Baby Gay Thoughts

When I open Tiktok, my FYP is so exclusively gay that by the time I exit the app, I have forgotten that there are straight individuals. I simply adore women, and my FYP makes it possible for me to do so.

Anyhow, I recently had a fascinating conversation with the voices in my head. My closeted gay self-harming activity was having sex with males. Never did I enjoy it as much as I do sex with ladies. I had a task to complete. I would lie down and let him take care of himself. I appreciated anyone who ejaculated 5 minutes within penetration, sometimes they apologised for the short-lived experience. While they were sorry, I was relieved. I would eagerly respond “yes” when they asked if I had an orgasm so they wouldn’t penetrate me again in an effort to satisfy me. I was going to pleasure myself as soon as I was alone. I also thought semen was quite filthy, so even though I’ve had an IUD for approximately five years, I still rushed to the bathroom to flush the fluid out of my vagina before taking a shower. Sometimes I would just let them use a condom and not bring up the IUD. I once puked when someone attempted to ejaculate in my mouth. I however genuinely enjoyed kissing and cuddling. 

During intercourse, my thoughts frequently wandered. Here are some thoughts I can recall:

• Perhaps if I squeeze my vagina he will finish quickly.
• What face is that?
• Let me moan a little so that I can look enthusiastic.
• Should I suggest doggy so he doesn’t look at my face?
• What is he doing? Should I stop him?

The males are not horrible in bed, contrary to what I had previously believed; penetration simply doesn’t work for me. Additionally, I never allow them to suck me off since the one time I did, the person was so aggressive that I felt irritated the next time I had to urinate.

Enjoy your week my dear reader and thank you for stopping by. You are appreciated.

My Special Neighbor

She is my neighbour from my previous apartment.

She moved into that apartment a month after me. We never really met for a while because as an introvert, I strategically only leave the house when there is no chance of me meeting any of my neighbours.

The first time we met, I was from the mall and was a tad bit tipsy. I passed her door before getting to mine. Her door was open and she had a party. My tipsy self thought it would be a good idea to go say hi at that moment. I didn’t lock my door because, for some reason, my brain thought that the anxiety that ensues from leaving my door open would stop me from spending too much time at the party.

I knock on her already open door and she receives me. I introduce myself as her neighbour. Turns out she already knew that. She invites me for a few shots. I get in, and one of her guests offers me his space on the couch, she brings me tequila and shot glasses and introduces me to the immediate guests.

I take a few shots and wanted to leave but she insists that I stay. I promise to go lock my door and be back. I go lock my door and join the party immediately after. The introvert in me showed up with cigarettes. I don’t mind cigarettes but I don’t particularly enjoy smoking them. They come in handy when I need a break from humans at a party. It’s easier for people to understand “I am going to smoke at the balcony” compared to “I am going to the balcony because there is no one there and I need space from humans”.

After a few minutes of saying hi to people I did not know, I go to smoke. A gentleman joins me, he was smoking so I did not mind his presence. 10 minutes later, I decided to cut my night short and go sleep since the conversation I was having with my balcony mate involved him trying to figure out what was wrong with me as a woman.

I go say bye to my neighbour and she decides to walk me to my house and hug me goodnight.

Fast forward to two weeks later, she invites me for dinner and drinks. We get to know more about each other. We are both developers. We laugh about my resting bitch face that stopped her from ever saying hi to me whenever she saw me. She tells me that I am nicer in person which makes me smile. When the drinks kick in, she tells me that I am hot and respectfully asks if she can kiss me.

Is she beautiful? Yes. Is she hot? Yes. Is she smart? Yes Is she sexy? Yes. Does she have a beautiful personality? Yes. Am I attracted to her? Yes. SO, WHY THE FUCK DID I SAY “NO” WHEN SHE ASKED TO KISS ME!!!

