Someone needs a doctor (this is the end of Lavish living)

Monday night 7th March I was driving home at about 9pm listening to The Jump Off on Homeboyzradio, hosted I think by Corine. By the way Corine is a killer DJ with mad skills if you like your r n b and rap. I was in my white shirt and tie from a meeting but now feeling like a gangster listening to Black & Yellow, Eminen ft Dr Dre, and the ilk of Rihanna, etcetera etcetera. I can still hear Dr Dre in my head - I started this gangster shit and this the motherfucking thanks I get. And, Ring Ding Dong. I bet you only true aficionados will appreciate Me Against The world and What You Won't Do For Love by Tupac. But the best poetry ever must be from Tupac - you claim to be a playa but I fucked your wife. Ouch, Biggie that must have hurt. Before I forget, Nate Dogg, who went to be with the Creator 15th March 2011; RIP son, you were the true regulator. People in my professional circles would be dismayed to discover my tastes in music, lol. Sorry to digress but DJ Corine always sounds extra perky, sassy like she's clenching a mechanical rabbit to death. For the record I love a girl without a speed governor who knows girls should also enjoy sex by taking control and going on top. Factual. Yes, indeedy I do.

I was feeling very horny about Gee and me, reminiscing how things were so sweet between us before Lavish and the way I messed up. My team members at work say I've become a real arsehole to be around. I know it's only because I haven't had any gay sex in 2011 although I had an ego boost boning one of Kenya's finest - Lavish Maingi. As a result my confidence is now at sky-high, I feel like I have the world at my feet. On the home-front George and I are now on 80% normal talking terms but still sleeping apart. We got stewed together Saturday night on Skyy vodka and cranberry juice while re-watching a DVD of that disturbing American comedy Testees. If you haven't watched it then I suggest you do so asap, it's one of life's sexless orgasms. That night we started to reconnect again, we cuddled together on the floor wrapped inside a sleeping bag. I was disappointed because nothing happened to quench my fleshly desires but we did kiss and the passion is still there. I guess my recent badness is still a sore point with Gee but I'm working on fixing things. The healing process may take long but I have hope as luckily for me Gee is a fair man who knows that deep down I'm not evil, I'm only human.

So last week after I passed the Village Market guess who called me? You won't believe it but it was partner in crime Lavish. She had come down to Nairobi for the Ce'cile show and she'd called me on Saturday morning saying she wanted to take me to the concert but I said no baby I've got to try fix my relationship and atone for my mistakes. Also I'm a coward who heeded the Police Commissioner’s warning about possible al Shabaab attacks where crowds are gathered. In fact my sixth sense tells me an event is imminent; not if, but when - so be extra vigilant especially where Westerners frequent. That said, sources tell me there was at least a platoon of armed GSU on standby at the Carnivore.

When Lavish called she said hi I'm at the hotel lying in bed naked drinking brandy and my body is on fire, I need you now. I said no Lavish please leave me alone and find someone else to put out those flames. Reader, please proceed with caution: Then she said I'm so wet touching myself, I need to feel you. She said I want you here now to cum and make a baby then I'll leave you alone. Of course everyone knows I enjoy sex and don’t buy that nimechill bullshit, but 'thou shall not engage in casual skin to skin' is my 11th Commandment. That's when I finally concluded that Lavish is a bit of a nutcase and not worth all the trouble. Before I switched my mobile off I said sorry but you want to bareback just like that?! WHAT WE HAD IS FINITO. You're crazier than even I can handle; baby you seriously need to see a doctor....

Jesus & Judas (Go to Simba Soul)

The past week has been hellish. After George pronounced the death of our relationship I begged and begged him to forgive me and reconsider but it was soon clear his mind was made up. I even employed the diplomatic culinary persuasions of Imelda but still he would not budge. The way to this man's heart is definitely not his stomach. Contrary to what many people thought, this new chapter in our life did not mean that George was severing contact with me. Luckily for me, my ex (sounds weird to me, I think I'm still in denial like Gaddafi) has only moved across the hall into another bedroom. I feel sad but also happy that George was confident in the depth of our relationship to still count me as a friend for life if not part of the family. We've traveled a long bumpy journey together I just hope we can navigate this rough patch and emerge wiser if not patched up. Thankfully God exists because here in Nairobi we are enjoying excellent weather after the frightening rainstorms of just two weeks ago. To those of you in the northern hemisphere, let me tell you that I never knew warmer wall to wall sunshine nor powder-bluer skies. I'm looking around for a hammock; fingers crossed by the time I find one, George will agree to lie in it with me. After all what's the point of a hammock if you can't be uncomfortable in it with the person that you love?

I've coped with the breakup by working really hard on an interesting client brief which has meant paths crossing with brilliant people I previously worked with including bff Sheila. Motherhood definitely suits her, and my officially soon-to-be godson baby Matt is coming along a treat. We work till 10 pm most days, by the time I get home George is already tucked away in his room. I can tell he's waiting for me to come home because his bedroom lights only go out when I climb the last step on the stairs and open the door to what used to be our room. Thursday night I tapped on his door and whispered goodnight. Gee was quiet for like two minutes though I heard our favorite Ce'cile cd playing softly...love you when you're gone. Then he said slowly sweet dreams, honey! My heart skipped some beats to hear his sexy drawl, I think there's more than a spark there, perhaps still some smoldering embers. For now I just curl up naked in bed where George used to sleep, tossing and turning tortured that he's only sleeping next door. I cover my face with one of his t-shirts sniffing his scent and soaking away my streams of hot regret tears. With my old tattered Raymonds Polar Bear blanket from my childhood wrapped round the pillow I manage to fall asleep just before 3 am. It's not ideal and I'm beginning to notice that I'm not firing on all cylinders by mid-afternoon. If it carries on like this I'll get myself off to Dr Njenga's for a prescription to help me sleep easier. The project I'm working on has a lot riding on it leaving no room for stupid errors. I know some of you who believe in love and the fallibility of mere mortals (I'm not talking of you kasaperekarembo) continue to pray for me, so I hope it won't come to a psychiatrist's couch.

