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.'

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?

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!

Happy St Valentine's Day!

We are just going out for dinner, George's treat. It's early but we both prefer tonight for our Valentine's Day date. Tomorrow could be trickier for a gay couple seen having an intimate dinner in this town. Not that I'm afraid or anything....

Have a great time whatever you do. Love ya xxx xx

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

Honey please come back I love you

George walked out this evening. We had a small argument, just about him ignoring me and stuff. I'm heartbroken,I love him with all my heart all you guys are my witness. Now I feel as if I'm going to die.

Gee, honey I know you'll come to the blog, this is for you baby. I'm so sorry for anything I said or did. Please come back home.

"I give you this ring as a symbol of my love....

...and a lasting reminder of our vows."



Best wishes to the newlyweds.

When I first fell in love

He was one of the most beautiful souls that ever lived. Those eyes, those lips, that voice…gone too soon…thanks for the memories.

Memories of love

First of all thank you God for the gift of rain, even the thunderstorms. Amen.

It was a magical time. The journey down in the Toyota tour van was uneventful. We were three couples; two middle-aged canoodling Kenyans who didn’t look married to me and a grayscale Japanese man with his chatty Australian wife sat at the back. The gay brigade was behind our skilful driver, who dutifully pointed out the unmissable vistas that are the Rift Valley. George was listening to an FM station on his phone-radio while I half-heartedly attempted to balance the Sudoku from a magazine the driver lent me.

The lodge in the dark sprinkled with flickering lanterns was even more alluring than I remembered from last Christmas when we had our company lunch there with work colleagues. Just as promised by the travel agent there were no hitches. The youthful staff cheerfully checked us in as a double before nonchalantly calling the porter, please show the guests to their room. So we followed the porter with the kissable athlete’s bum to our love cottage, a crescent-shaped building including a luxurious ensuite bathroom wrapped in Galana-stone tiles and a lavish four-poster mahogany bed. The porter seemed unnerved by our pairing so I eased his discomfort by the experienced covert handshake of a 500-shilling note.

That first night we had dinner in the grill restaurant, George chose a cut of Molo lamb and I had a most succulent marbled rib-eye steak, both served with roast potatoes and assorted vegetables and washed down with a forgettable red from a Naivasha vineyard. After dinner we had more exciting drinks with other guests at the bar by the fireplace. The guests were all really nice especially as by this time I was acting quite outrageously queenie and tipsy it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that we were a couple. I kept saying to George loudly, ‘honey please get me another one’, whenever the waiter came round. Yes, there are some safe places for gays in Kenya.

During the day I just pottered around the gardens or the pool, while George went on a tour to a flower farm. I chose not to go because I have problems with the effects from these dubious enterprises that courageously defend their 30% share of the EU market. He came back to the cottage bearing a surprisingly unproblematic bunch of exquisite blood-red roses, so we spent an energetic hour in bed before lunch. Later I went horse-riding through forests of lime-coloured acacias and the guide even pointed out a black and white colobus but I couldn’t look because I was not feeling confident riding the mare (pun unintended!). Of course I broke my blog-fast during our holiday because I was missing you guys and spent some time on the laptop laughing like a banshee when I read Pater Nostra’s confessions.

Then it was pizza for dinner another night and more drinks and being in love. I looked around the shop selling souvenirs and chose an orange ‘Kenya Dig It’ polo-shirt for Imelda, a Masai beaded armlet in patriot Kenyan-flag colours for her son Paul and a delicate batiked-necklace made from animal bones for her mum. Afterwards everything and everyone else was forgotten for us as we soaked together in the deep seasalt-filled bath.

One afternoon George treated me lying nude to a stimulating massage on the balcony daybed overlooking the private gardens. The room-service waiter bearing iced-Baileys surprised us when we didn’t hear him knocking. He didn’t even bat an eyelid; I suppose the confessions of a room-service waiter is an x-rated read. Nonetheless, I scandalously over-tipped him by a day’s wage. Keep ‘em sweet, that’s my de rigueur mantra. Upon our departure this morning the staff and their excellent manager graciously told us karibu tena Bwana George na Tamaku.

Oh, and something else. Last night lying in bed beneath the 400 thread count Egyptian cottons and limbs entwined like a python round his willing prey, George said the three magic words. I knew it all along but it was wonderful to hear him say them. I said them back to him too.

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.