Now the thought of kissing her is in my head and that is all I can think about. After about an hour, she asked if she could kiss me again. I nodded yes and our faces very naturally moved closer to each other. I got lost in that kiss. Everything disappeared. She was the only thing that existed. I have never had a kiss that passionate and that intense that all my problems disappeared.

With both her hands on my neck, she detaches slowly from my lips, her hands still in place, she looks at me and asks me to spend the night. I nod again because however much I tried, I could not let the word “yes” out of my mouth even though all I wanted to do was scream it for the whole world to hear.

We went to bed, and she helped me remove my clothes, made sure I was comfortable and then she got on top of me. I was not prepared for this. All she needed me to do was lie down and spread my legs. She had toys that I had never seen before. I lost myself in her which is something I had never done while having sex with a man. I felt safe. I felt special. That night, she existed to pleasure me. This feeling was foreign to me and I loved it. Sex with a woman hits differently.

She was happy to go on all night but for some reason, I felt guilty. I did not deserve that level of pleasure without giving anything in return. We cuddled all night and she made me juice in the morning which was quite helpful with my hangover.

She was the most overwhelming experience I have ever had.

It all went downhill after “sploosh! frothy loins”

Tinder might be a great way for me to talk to people other than the two constant friends I have in my life. I sign up and upload pictures of my beautiful face that I consider cool. I pay for a subscription because I am curious with regards to knowing who has swiped me right. They might just be my type of weird.

After a few days of swiping, I match with Michael. He does not have a picture of himself, but I did like the artwork that he used in place of his face.

The first thing he said to me was “From your taste in music, I can already tell that I will like you”. This intrigues me immediately because he is the second human I have met who knows the names Thomas Bergesen, Brian Tyler, Hans Zimmer, Soundcritters, Two Steps from Hell, Efisio Cross, Alan Silvestri, Steve Jablonsky etc. I am glad to have connected my Spotify to tinder.

We talk about music from the movies that we enjoy. He spoke about nostalgic ecstasy in reference to his listening to music that used to be his favourite at some point. I borrowed the phrase “nostalgic ecstasy” and renamed one of my playlists from “nostalgia” to “nostalgic ecstasy”. This is a list of songs that I listened to at some point in my life and drained the songs off all their neurotransmitters.

We chat about Christopher Nolan, reading, and writing. We talk about my blog Kyllan and Chebet, I share the link with him, he asks to be included in my adventures with Kyllan and Konan. I agree and draft a story that introduces Michael to the family.

He once called me “my fair maiden” and I stupidly responded to that with “sploosh! frothy loins”. At this point, he debates whether to be quaint and proper or unleash his wildest fantasies on me. He chose to go with the latter. It was at this point that I realised I had fucked up.

So, I did what I always do whenever I freak out. I deleted tinder and moved on with my life and made peace with speaking to only 3 people: my two friends and me.

A few days later, I get a comment on the blog post that introduced Michael to the family. The comment was of concern. He was afraid that he might have lost me and he included his email address where I could reach him.

I reached out via email and we exchanged numbers. The ensuing days included an exchange of messages that had me permanently horny and smiling. This dude whose face I had never seen was stirring up emotions in me that I had not felt in a very long time. He asked if he could invite me to go work in his offices on one of the days that I would be working from home. We had to cancel this because my country had elections around that time and we have a history of post-election violence. Safety was key.

A few days after the elections and everything looked peaceful, he had a free afternoon and asked if we could hang out. I tell him that I was working from a restaurant and that he can come to join me there and we can have coffee. I was not as excited about this as I thought I should be. After telling him to join me at the restaurant, he responds “I was thinking more of cuddles and watching movies at your place.”

My vagina has never dried up so fast. I responded with a single “NO”. I then proceeded to delete his number and do some research on him. Our lovely Michael is actually called Victor and he doesn’t look like the kind of dude I would be attracted to if only looks is what we were going for. I quickly deleted the blog post that introduced Michael to the family and deleted all our correspondence (emails and text messages). My mind went on overdrive. Did he think that I was going to allow a strange man into my bed, all over my space and touching my skin? What if he cuddles me to death? What if he is a petty thief? He could be a serial killer. He must be a whore to think that it was okay for him to suggest that. He probably has a lot of unprotected sex. Eww! I am disgusted just thinking about it.

