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©

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.