Continued from here:
Mwangi went up the ladders which I held up against the wall for him so that I could get a glimpse of his undercarriage, only out of curiosity as any good homosexual can attest. I did this innocently the way women steal glances at other hotter women at the beach even when they aren’t lesbian. But if you get caught loitering at the bottom of staircases acting suspiciously don’t quote me. From my furtive, drooling inspection I could tell he was packing at least a quarter kilo of raw sausage and a pair of nuts encased in a loose scrotal dolly bag. I then pretended to go back to my book but the jumbled words did not make sense although I trusted myself enough to know I would never succumb to a temptation which might jeopardise what I have with George. Mwangi was up and down a few times during which he was getting more sweaty and appetising like a mutura on a hot charcoal grill.
He then mixed some concrete and disappeared up on the roof for close to two hours during which time my ardour dampened, George came back from his shopping trip and Imelda started the dinner. When Mwangi started descending to announce he had the leak finally fixed, George was waiting expectantly because I’d told him there was an angel above. His eyes popped as I started to introduce them and George exclaimed to Mwangi imagine meeting you in our house and how have you been!! Yes, I stood in shock as they greeted each other like old friends. Apparently George knew Mwangi from when he used to go on Nairobi’s disjointed and unrewarding gay scene before he met me. What a small world it really is and phew thank heavens I didn’t try anything. I said thanks for fixing the leak and I’m confident it’s been a good repair. Mwangi said don’t worry if anything should go wrong he would be back at no extra cost. Then George came up with the idea that Mwangi should get showered and changed and join us for drinks and dinner, they needed to catch up. Mwangi didn’t need much convincing, so he went to the bathroom as we waited for a certain dinner guest.
You remember when I told you about my friend who was looking for a lover, specifically one with a bbc? Well, Ken was coming to dinner that night, he still hadn’t had much success with bagging himself a boyfriend but I tell you when he clapped his eyes on Mwangi who was all scrubbed up looking like a torero ready to slay a bull and seated to my left at the table, sparks flew like an exhaust pipe scrapping on tarmac. They were all over each other like a rash on a baby’s bottom from cot crap. That night, much later, Ken and Mwangi left together and I felt that they had both found what it is many people are searching for. Since then Mwangi has also been on the phone to George thrice just to say how happy they both are. We wish them well for the future.