He sent a message a few days later apologizing for thinking that it was okay to want to come to my house just like that. He also asked if our relationship was damaged beyond repair. I responded with a single “YES”. He then sent an essay which basically was another apology, him saying that it was a privilege knowing me, that he is mad at himself for spoiling things, that he respects me and that he will never bother me again. I didn’t respond to this one.

A few days later, he bothered me again while I was on my eighth tequila shot. I don’t remember what I said to him but he has never bothered me again. He’s since been successfully deleted from my life.

In retrospect, things went downhill after “sploosh! frothy loins”. I will not be saying that to men ever again.

Lost tits

So, I wake up in my college dorm bathroom. The only light is that filtering through the filmy windows high above the showers. I am alone. I try the door, only to find myself locked in. Then I realize that it’s the first morning of Thanksgiving break, and since the dorms were cleared out and locked, I am stuck for the next four days.

Fuck fucks fuck. I gotta stop cursing because this is not helping. How did I even end up in the bathroom?? I really can’t remember anything from last night. It must have been a bonkers night. My head feels like a pig crapped in it.

What to do, what to do, what to do!!

Mmmh! I feel my phone in my pockets. Thank goodness I still got it. I dial Kyllan so he can figure out how to solve my small problem. I cannot stay hungry for four days. I can barely last 8 hours without food.

Tits tits tits. I could play with my tits as I wait for Kyllan. Shit! My tits are missing. Where the fuck are my tits? I remember having them before going to the party last night. Shit, the last time I lost my tits, I had willingly given then to the disk jockey because I really enjoyed the music he was playing and thought my tits would make the perfect reward. Thankfully, he returned them the next day as soon as I sobered up. What a nice lad he was. That could have gone so badly with me ending up in jail for sexual harassment. Who knew a day would come when sexually harassed men would get the justice they deserve. The world is indeed getting better.

This is the worst time to lose my tits. What will I tell my boyfriend? He told me to leave my tits with him so I don’t lose them. Looks like I was too overconfident with my idea of responsible drinking. Shit! At least I got four days to come up with the best excuse as to why I do not have my tits.

What if I gave them to a stranger? They could be somewhere milking the hell out my tits, or even worse, they could be suckling directly from my nipples. Oh no! My nipples could come back shriveled. Eeew, I cannot think about this right now.

“Please don’t!” I scream in my head. My fifth horseman of the apocalypse (paranoia) has reared its head. I can’t think of anything else other than my lost tits now. Looks like he is followed by his dear friend anxiety. I really need Kyllan right about now.

What if my tits get sold on the black market? I cannot walk around tit-less and I do not want to get new tits. I should send Kyllan to the tit auction just in case they will be there.

My threesome with paranoia and anxiety is interrupted with a phone call. Kyllan is here with some Pym particles. He passes them through the window, I shrink and walk out through the window. I unshrink and hug Kyllan for saving the day once again. Thank goodness he is a robot or else he would have been tired of me already.

“Here are your tits ma’am.” Those were the best five words I had heard in a really long time. Turns out, Kyllan had my tits tracked and the moment I separated from them, he noticed and went to collect them from some dairy farmers who were already prepping them for milking. I love you Kyllan.

Time to find my man and probably not tell him what happened.

The brain or the heart?

It was only ever supposed to be just a sex thing, a fling, two adults enjoying each other’s bodies. Nothing more nothing less. When we did it the very first time, I was trying to get rid of all these feelings resulting from my urge to satisfy my sexual impulses. It worked perfectly and in a moment of vulnerability, I asked if we could do that again and he was okay with my idea which in retrospect, I regret saying that. My head wants to end this trysts of ours before my heart gets in too deep. My head stands at the very edge of a deep hole trying to pull out my heart that already slipped and fell into the hole and descending in free fall under the influence of the gravity of his existence. This will end into a tug of war and my head, though rational, is sometimes weaker than the heart.