What of elephant-in-the-room, Lavish daughter of Maingi? Well, she sent me a package by G4S Courier the other day; yeah I was also surprised when it arrived given that company's recent local incompetence. Imelda signed for a set of 4 sumptuous boxer shorts in large made from 95% cotton and 5% Lycra. They are a snug, velvet glove-like fit, very much like how I remember her little manicured hands. I'm not veerry endowed in that department (I'm average, Imelda made a good guess, lol) therefore smooth little hands wrapped around my toolbox are always more than welcome but that's another story, hahaha. Also with the package was a carefully crafted personal message. L2mm dear, hope you don't mind me sharing parts of that letter, which I later shredded, with my readers. In it she surmises that I'm not really gay or even bi, she accuses me of exhibiting classic psycho sexual-predator symptoms by blowing hot and cold thereby creating dependence all for my gratification. It's not the first time I've being called that, btw. I on the other hand feel like I'm getting manipulated from different angles. Or to put it in sheng, naona kuna ujanja unago. Oddly enough I'm enjoying both the attention and deprivation equally - I can't work out what about these two very diverse creatures lights up sensual areas of my brain like fireworks.

Oh, Lavish pto'd her missive with the bombshell:I love you and I want to have your baby! It's all too much for me to handle. Tonight I'll just let my hair down, I'm heading off to The Simba Saloon with Sheila for some alcoholic beverages (dawa, anyone?) and nostalgic eighties soul music. You can find us canoodling - seated away from the crowd - in the 'Jo'burg' part of the club. I asked George if he wanted to join us he said he'll think about it but he hasn't given me a decision. We've just devoured a rather juicy water melon from the fridge together which is a good sign, I think know he'll come out too.

I take responsibility for all my actions (I'm sorry)

I finally escaped from the delectable black widow-clutches of Lavish on Wednesday morning because she had to leave for Kilifi. For the first time since those events I was a bag of nerves over breakfast thinking about George and my squalid actions of the last few days. She remarked are you always this grumpy in the morning even after you've had your sweeties? I don't know why but Lavish in broad daylight was already beginning to grate on me. I said 'excuse me if I'm not giving you my full undivided attention but I think my lust for you almost certainly lost me the only man I ever loved completely.' I remembered a line from "Good Girls" that song by Joe - why are all the good girls taken everytime. Lavish paused to put the glass of orange juice down and said tell me it wasn't all worth it because you were more than a willing participant. We were sitting downstairs at the Thorntree cafe looking out where they are extending the sidewalks further out to Kimathi Street. She continued, 'look at me and tell me you never want to see me again and I'll walk away.' I was staring at her breasts, now covered in a lavender crisp business shirt, where I'd rested my head the previous night. I felt nothing. But she knew me a little bit better to be confident that having binged on her juice I could never forget her easily. A tear rolled down my cheek as we embraced bye bye yet my crucifixion was only just starting.

When I got home it was mid morning, the sky was a hazy blue from all the Nairobi sunshine but my skin was cold. George was not in which was fine because i assumed he was away at work. Imelda looked at me with an accusing eye when she came to meet me in the hallway, I said I'm sorry pal for causing so much pain; she just nodded as she handed me an envelope from George. It was a Valentine's card with the love message crossed out. On the other face he had written 'To the love of my life, Tamaku', then: 'You have broken my heart in a million pieces with your cruelty. I've gone away to Eburru to be with Ken and Mwangi. Don't know when I'll be back. ' Signed, Yours Gee, and he had drawn a smiley of a sad face. I felt that dull, cutting pain where my heart should be. My near-perfect world was exploding around me and I had only myself to blame. Well, myself and the intoxicating charms of one Ms Lavish Mwanaisha Maingi (L2M for short). Mostly self-inflicted because she hadn't tied me to any bed.

I'll be a liar if I didn't confess to you that I also felt a deep sense of shame. I had let George down and people that I thought were my friends some whom I met through this blog instantly became hostile. It's no exaggeration that from the slew of emails received I have become the most detested Kenyan gay blogger. Someone even threatened to slash my penis and pour lemon juice on the cuts before cutting my balls off and stuffing them in my mouth! I was stymied to discover how many people think they know what's best for me, thanks for the concern btw. Later that afternoon I picked up myself from the floor and called George. We spoke for ten minutes but all I remember is I was sobbing like a baby saying sorry, so sorry honey. George on the other end was cool, his voice emotionless, not saying much just that he would be back when he was ready.

So I spent the rest of the week in a state of mourning and depression. Somehow I did manage to put in some long hours in a project that I'm working on although my heart wasn't in it. Saturday night just before midnight Lavish called me from Kilifi, she said I see you've been writing about us because she discovered this blog. She said you'll make people think I'm a heartless bitch but I don't care much for the opinions of strangers. Then she said to guess what colour panties she was wearing and I replied baby, whatever colour it is, it must be on fire but I don't feel like the phone-sex thingy tonight. She said wrong answer; I'm not wearing any now. I called to tell you I must have you for myself soon or I'll die. I said baby you won't die, but please, give me some space because I have many issues on my plate that need attending to at the moment. That night I unwisely drunk myself silly in a vain attempt to assuage my tormented soul and fall asleep.

George finally came back home early Sunday evening. We had spoken a few times more but I wasn't getting through to him the way I desperately wanted. I was still unforgiven and from his tone I sensed I could soon be forgotten. How foolish had I been and for what? I feared I had traded true love and security for lust and heady adoration that had left me feeling unfulfilled. I knew that George needed me (which I like) while with Lavish I would just be a trophy (soiled goods really) or a plaything at best (which I'm not used to). Sorry Lavish, but are you really a keeper? Am I not just another conquest, a notch on you bed post? After George had his shower and changed his clothes we sat in the patio silently enjoying the breeze. The air was heavy with the tension then he just cleared his throat and my heart stopped:

'Tam, it's over between us.'

