy believes he is the ultimate top yet he’s always willing to bottom in secret. He also has this thing going on that he has seen it all in the gay world. He makes a move on you and you reject his advances, you will see a drama queen in disguise! He will proceed to tell you how you will not remain young forever and how you are soon heading to where he is. Usually he calls it – what was it again – Yes, a lonely place! (You are fifteen or so years his junior) He will tell how you will forever remain a bottom despite your education, looks, salary or whatever company you work for. To him being a bottom is a weakness and/or disability when you are not yielding to his demands. In fact he all of a sudden realizes you are not as pretty as you appeared to be.

What do I expect from a forty year old man? Without mincing words, a settled stable man who is running his own businesses, managing his own investments or at the top of his career ladder not some club hopping moron! If at all he believes in relationships as he purports to he should be in a stable relationship with a regular partner of his age group not a guy twenty years his junior. Case in point: Neil Patrick Harris (39) he of how I met your mother and his ever so adorable partner David Burtka (37). This is the kind of relationship idea daddy should emulate in 2013 to command respect from me.

The 20 – something year old diva wannabe 

My dear tops or the dominant partners, you are adequately spared on this one. 

This is the skinny bitch (though there are many fat ones too!) who thinks the whole world revolves around him and the world owes him a living. For starters he can sing or so he thinks! Never mind my singing in the shower would win me a Grammy compared to his singing. As a matter of fact, he has a number of albums to his name that are topping the charts all over East Africa and having more hits on YouTube than gangnam style! Beyonce and Lady Gaga are his ultimate goddesses. He lives in a fanatical delusional world of glitz and glamor believing he is more entitled to fame than Kim Kardashian or her developing fetus that’s more famous than any of us will ever be! 

Mr. Diva wannabe not only thinks he is a supermodel good enough to rival Naomi Campbell but also a self-made fashionista who believes Ankara is the greatest thing to ever hit the runway. He calls color clashing color blocking and all that crap that comes with street fashion. With his fashion – obsessed mind, he dresses all slutty and trashy then ends up looking like a scarecrow and still demands respect! He dines and wines at the most expensive restaurants if the posts on his social media space are anything to go by. He never wastes a chance to tell the whole world where he is dining or clubbing and Facebook and/or  Twitter is just perfect for that. Well, he is probably holed up in some nasty bit of Ngara and/or Dandora or dining and clubbing at the expense of some rich bloke who doesn't mind hustle free sex for a day or two. He has an expensive smartphone most likely white in color and the only language it knows is ‘aki woiye nisambazie credo’ (Please send me some airtime)

Falling in love on a first date 

He is always on the move from town to town. Let’s not forget that he is a college student, when does he ever get to study? As a matter of fact at 28, he is still a professional student.  He likes being hosted for a few weeks by guys and woe unto you if he settles in! He considers himself married to you and will update to the whole world how he is playing the good wife by cooking, cleaning and going to the market for his new-found 'love.' He will shout, scream and insult all his friends and perceived enemies who are jealous of the said romantic interest considering he falls in love on the first date!

Keeping up Appearances

What he doesn't realize is that these makeshift zega marriages are short-lived. After he has served his purpose he is kicked out. I have had the privilege to host one and all I saw was a broken young man who has no control over his own life. He has lost direction, he has fallen behind in his college studies in fact his academic qualifications don't measure up. He avoids his poor family like plague since they are an embarrassment to him. He makes outrageous demands to keep appearances. He does not eat sukumawiki (kale) only marinated chicken and all that crap but not at his own expense. He is full of negativity, anger and hatred, he lives on borrowed time and money; nobody measures up to his ‘class’. I think his soul needs salvation, he needs Jesus!

I hopefully urge the gods to conspire and spare me from these kinds of men. But then I pause here and wonder who my type is. Most of you are asking the same. That quiet, humble, college – educated, shy, workaholic, fun to be with kind of man…works for me.

I'm out, Cheers!

Mathenge Derrick ®

The author is your regular quiet laid back gay Kenyan dude who doesn't subscribe to the regular gay stereotypes in search of his own happiness in homosexuality and still marveled by the many surprises twists & turns of our sexuality. Most likely you have met him maybe you have not but when you do you will understand.

A feast for the senses...