I go to him on a Friday afternoon, get some alcohol, smoke some tobacco, act like nothing is going on between us because none of our friends know it. We have been extremely discreet so far. I think about his lips, his face, his body. He talks, I can see his lips move but I cannot hear what he is saying, I am memorizing all the details of his face, his nose, his ears, his mouth. He is a beautifully made piece of human being. If he was created by God, he did not hold out anything on this one. If he evolved, then nature must have favored him.

I see him and I feel shivers down my spine. He touches me and my knees suddenly become doughy. I cannot stand anymore. Someone, please pick me up. I cannot stop looking at him. He is a mystery. A mystery that I do not want to solve. There is some sanctitude in what we have and what I feel for him thus solving this mystery will damage irreparably the very delicate temple in my head where I store all my memories and imaginations of us.

We kiss, we have sex but we never talk about it. I wonder whether he likes it or not. In fact, we rarely talk. Does he think of me as much as I think of him? If he does think of me, does he smile? When it is time to sleep, he comes to bed, he doesn’t say anything but we all know what is about to happen. At this point, I am doing back-flips in my head, my heart is racing a little bit, his lips touch mine and for a moment, nothing else exists but he and I. I move my fingers through his rugged hair and wonder what he would look like if he cut it all. I run my fingers down from his temple all the way to his succulent lips. We have a go at it which is always a mind-blowing experience and when he cums, we take a nap or rather he takes a nap. I have my eyes open. I am memorizing all the details of his naked body. I rest on my side with my right leg on top of his as he cuddles me. I notice how our skin tones are quite different. I think about an artist coming in and painting us just as we are so I con something to hold on to in case my memory fades away. He is magnificent.

After the nap, he slowly touches my hand and leads it to his phallus. He is hard again. He kisses me, plays with me a little bit and then asks me to ride him. I can feel him cumming. I sometimes wonder, ‘Does he ever get worried that I may get pregnant??’ even-though I know that I cannot. Will he hold these shenanigans against me if I decide to quit him?? Does he know how happy I am that I get to have sex with him??

If this was meant to only be a sex thing, why do I feel how I feel?? Why does my heart feel smote by him?? Why am I slightly jealous when I hear that he is with another girl?? I want to be selfish with him. I want his lips to be mine and mine alone. This was never supposed to happen. I find myself compartmentalizing him and pretending that he does not exist. Move on with my life without all these annoying feelings.

Please, feel my thoughts deep inside, reach out further and feel what I feel and tell that one thing, just one thing that will make me know whether to embrace these feelings or get rid of them.

The amazing tactile duo

My digital circuits lecturer is really hot. I can’t help it, it is hard not to notice. She has the perfect nose. I particularly love its snub shape. I just can’t stop gazing at it. It is a very attractive nose considering it was natural in a world where everyone has a fake nose. It is refreshing. A young woman with a big brain who is also sexy and has a natural nose are pretty hard to come by. When I start gazing, I usually am in the zone, I don’t even blink, it is like looking at the weeping angels except in this scenario, you are delighted to do it and not scared. She has the perfect brown eyes, beautiful cheeks that show dimples when she smiles and turns purple when she blushes, her teeth are perfectly white, I think her eyebrows are tweezed, they are way too perfect, she has the perfect hairline and she is funny too. She is my only lecturer who does not put me to sleep. Her complexion is almost like the color of that chocolate that I buy every day, the one that is slowly making me start tasting like chocolate. It is specially designed for me.

This woman is God sent. I need to know her name and start attending all of her classes. I should not be taking digital circuits this semester but for her, I will do the stupidest things. I could get her to tutor me. All I need to do is terribly fail in my first test then go crying to her of how I have to do well so that I can make my parents proud of me. I will make myself available anytime for tutoring any time any day. I hope she picks the nights. I do have to make my parents proud of me while I gaze at the beautiful nose in the process.