My Valentine's Day & Night (Will I ever be forgiven?)

Continued from here:

I took a taxi to the hotel which was only 40 minutes. When I got to Lavish's room she opened the door and I dropped the suitcase inside, closed the door quietly and we kissed. She was wearing a long t-shirt and nothing else. It felt better and sweeter than the first time. Without saying a word I scooped her to the bed and we made love, she told me when I say no to you I always mean yes. Yes we made music, I finally understood what Chris Martin means on Paper Loving (Cardiac Bass Riddim) when he sings If you cyaan love me now, Don't love me later when my later is much greater...

We both cried real tears by the time we finished, that's how intense it was. I'm not saying that I'm a stud (far from it) or that Lavish is the best lover but it felt so special I even feel guilty telling you about it. Then we ordered room service and ate in bed. In fact we didn't leave the bed until Monday afternoon when we came downstairs to the Thorntree cafe. Over biscuits and tea lavish said Baby I told you I always get what I want. I didn't know what to say. I just said I think you reset my sexuality. She looked at me with her big eyes and took my hands in hers. Yes Tamaku, I was sent to reset your sexuality to straight and it will be set permanent at straight as long as I'm around. My head was spinning but all I could see was George's face. I told Lavish I love George. She said I know, because I met him when I came to your place and saw how you are together. She said I'll give you time to decide because I know you are mine forever. Then we went back to the suite, we made love again and fell asleep.

When we woke up it was almost six in the evening. The air in the suite was damp from the rain mixed with the sweet dizzying smell of sex and we had to get ready for dinner. I rang the restaurant that I'd reserved for George and me to cancel because I couldn't bring myself to go there with Lavish. Then I rang my old assistant Jemima from when I used to have a proper job, I said please superwoman I need dinner for two somewhere nice tonight. Jemima, bless her, called me back in ten minutes and said you have a table at Fogo Gaucho for nine pm. By this time Lavish was in the bath her face floating over bubbles so I joined her. She looked like a mermaid in the water, there are few women who are as beautiful as Lavish is. Because of that fact we made love again, we almost missed our reservation, lol! On the way to Westlands for dinner I called George. He sounded happy, I think he was tipsy. He said I'm at home with Imelda and her son we are having a Valentine's dinner. I said cool, I miss you guys, I'll see you tomorrow. So that's how Valentine's was - me and Lavish at Fogo Gaucho and then later at Black Diamond for some drinks and leg shaking. In the back of the taxi to Black D Lavish whispered in my ear, now that you've wined and dined me, are you going to sixty-nine me? I said you bet, later. My ego was turbo-boosted entering the club with this stunning woman. The guys in the club looked at me as if to say you lucky bastard and the Nairobi night girls looked at my date as if to say who let Cinderella out. I was thinking, wait till you see my boyfriend. Lavish that night was wearing vintage black Yamamoto lace, I told her if we get together with you I'll have to take out a mortgage just to buy your panties. Which is a big joke because Lavish has done very well for herself. She was so feminine like a china doll perfumed so irresistibly, seductive in waves of Vera Wang Princess. Even now sitting here all alone in the lounge watching KISS TV - Kenya's Greatest Entertainer 'talent' show where some hapless but sweet girl is murdering Britney Spears' I Was Born To Make You Happy, I can never forget that scent.

So to cut a long story short, I'm in a dilemma. Big time. I haven't seen George for the last four days although he's keeping in touch by phone. He told me he's taken our car to Naivasha with friends. Advice please!

My Valentine's Day & Night

It’s been a while people, where do I start? Ok, let's go to the beginning which is always a good place to start. So I left London on Friday morning feeling physically refreshed but there were still some cobwebs in my head. Did I tell you about someone called Lavish? Of course I did and many of you weren't too pleased. Anyway, newsflash: she was more than a passing cloud! I'd been thinking a lot about her that's why we agreed with George that we take some time apart. Let me tell you nowhere like 39000 feet up in the privacy of a Club World pod to collect one's thoughts. But by the time BA 0065 landed in Nairobi I was still not clear in my mind what I wanted to do or who I wanted to be with.

George picked me up from the airport; I'd missed him so much. This man has a heart of gold. We hugged tight for half a minute until I felt something move down there, hahaha. Then he drove us home. I could tell he was so excited to see me, telling me about what's been happening. In my absence Imelda's son came to live with us now he's going to school. I won't write much about him because he's only a child.

That night after a quick shower and a light snack we went to bed. When we were lying there George said, so what have you decided? Is it me or is it going to be that woman Lavish? I said honey I can't just choose like that because I love you and I have these feelings for Lavish as well. He said people don't know how complex you are, I just want you to be happy so you need to make up your mind. And that's how the first night back went, cuddling each other in bed and talking for hours. But no sex, none of us even felt like it. We talked about how we met and how happy we've been together and also intimate stuff that I won't tell you because it's deep and only two people ever heard those whispers.

Come Sunday afternoon we were sitting in the lounge watching TV and my mobile vibrated. It flashed up 'LAVISH' and George saw it but he pretended like he had not seen it. I walked to the kitchen to answer the call. I felt something in my stomach from hearing that voice. Lavish asked, man have you missed me? I didn't make a sound. She said I know you missed me even if you don't say it because I'm a woman and we know these things. I found my voice and I said I missed you. Then she said I'm in town at the hotel, I want you to come to me now. I said let me think about it, I'll let you know. Then she said don't think because I'm waiting. Come now I’m waiting for you. Strangely, as she said those words I realized I was pinching my right nipple which was now quite stiff.

After the call ended I went back to Gee, he looked up and said I know you have to go but it's okay. He looked hurt and sad. I said honey I'm very sorry because I’m becoming a bad person. Then I went upstairs to our room. I packed my small wheelie Samsonite, I packed some underwear and socks and toiletries. I also put in a black Van Heusen dinner shirt and trousers and my autograph black pointy shoes. I knew I was spending Valentine's dinner away from George. I was going away to be with Lavish....


To be continued:

Decision Decisions Decisions - Help!