Host: KBA

Christmas…

For me this is an unusual time. It used to be a time I looked forward to with great enthusiasm: Travelling to my grandparents; being together with my cousins whom I hadn’t seen for a year (and I’m talking about real cousins here not the gay guy ‘cousin’); Christmas carols; lights; shopping for new wears and presents; church at night; receiving and opening presents; lots and lots of food; lots and lots and lots of people…in short, a feast for the senses. It would become such a heady experience that January would be filled with what (so I’m told) addicts would call severe withdrawal symptoms after a month of unadulterated excess. I loved Christmas, Hard.

So just before I went live today…

Cole: OMG! Look, you’re fly, I’m fly; you are a legal mind, I’m a stakeholder in the judicial process as well – though one of your fellow learned friends that I’m sure is well known to me alluded that that line might as well mean I’m a jailbird when I was trying to make small talk with him – you’re single, I’m very single and yes you are also a tall tower of water…shouldn’t we make out or something?

KBA: (Blushing) Cole, thanks very much for that astute description, aren’t you supposed to be on sabbatical or something?

Cole: Please, you honestly didn’t expect me to miss the season finale…besides someone has to lock up the studios you know! (Giggles) How is Nyali?

KBA: It’s so so, when are you coming again?

Cole: Er…is that like a date? Let’s see…the last time you almost made me miss my flight back to NBO on a Sunday evening and you still owe me that KBA-patented-evening-stroll at Haller Park?

KBA: Oh Boy, you really remember everything! Sure, I’ll meet my end. By the way something I meant to ask you after some recent article. Are you High Maintenance?

Cole: (sighs) To answer the first question maybe next year after January, so make sure you rent a yacht by then (He has a serious face on) Secondly, I look at myself as an independent but also a wannabe HMB. But hey, cash only impresses lazy boys. When a pretty boy works hard and smart, a man with money is just a bonus not a ladder of upgrade!

KBA: Well put Ms.T.S.R. I think I’ll reserve my further comments when we are off camera!

Cole: (Throwing his hands up) Yay! Sh*t, where are my manners? (Shaking my hands)Thanks for agreeing to host us today.

KBA: No, thanks you for being patient with me and giving me the chance to wrap up your writing season.

Cole: Trust me, I could make Job jealous. I’m just heading out to go apply my lip gloss then come for the…

KBA: (Smiling) Get out of here!

******

Over the years, as an adult, I’ve approached this season with caution, sometimes even despair. Caution because of not wanting to hope too much and end up being disappointed. Despair at the things I haven’t yet done and for the uncertain New Year that is to happen upon me. And I find that, apart from the incessant partying and the copious spending of money (something I never did when I was younger- it was all paid for by the adults anyway, right?); there really is nothing much to Christmas anymore. Is there? 

In the last, say, five years, I believe I have done some growing up: loved ones have been lost and Christmas has compounded their loss; I have been broke in more than one sense and Christmas has compounded the “brokenness”; there have been fewer family get-togethers and Christmas has compounded the sense of isolation; a relationship was ended and Christmas has compounded the sense of loneliness and desperation. 

Setbacks are your comebacks at Christmas.

Yet I am still here, faced with another Christmas. But this time I’m looking forward to it again. Well, kind of mostly because things have started looking up. I have a lot to be grateful about. Despite the stress and troubles I can look back and smile and count my blessings and list my achievements. I can put Christmas 2011 next to Christmas 2012 and say that I am not in the same place now as I was then. Some improvements have been made and that gives me courage and an incentive to go on for another year. I have made friendships that have been vital to my journey. My eyes have been opened a little more to myself and the world around me. I am getting closer to my goal. I am not completely disillusioned and I love the people in my life for better or for worse. I still see the cloud’s silver lining. I am more self-aware. I am stronger than before. I am healthy. This Christmas I will sing Christmas Carols deliriously and be more euphoric because I am alive.  And every moment I remember these things, I am happy.

That is the essence of this whole festive season and you my esteemed readers have a not only a right to think about these things but also to live and love life.

(Looking at my watch) Hmm, now where is this bloke who promised me a smooch? Oh boy, he’s here!

Happy Christmas and New Year!

KBA

The writer is a lawyer working for gain (and fun) in this beautiful Republic. He loves swimming, fine dining, adventure in serene milieus over a reading matter and his Chilean wine vintage. He’s not only a fan but also a good comrade and critic to T.S.R. 

The Situation Room – By Cole Mutahi 2012©