The tutoring might not really help with my grades, I happen to be good at digital circuits. It just sounds nice to waste my time staring at this creature. A creature that seldom appears in my school. She is a sight for sore eyes. Visual nourishment I guess. There are very few pretty people in my class. I just happen to be one of the pretty ones. I am happy that finally there is one more yum yum lady and she stands in front of me four times a week. She just made school lovable.

I can’t wait for the tutoring to start. I have officially become a tactile learner (only for the tutoring). I am the kind of learner who easily understands with the help of physical contact. I hope this beautiful creature is going to embrace tactile learning. It is after all the only way that I can get A’s in her class and she will be proud of me. She will be proud of her tactile learner and she will get me a present and she will tutor me for the rest of her life as a

lecturer after seeing the importance of touch during the study. She will become my tactile lecturer and we will be the tactile duo.

Kyllan strongly disproves of my tactics and thinks I need to go back to therapy asap.

Noble gas fiasco

At this particular point, I am experiencing sheer frustration. Where the hell is Kyllan when I desperately need him? I called him about an hour ago. How long does it take a robot to get into a self-driving car and head for the police post? Isn’t a robot and self-driving car meant to be efficiency personified? I cannot stay in this filthy tiny cell any longer. My worst nightmare that involves being around retarded teenagers is happening right now. All these annoying disturbed little people talking nonsense the whole time and mentioning words that I do not understand and looking at me as though I am their mother is driving me bloody bonkers. “Excuse me you delinquent adolescents, I am not that old. Useless citizens.” I shout in my head.

How did I end up in in a stinking police cell?

I was in my car headed for the local mall. I needed to buy some fresh supplies for my house so I won’t have to get out for at least the next thirty days. I hate getting out of the house. I don’t do so well outside. I have major social anxiety. I just fear people.

Sitting alone in my self-driving car became quite boring. In the process of trying to make myself less bored, I stopped a street hawker that was selling some artificial voice boxes. I had been in traffic for about 20 minutes now. “Can I have one of those voice boxes?”, I asked. He handed me one, I paid him and let him keep the change.

I had seen something on-line and thought perhaps I should try it since I finally had the chance to. I took the voice box out of its packaging, sterilized it and inserted it in my anus making sure it is not too deep. Before you start cringing, the voice box is quite tiny, almost the size of a suppository. This voice box was for the sole purpose of making your ass talk. When I was little, this kind of technology did not exist. I wish it did. If only the voice box came with a brain so you could have an intelligent conversation with your ass. I will probably work on that when I get home. I could make some millions out of that idea.

To make things a bit more interesting. I had a gas cylinder full of helium in my car. I took the cylinder and let some gas into my ass.

This is where things started to go wrong….

While in the process of letting gas into my ass, traffic started moving and the traffic cameras got quite a good shot of me lying on my stomach, my butt facing upwards and a tube inserted right in between my butt cheeks. That was not something one saw every day.

So, I got arrested for indecent exposure, or so I thought. Turns out, it is illegal to use helium in one’s ass. I never knew that. The AAMNG( Association Against Misuse of Noble Gases ) had passed a law against using abuse of noble gasses. My activity topped the list of abusive things that one can do to a noble gas.

Kyllan finally showed up and took me home.

The Morning After

When I wake up after a night of excessive consumption of that sweet or bitter colorless volatile flammable liquid which is the intoxicating constituent of wine, beer or spirits, I raise my very heavy head to make sure I am sleeping on a very clean pillow because you know sometimes you get too high and filthy and disgusting and you end up sleeping on your own vomit (yeah, you know this, I am sure it has happened to you at least once but you could care less because your hangover a fucking big problem), then I slightly raise my head to about 30 degrees from the pillow to feel how heavy it is and if it is throbbing so I can judge my hangover, I widen my eyes by increasing the distance between my two eyelids exposing my very beautiful almost snow white, not really snow white, bloodshot is more like it, eyeballs to the light of the day and I start looking around to make sure I am in my house. This process takes about 5 – 10minutes. That I how long it takes me to recognize my house when I am experiencing a hangover. I can barely see anything those first two minutes of looking.