It’s nearing that time of year again when you MUST receive a card and at least a dozen blood-red roses or everyone in the office will conclude (rightly) that you’ve come to enjoy flying solo aka masturbation a little too much. Last year for Valentine’s, George treated me to an unforgettable night at a local restaurant. It cost him an arm and a leg, aaawww. Later we had some mind-blowing sex, nothing like it after a gourmet meal and a good Chablis. Oh, and he got me a prezzie as well. I figured this year I should do the treating.

At the moment I’m trying to decide which restaurant to book from here in the UK before I arrive in Nairobi later in the week because if I leave it till the weekend I’m not sure they’ll be any nice places left to go. If anyone has any suggestions please let me know either here or by email, it‘ll be much appreciated. I’m especially keen to hear from anyone who has tried Ole-Sereni or Rolf’s Place or even that new hotel in Westlands - Sankara. Restaurants I wouldn’t be seen dead in are the Carnivore (over-rated and so 90’s), Moonflower (bland food with eye-watering bills) and Trattoria (shouldn’t this place be taken off life-support?). I don’t mind, ahem, a complimentary from those establishments though, just to check out whether things have improved, hehehe. God, I’m so corrupt! This time I’m feeling braver unlike last year so we’ll definitely be out on the night with all the other lovebirds. Nothing in the law that says two men can’t enjoy a candlelit dinner on Valentine's. So, just looking for somewhere special with nice food and great ambiance that will guarantee me at least a week of sex afterwards.

George honey - if you read this post please try and act surprised when I take you out to dinner, ok sweetie?

Thank you Santa but this is what I really wanted for Christmas

Hello diary. Christmas here in Surrey was lovely. And extremely cold too. We spent the day with my brother Timmy, his wife Claudia and my two nephews who also brought girlfriends along. I won’t forget to mention the adorable two border collie dogs Stupid and Sharp. The issue of George has long been ironed out since our first visit here together. To be fair Timmy is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet - amiable and funny especially when he’s had a drink, my gayness was never going to come between us. He’s also very intelligent and with an acute sense of ethics which is why I wonder what he’s still doing in the pharmaceutical industry.

Everyone got on like a house on fire but somehow George and I still struggled in the freezing temps. The house is heated to 25 degrees C and there’s even under-floor heating downstairs. To cap it all Claudia had an electric blanket rolled out on our double bed. During the long weekend we stayed mostly indoors and only went out twice during the day to the nearby park to walk the dogs. I got a Shoei helmet from Timmy and Claudia while George gave me a leather-riding jacket. They must have been communicating secretly during the year after I said to George I want to start riding bikes again. We gave my relatives wooden African wall masks for their conservatory and I forked out a small fortune in cash for my nephews who are both heading for a skiing holiday tomorrow. To George I gifted a t-bar necklace in white gold. He says he loves it almost as much as he loves me.

Boxing Day afternoon I called Imelda who was away spending the holiday with her mum and her son. She was having a brilliant time frolicking in sunny Nairobi. I said you know what I’d really want right now, I wish you’d have knitted me a cock warmer because England is so cold. She laughed and said eh Tam, I’ve knitted many weird things before but that would be a first! Anyway Imelda being Imelda said, I’ll start knitting one for you right now which you can use during the wintry days here in July but you need to tell me what size your cock is. So I said take a guess but remember you’re due a salary increase soon. So she generously said, ‘Let me make it seven inches then you’ll be all warm and snug.'

I answered dryly, ‘Yes, Imelda at least seven inches flaccid. That’ll do!.' Lol!

I gotta a feeling

George and I just got back from visiting my friend Nyiva in Kangundo who's made a remarkable recovery from that bodaboda accident. Doctors are confident she'll be back at work in January which is nothing short of a miracle from when I last saw her. Also friends (Gay Knights of Nairobi - by invitation only) and family of mine clubbed some money together which means her son will also be in class when school reopens. There's some cash left over so they'll both definitely know it's Christmas time. Nyiva wants all of you to know how touched she was by your cyber prayers and kind words. Pat yourselves all on the back for that wonderful result.

Well, about that alleged two-timing incident with Lavish last week for which Kasapere now intimates I'm a rapist and lowlife, George and I are in a good place too. By the way I turned down an all expenses offer by Lavish early this week to go see her in Mombasa. I told her I'm not willing to take this to the next level and jeopardise what's dearest to me so I really hope you understand. Lavish said my heart desires you Tamaku but I'll do my best to back off. Then she added rather ominously, I usually get most things that I want so keep looking over your shoulder. We both laughed nervously at that implied threat, I scratched my testicles in camaraderie and replied eh missy, please don't go all psycho bitch on me now. Then we just left it at that.

After that conversation I called George and promised him that there wouldn't be a next time ever. I also more than made up to Gee for that indiscretion but I'm not going to reveal too much. All I can say is my supplication involved an intimate candlelit dinner somewhere very nice, a half bottle of Skyy vodka, Virgin Sudanese shea butter rubbed somewhere and some mind-blowing sex. Oh, the icing on the cake is the present of Christmas this year in England. I'm not too shy to unleash some spare financial firepower if it keeps us together. This morning after reading Kasapere's hurtful comments George tearfully told me I feel so blessed for this no ordinary love and I want you to know that you'll never be anyone's douchebag. So it's back to happy families.

On the way back from Kangundo (that road is an effing disgrace) I took this picture of men-at-work doing patchwork repairs. All is not lost though, a little bird sat on a lofty perch has just told me that total rehabilitation is penciled to begin early 2011 :)

We are both now slightly tired so we'll have a shagnap then shower and change before heading out to dinner with friends and some grueling (for me) clubbing. It's a small price for the privilege of having a younger man for a lover and best friend. Let no-one be under any illusion - George is the most loving, beautiful and hottest man alive. He is also irreplaceable. Lavish was horny-goat sex. Hope that has cleared it all up.

I've got a feeling that tonight's gonna be a good, good night. Lovely Saturday night all. xxx

No swimming with piranha

A couple of fridays ago George and I went for evening drinks at the Hilton's Jockey Bar. We also shared complementary roasted peanuts for both our nuts which is important for libido and stamina. Not too many salted nuts though because you might have a heart attack. I’ll let you decide, studhood or an early grave. As the evening wore on George was looking even more deserving of a good tickle, he's a generous lover and good ex-cop because he only had two bottles of chilled White Cap lager. I didn't want to let the side down and I wasn't driving so I downed a mini forest of Tuskers but very, very reshponshibly because they were getting planted at over 300 shillings plus taxes each. Ouch.

Soon we met the inevitable ma-gals, I say ma-gals because they were working girls (prostitutes is too entry-level). They didn't look too appetising but one man's poison may be another's meat. I should confess now that sometimes I think I could backslide and make an exception for the right chick only if we clicked on a sensuality level (only true freaks will understand) and if said candidate is an exceptional kisser. But not this sleazy clock-watching pair, I wouldn't screw them with your dick for money even though the recent census says the population of Kenyan women is almost equal to that of men. Also it tends to rain heavily in Nairobi especially when you've been drinking one must always pack a durex raincoat in the wallet it may be what saves your life in a storm. Many punters had their twelve minutes of fun and now they pray to God to just see another sunrise. Boys na girls, munanifeel?

I telescoped a benign but tipsy gaze on them just in case they wanted to steal my mano George but they can't give him the sugar that he craves. One of the other girls said hello handsome when she passed by us going to the loo, I answered 'hi sunshine' but she turned back and said I wasn't speaking to you - I was speaking to your friend. I was shocked because she looked like she wanted to scratch my eyes out. Thing is George didn't even look up, he's very allergic to certain women. I also find girls who make the first move as appealing as a Somali pirate, I don't know why. When I left the bar counter to go for a smoke at the poolside area a floor above, I mapped everyone's drinks' position to make sure no one was encroaching on my territory.

Eventually the women realised we were not immediate fodder laced with molasses because George had locked the palm of his hand on my knee and I was looking totally owned. Imelda may have had a point. So we decided to have innocent fun with Betty and Terry, who skillfully milked 3 drinks each from us of frontera chilean merlot wine expertly served by barman James. Betty, the one reeking fake Dior Addict Shine and stale dishwater breathe, sneakily showing the collar of a purple thong (so 90's) and desperately in need of manicure overhaul, told me she lives at Githurai 45 and said she wanted me to be a daddy for 5000 shillings for 2 shots bei ya kuongea (negotiable) at her digs. However breakfast, toothpaste and hot shower extra. And no early morning game drive which was the deal breaker. Cheap like lust is expensive, so I said sounds fab but no cigar babygal but here is a little something for you and your friend, enjoy yourselves - words even Bill Clinton couldn't bring himself to say to that woman. Being decent, gay men without firearms we declined to squeeze the melons or pinch their femme butts and left for home to start what we never like to finish.

On the way home we sang along to the CD with TLC's Red Light Special turned up loud...baby it's yours, all yours if you want it tonight. You can see the video here and fill in the blanks about what we did when we got home, lol. George says I'm more than a handful when I've had a drink. Guilty as charged.

When sleeping together is not about making any babies (with some extra sugar)

Someone wrote to ask me how two men can sleep intimately together. So I thought I’d share with you on our favorite sleeping position on those evenings when we are not doing it.

George likes to lie on his right side (facing away, I used to wonder why because he hasn’t got even a hint of halitosis and neither have I). I half-scoop him with my right forearm from behind, sort of midway up his back to clasp his left shoulder. I can only describe it like how a man places his arm on a woman’s back whilst leading in a ballroom dance but without stepping on delicate toes. Because George leans back to lie on this arm I usually wake up in the morning with that member partially numbed. I then slide my left arm under George’s, across his ribcage - like a pretend one-armed sideways Heimlich manoeuvre because he’s pulling me to him - to place my hand on the inside of his right shoulder where his stubbled-jaw rests for the night. Aaaahh, we sleep so closely together you wouldn’t get a bed bug in between but if there are any they can gladly have the other two-thirds of the mattress space.

Falling asleep like this we both feel equally contented and safe, purring through moonlit, twinkling Nairobi starry nights as the curtains are caressed by the fragrant air, whispers of moisture from our flooded garden. Thank you dear God for all the rain you've sent us. We lie in this lovers’ embrace, dreaming of a distant fairyland where gay cherub angels, gently strumming harp-strings to Michael Bolton's How Am I Supposed to Live Without You, float softly away on carpets of fluffy clouds to eternal paradise. (I know, I think I might have over-sugared it just a tiny bit but I'm seriously all loved-up at the moment, lol. Sorry there are no naughty pictures).

What George got me for Valentine’s

George is a big softie. On Valentine’s Day morning after breakfast he said he had a surprise for me, so I said no honey I don’t want to go back to bed just yet. He said don’t be silly and then he blindfolded me with a kitchen towel and took me by the hand. He said I’ve got you something nice and shiny that you can drive. I asked what now, surely way too extravagant to buy me a car when I already have a perfectly good one. And you know he’s working for a security company at the moment but not G4S which keeps losing lots of cash in transit though I admit a sinister thought did cross my mind. He laughed and replied noooo darling, no, be patient. It’s not a car but it has two wheels. By now we were outside the garage, my left fingers reaching out to feel the way ahead. I was so excited and giggling like a teenage girl because I was thinking could it be a brand new motorcycle like my friend’s Mike that I was riding in December? I’m not too materialistic but I don’t mind beautiful possessions.

When the garage doors opened, I ripped off the blindfold and George put my prezzie in my hands, I laughed so hard when I saw it and gave him a big wet kiss. He won’t thank me for telling you this but when I looked at him next tears were streaming down his face just like our first time together. I knew he was crying for joy because I know giving makes you very happy. Here’s a photo of my prezzie, it’s a lovely toy bike made out of wire and customized for a gay Kenyan. It now has pride of place in the study. I feel just as if I got the real thing.