If I am not in my house, I have to be at my friend’s house. If not in my friend’s house, ‘Oh! Man, shit shit shit. I am such a loser. How did I end up at a stranger’s house again! What is wrong with me! Why do I never learn!’ If I am in a stranger’s house, “Oh shit! Fucking hell. Why the hell can’t I just drink alcohol with moderation? I am going to hell. Fuck me.” I really hope to see a face that I know. I hope there will be a dozen people in that house, just in case he is a serial killer or a date rapist (my thought process tends, to begin with, the worst case scenario), we could tie his hands and feet to his bed, remove his clothes, draw some penis swastikas on his face, put some cocaine on his tongue, switch on the television and put on some pornography and gag his mouth before walking out and feeling good like we just saved the world from one annoying loser. That way, I won’t be worried at all.

If I am alone in bed with a stranger, I totally freak out. All the demons from my childhood rare their faces. My fucking Science teacher, I was only eleven, you stupid motherfucker. I did not need to know the taste of your mouth or how nipples felt when they are touched. You motherfucking son of a bit, I was a little innocent girl and you taught me things that I cannot even imagine doing at my current age. Well, what would I be without my demons, they are sadly always there for me. My heart decides to beat really fast and I get seduced by an anxiety attack. If the stranger is a man, I check to see if I have my clothes on. If I don’t have them on, I go to the toilet to make sure I am not sore down three and my nipples are intact. (I once dated a guy who likes to bite; my

nipples were permanently erect because they were always swollen and people always mistook me for the horny lady).

If I am sore, I go to the nearest trash can to look for a rubber sheath that is usually worn on the penis during sexual intercourse as a contraceptive and to protect against infection. You know that thing that people do not like to use and then they get unplanned for babies. If there is no rubber sheath in the trash can, I go back to the bedroom to do five things.

One, I pull off the blanket off the bed to make sure that this boy stranger whose name I do not know has a penis. The penis should be free from dirt, marks, and pollutants. There are some pretty filthy lads out here and when you drink to a stupor like me, you can end up home with one of the filthy lads. I thoroughly inspect that penis to my satisfaction hoping that he is dead asleep.

Two, I check around the bedroom for a used rubber sheath, hoping to find at least one or two or three of five depending on how sore I am. Under the bed, between the sheets, under the pillow, on the floor, in my vagina. “Fucking hell, if I do not find any, I will have to take a morning after pill. I hate those things and the woman at the chemist has the most piercing judgmental eyes. Holy shit snacks.”

Three, I wake up the strange boy and ask the said strange boy if he has any disease in his little man that I should be worried about. “If I am gonna die, I would like to be very well mentally prepared. I might choose to go with suicide then get cremated and leave all my belongings to the hobo down the street, he sure could use a trench coat.”

Four, I dress up really fast.

Five, I open my mouth really wide and let out a prolonged high-pitched cry of anger for being such a dirty little promiscuous woman who just’ debased herself by doing something for unworthy motives and I hope that Santa will not inflict a penalty on me as retribution for my bad behavior.

If the stranger next to me in bed has boobs, I definitely do have a fairy godmother that watches over me. More so if she has perky boobs and pouty lips. I would never leave the said strangers house.

If the stranger has boobs and a penis, I will take the time to study this mysterious being, entity, thing while enjoying every single moment of it. I will then decide on whether to kill myself after eating 5 liters of vanilla ice cream with chocolate flakes laced with my very good friend Jack Daniels or to get back into bed and relive the previous night. Who knows, I could have really enjoyed it, I just can’t remember.