On my part I baked George a chocolate heart-shaped cake which he’s saving for our first anniversary. I tell a teeny-weeny lie, it's actually Imelda who baked it but don’t tell him, besides he’s getting all that special loving all to himself, lol!

Life is about one gay at a time and keeping fit playing sports (long version)

I think I’m getting a little lazier by the day. I resigned my job at the beginning of December to ‘pursue other interests’ because I believed life should not be just about sitting in endless meetings listening to the same old chatter and nodding like a puppy while dreaming, the sky is so blue and the sun is really shining brightly outside, how I wish I was working on a farm milking cows. We’re still looking for an ideal piece of land to come along at the right price. In the interim I get by on morsels dripping from freelance consultancy work but I’m not exactly overwhelmed. I even put in for voluntary work but nothing yet.

George also left his job with the police force. He’s now a supervisor for a security firm (not the one that keeps losing millions of shillings in transit, ok?). I can’t tell you which one otherwise I’d have to kill you, lol! Anyway he’s definitely getting more confident; thankfully he’s never had that problem in bed hehehehehe. A long time ago I read lies somewhere (no doubt by a sad and lonely bachelor) that there’s nothing like an impotent man; just an incompetent woman. Some men! And the pay George is getting is way better. I’m so happy for him because your self-esteem can take a dent when you’ve got a college diploma but end up working as a Nairobi traffic policeman (many might disagree).

Weekdays I normally get out of bed 8am-ish scratching my bum yawning and thinking foggily, ‘Thank you dear Lord for a lovely new day but what am I going to do with it?’ The demons in my head reply, ‘Tam, today you are going to do less than you did yesterday,’ and shortly after I have breakfast, cooked for me by Imelda (tireless gay-friendly house-keeper). I then sit sipping Sasini-gold black tea in the garden or on the balcony while I catch up on the newspapers. I can’t bear the morning news on the telly. I think that’s when you’re most likely to endure dyslexic presenters. One newsreader who looks like how I imagine William Ruto's and Martha Karua’s lovechild might look over shuffles papers as though she’s ad libbing, everyone knows it’s the autocue, sweetie.

I grab a quick wash next, lately singing what, what in the butt for inspiration. Let me confess at this point, my friends, that yes I do pee in the shower. Don’t be disgusted it’s really textbook man-alone-in-shower and we’ve had this conversation before. It’s how men are plumbed between the legs even the bits look like taps anyway. After I dry myself and dust some nivea pure fine talc on my nuts I get dressed. Freedom means no more suits just tracksuit bottoms and loose kitenge tops. I then sit in the study lying to myself that I'll get some work done at the computer. BTW, there are so many unsecured wireless connections around here it beggars belief. Every other day I also make kit calls to former colleagues (to keep in touch). It’s easy to forget and be forgotten and I also don’t want to cut myself off completely from other humans. This goes on till 11am when I go downstairs to join Imelda for the rest of the day. She’s usually getting our lunch ready or doing some cleaning so I get in the way talking too much while drinking lager. I know it’s very naughty because I now drink at least 3 deliciously cold tuskers before lunch. But not the other day because I wanted to be sharp while live-streaming Clinton’s major policy address on internet freedom. Cheers and good work Hillary!

Imelda is wonderful company and so, so easy to be around. I’m not just saying it, she really is one of God's angels. I love to bounce my tipsy ideas off her from the labyrinth I used to navigate that is branding and PR. In exchange I’m learning about accounting and finance (she’s taking a course at a college in town). Some days I forget about lunch (cold beers can numb the mind and they dull the appetite). So we play some pool (I'm good, but not misspent-youth good) or darts (flukey) in the family room which we converted to a games room and I end up having 5 or 6 half-litre cans straight from the fridge before 3 pm. Imelda never has an alcoholic beverage during the day unless it’s election time when we are nervously awaiting results but sometimes I secretly wish she’d drop her guard because I’d love to peel away the layers for a sneaky peek, see what I find (*major eye-roll*, some people and their filthy thoughts, eish!). She told me last week that now she’s got me during the day it’s like we are a married couple. I laughed but I wasn’t thinking anything like that. I just hope we get to that farm or something worthwhile to do soon. Check my CV, if you hear anything interesting please drop me an email.

In the meantime you can all rest assured that I’m getting better at playing pool.

(Pic is of the shoeshine bank on Aga Khan Walk - Harambee Avenue near my old office)

Passing the paper

George and I arrived in London a couple of days ago to be with my siblings over New Year's. It was freezing when my bro Timmy and his wife picked us up from Heathrow, so much so that when we got to the house in Esher they had to sort us out with electric blankets and hot water bottles. We both had zero blood flowing through our circulatory systems...brrrrr and you know how bad that is for sex.

BTW flight KQ 116 to Amsterdam for the connection to London was crap and I'm still annoyed about it but that's the subject of a detailed post coming here very soon.

In the meantime please enjoy some Direct Drive passing the paper.

He's back!

My dear George came back home last night. He said he had needed some space - I wonder do men get PMS? I was so happy to see him I said honey don't worry about anything we'll work through our problems. Our family is back together again and that's all that counts for now.

Imelda and I missed Gee so much we had a small party for him when he got here, pizzas and lots of wine. I said a silent prayer thanks God for bringing my love back home safe. I also folded away my old Raymonds Polar Bear blanket that I've had since I was a little boy (I picked it up from my mum's on Monday night) and which I was using to comfort me through the lonely nights, even though it's been easily 20 degrees at night. I haven't been to work today and neither has George, we've been in the garden talking and basking in the sun.

Thanks everyone for your kindness - my heart was warmed by your concern and your love dried my tears of despair. I'm sure Gee knows how much he means to me and to you guys too. Have a lovely weekend all. xxx x

Why I’ll never be a fan of Wan-tree-eel or Da Osi...

Most nights George likes to relax in bed watching his cherished dvds. Note the ‘his'. NOTHING is ever allowed to come in between him and his favourite dramas. Last Saturday he was engrossed in yet more One Tree Hill when I came out of the bathroom from cleaning my teeth. I was happily singing ‘secret lovers, yeah that’s what we are, we shouldn’t be together...’ when he gave me that look which says sshhh Tamaku, can’t-you-see-I’m-watching-something-v.important-here. So I stopped singing and got into bed. It’s fair to say that my tail was in between my legs as I snuggled up to George’s warm side hoping that we would soon be engaged in some horizontal jogging. ‘Cause we love each other so...ooh...ooh.’

Moments later when nothing of the sort happened (yet again) I started snoring sweetly (as I usually do whenever I start dreaming of me and Jeff Koinange sitting naked on The Bench doing something like an interview, haha!), that’s when George uncuddled me! Obviously the action on screen was at some life and death stage and my purring was distracting him so he pushed me away and I rolled to the other side of the bed. Arrrrrgh. Same thing happens when he’s watching The OC or that other one called Heroes, I’m not allowed to say a word in case he blinks and misses a scene. He says it’s never the same if he has to pause and rewind. By the time he’s watched four episodes I’m in no mood for anything.

Now I feel like I’m losing my man to teen dramas. So unfair....

Gays in love

Let me tell you about last week. George was off work with a chest infection. I found it difficult to stay focussed with my work , sick with worry. Monday and Tuesday evenings I slipped into my role as nurse, lovingly rubbbing some Vicks on his chest. Mind you just on the chest, lol. Thankfully the good doctor in Upperhill said it was only a mild infection nothing serious but to hear poor George you’d have thought he was at death’s door. So I played along dispensing large doses of Tamaku's 'medicine' - whisky, crushed ginger, honey from Chyulu hills (the honey from there is the best, I think Kenyan gay bees make it) and some lemon with hot water. Aaaaah. Even Imelda says she’s envious of how I spoil him but he’s all I’ve got so I don’t know how else to be.

Wednesday evening we arranged to meet in town after I’d finished work and then we went for a stimulating aromatherapy massage followed by a session in the steambath. It was the two of us and another youngish shy guy who accidentally let his towel slip to give us a flash of his fine nuggets but we weren’t interested. By this time we were both more than horny so we left the club which is off Loita Street and George drove us home fast via Hurlingham for some Chinese takeaway. When we got home it was after 8, we gave the bags of food to Imelda and said go ahead we’ll eat later. Then we went straight upstairs to our room. Boy, I can’t get enough of my guy and the sex is amazing too. Later I came downstairs and made us some bacon sandwiches because we didn’t feel like eating the noodles. Imelda loved them though.

On Thursday I’d promised George we’d go to the sports club for dinner after work but I completely forgot when meetings overrun. I arrived home after 9pm and there was no-one downstairs so I took my dinner from the oven and had it at the table in the kitchen alone. The house was quiet, I knew Imelda was in her annex probably doing some studying for the accountancy course she's doing. The only other light was in the stairwell from upstairs where I knew George was. When I got to the bedroom he was curled up in bed watching a dvd of Singing In the Rain which was almost coming to an end. He didn’t look too pleased and that’s when I remembered oh shit we were supposed to go out! I said I’m so sorry baby sweetie but he was having none of it, he just turned the other way and said turn the lights off when you come to bed.

I was feeling so guilty as I showered but I shouldn’t have been worried because when I slipped inside the warm bed all was forgiven. Believe me, nothing beats naughty-boy sex. The days when I lived alone and regularly came down with wanker’s cramp are well and truly in the past.

Breakfast in bed

I extricated myself gingerly from George’s embrace to roll gently out of bed. I didn’t want to wake him but he stirred and mumbled come back to bed, I knelt on his side of the bed and whispered,’ Honey, I’ll be back. Please let me go make some breakfast,’ and kissed his eyes shut.

Going downstairs just in my pyjama bottoms and tattered slippers to the kitchen I wasn’t feeling too great perhaps due to the dinner party we went to last night and the liberal amount of booze we quaffed. Must learn my limits, I said to myself for the umpteenth time as I popped one of the 175mg Milk Thistle capsules that I keep incase I fall off the wagon again. On the fridge door Imelda the housekeeper had left me a post-it note, Tamaku, make sure you eat the salad I made. Remember your cholesterol, no red meat today (this last instruction underlined twice). Awww Imelda what a sweetie, my heart and I both love you. And I’m full of admiration too because she doesn’t have the benefit of a spell-checker. She spends today and every Sunday with her son Paul and mother in Kawangware.

Then I made my signature dish of Spanish omelette Kenyan-style without the milk but with hot green chilies, accompanied by farmer’s choice sausages (let’s all pretend I saw Imelda’s note after breakfast) and four slices of toast. I also put a flask of sasini gold tea ‘packed with passion’ and a jug of carrot juice on the tray to take upstairs to the bedroom.

So George and I sat up in bed eating, both blissfully quiet. Sometimes you don’t even need to say a word; the silence says it all.

Kenyans addicted to secret gay sex

I am so tired right now and sleepy. George went out last night alone to Carnivore for Kamba night. He came home at 3.30 in the morning to find me in the lounge drinking my 8th glass of Drostdy-hof red while nodding to R-Kelly Home Alone. George was alot worse for wear when he hi sweetied me; I was so relieved to see him after hours of anxious waiting. God please also answer our prayers for a lot of rain. I thankfully supported my inebriated boyfriend upstairs and put him to bed where he kissed me I love you. Imelda and I spent today administering endless juices and spooning George baby chunks of fruit salads to fight the monster hangover he was suffering. My cherished role as lover-carer gives me so much. G seems fine now, asleep upstairs where I’ll re-join him shortly.

Anyway…some readers have sent me strongly worded emails to say they are opposed to any attempts to decriminalize homosexuality even though they themselves are gay. I deciphered these opinions to be a question as to why anyone would be rocking the boat while life remains perfect for them. Apparently the status quo is preferred and any changes to bring homosexuality to the open would only spoil the fun.

Incredibly it seems that the clamour for gay rights does not have the full support of all gay people. It appears this allure of anonymous or illicit sex that is labelled illegal remains more powerful than the quest for any protections under the law.

Has the law inadvertently spawned a swathe of men addicted to secret gay sex happy to remain that way cushioned in a false sense of security inherent in these arrangements?

Secretly living with my man

Sheila remarked the other day at work that I appear suspiciously happy. I privately took her accusation as a compliment to my new life with George but lied to her smiling sweetly 'it’s the way I’ve always been', and then made a point to be rude to her at least twice that day. I know women have a sixth sense that's sharper than a serpent’s tooth. I still can’t let people get too close as my secret has now become bigger and more expensive.

My gay life is going very well at the moment, thanks for asking. George returned back to work on Monday. He leaves the compound at the ungodly hour of 6:15 to hitch a lift from the security company’s van that patrols our estate to the main road; I find it odd when he gets out of bed one hour before I do to get ready for the day. Strange how quickly the habit of a lover’s warm embrace is easily formed; it’s as if we always lived together. I think he’s also fallen in love with Imelda, my keeper of secrets and a house. Lying in bed I jealously strain to hear the pair of them laughing and talking in the dining room downstairs as George has his breakfast. Imelda told me the house now feels alive with good spirits.

I caught my reflection in the glass doors to the building where I work, a noticeable lightness to my step; surely life before George was so predictable. It’s wonderful to have someone to think about and care for; we share at least three telephone calls during the day to plan with George what to have for dinner and which movie to watch. I’m the guy singing in the car and merrily letting you go through amidst the chaotic Nairobi traffic! Life can be so sweet indeed; take my word for it also on the undivulgable details. Nothing beats going home to a man that you love and who loves you back.

The next day with George

The following morning I woke up to a brief confusion of unfamiliar surroundings. Brian had left and George was already up and he offered me a breakfast of sweetened tea and warm mandazis from the kiosk outside his compound. When I was done I said to George that since you are on holiday and I am not going to work today how about we spend the day together, he said yes, ‘I want us to finish where we left off’. Looking into his smiling eyes I knew last night was the beginning of something bigger than anything I had ever experienced before. We got into my car with his small adidas rucksack and drove out back towards Westlands and along the hills of Thigiri Ridge. As we arrived at the barrier gates to the estate I said to George, money is not what makes people happy because these are just houses that people call homes but the people here are not all happy. George nodded but I could tell he was not convinced.

Ten minutes later I steered the car into the garage built for trucks and we walked through to the kitchen where wonderful Imelda was chopping up a chicken and cleaning vegetables for my evening meal. Imelda and I looked at each other to say all was well before I made the introductions: ‘George this is Imelda my house-keeper,’ and Imelda proffered her right hand supported by the left one to George as a mark of respect. And she looks to me briefly as if to say don’t worry even this secret you are calling George is safe with me. Imelda knows more about my life than my mother and I love her as much. Whenever I have spent nights with a man she always serves a breakfast tray set for two, knocking on the door and quietly disappearing before I go to collect the tray. She once told me she knew from the pairs of shoes left downstairs in the porch.

Then I said to Imelda take the rest of the week off and go to see your son in Kawangware. And she told me ‘But boss it’s not Sunday,’ and I said just take the time off, here is 2000 shillings and it’s not a salary advance.

I asked George to make himself comfortable and Imelda went to fetch him a cold drink of apple juice as I whistled Binti Kiziwi in the shower and then changed my clothes. Surely there would be little chance of meeting anyone I knew on a Friday afternoon. And does it matter, I asked myself. Tamaku you must stop living your life according to what others think. So we got back in the car that Imelda had just wiped down, drove to the nearby Village Market and I felt so proud showing off George, all those women beautiful in their Bulgari shades and rich men in Jacaru hats thinking they are happy but they looked jaded and haggard from the secret weight of their journeys which now confined them to just sit in expensive cafés.

The good-looking young man sitting at the next table touching knees with an old mzungu man from the UN glanced at us forlornly because we looked like the couple he yearned to be a part of but he was picking at a sumptuous dish of tiger-prawns and sipping a ridiculously expensive wine at an attempt to douse the flames of a shame that he mistakenly thought everyone could see burning his heart.

We shared a pili-pili sprinkled pizza with George but I could tell that he was not comfortable basking in this glare of Nairobi decadence. So I said to him lets get some things I need from Nakumatt and then we can go. And he replied, yes we must be alone together away from these people. Then we left to go into the supermarket where I bought some things which I didn’t need before going back to the car.

I thought, how I can make this wonderful man accept me and my life just as I am, and I drove out of Village Market and headed towards Runda passing the barrier and proceeded to Mucatha to a bar-cum restaurant with a name that sounds like beats from an African drum. We had some beers there and shared a table with some lively girls from Safaricom on their night out and I could tell George was loving it now so we stayed because I was too . It was no surprise that we left at 8 pm to head back to the house.

When we got to my gate I told the cute security man from KK guards who I couldn’t remember his name not to let anyone through the gate, not my parents or my siblings not even my friend Mike. He looked at me and George with a thirst and I thought, you had your chance since you started here 3 months ago and when I made a move of friendship you rebuffed me, you blew your chances playing hard to get and don’t forget you still owe me that money you borrowed. Most of it was only my tipsy imagination from a long past of spending many evenings alone.

Then we went into the house and I said to George there’s more drink if you want it but he said no, let’s go to bed. So I took him upstairs and George settled to have a bath as I checked email from work in the study before I joined him in the bedroom. I undressed and had a shower and after I came out, George was lying in bed wearing the blue gown my sister had bought me from Deacons in November for my birthday as a dvd of Prison Break was showing on the TV. When I leaned to face him I noticed he was crying, I asked why.

‘I dreamed to meet someone just like you,’ he said as I held his head in my hands. And I couldn’t think of anything but to whisper, ‘I have met the person that I love; and it is you George.’ So I switched off the light because we now both needed to love.