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.

I am not equipped to handle you in your current state

Sunday morning

Babe: “Hey, babe! Do you want to watch Spiderman tomorrow morning?”

Me: “Yes, I would love to. It will be a nice way to spend my last day on holiday before getting back to work”

Monday morning

I am awake by 7 am. I start preparing at a snail’s pace. The movie starts at 10 am so I should be out of the house by 9 am. I check on him via text and he responds confirming the date.

I make it to the mall in time. I carried Machiavelli’s The Prince so I could keep myself busy in case I got there before him. He showed up a few minutes after me so I was only able to read a few sentences which I would have to reread when I get back home because I notice that there is too much in my head and I feel sad yet I do not know why.

As soon as I see him, I smile then stand up to meet him halfway and hug him as he plants a little kiss on my lips. We walk to the counter to buy our tickets, hot dogs, popcorn and fizzy drinks. I notice that I did not carry my 3D glasses. I ask the cashier how much a pair costs. My babe tells me to hold up a bit because he might have carried two pairs of glasses. He checks his bag just to realize that he carried 0.

“Babe, will you also get me a pair?” He asks and I agree to get him a pair. I get my debit card and give it to the cashier. He charges my card, I key in my pin and take my card, the 3D glasses that I just bought and my receipt. I look at my receipt and I see the cashier has charged everything on my card, the tickets, food and glasses. At this point, my babe starts walking away from the counter and cancels the mobile money payment process that he had begun on his phone.

I follow babe and we sit as we wait for our movie to start in about 15 minutes. I notice that he is a lot more touchy and keeps telling me how much he loves me. He said more “I love you”s in 15 minutes than he ever has in a week (I have to make it clear that this is not hyperbole). My biggest concern right now is “why don’t I want to tell him that I love him back?” and is this normal to him given that I always tell him that I love him back???

After the movie, we go to his place to have lunch. He tries getting me naked but I am not into it so we settle for cuddling. He asks me to spend the night and I tell him that I can’t because I have to be in the office quite early the next day. Our food is delivered. We get out of bed, and he helps me dress up and recognises my depressed demeanour which I stupidly apologise for and was immediately disgusted with myself for doing it.

While having lunch, I ask him about traffic and what time would be great for me to go home if I did not want to deal with traffic. He mentions that 4 pm and 8 pm are the best times. I choose 8 pm because I generally prefer darkness. That was when he said, “I think you should leave right now because I am not equipped to handle you in your current state.”

I left indeed…..I left physically, mentally, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually and sexually.

Saved by a drugie

I am using drugie as a term to mean somebody that uses hard narcotics but is not an addict. Is there an official term for that? Comment if there is one.

High enough (on Absolut Vodka) that I am looking at my keyboard to make sure that I am typing the correct thing. I am a lot slower at typing than usual. I have also been confused by the fact that the font I am using has small caps “L” and caps “i” looking the same. I also just checked to make sure that I did not throw the cigarette filter/butt on my carpet. Yes, I am smoking in the house and spraying lavender air freshener afterwards because I cannot stand the smell of cigarettes when I am hangover (a condition I anticipate to have tomorrow). I am just glad that I can actually type. If this article is shit, I will delete it as soon as I wake up hoping that I will actually remember that I posted something. Hopefully, it wont become one of those posts where I delete everything midway and decide not to post (I do this a lot). I was once told that I exist in the wrong continent because of the things I write about and I think that statement affected me more than I would like to admit. Are there specific things I should aviod writing about because I am African? Currently listening to Gary Barlow’s Back For Good. This will be relevant at some point, I promise. Give me a moment to convert the song to mp3 so I can listen to it on loop using VLC player.

I got to go pee then will be back.

I am now back. Don’t you love the JLS harmonies?

My neighbour gave me something called crystals a few days ago. It was a very little portion mixed in my Tanquery gin. She gave me a quarter the crystals of what she had (she crashed them into powder first). She was very happy after taking it (about 45 minutes after taking it) and our two people party ended because she got horny and went to fuck my other neighbor, which I encouraged her to do because she asked to kiss me more that once. I said no even though I wanted to kiss her back. Not sure why I did that. She is attractive and we happen to like a lot of the same things. Food for thought, I guess.

I was talking to a religious practitioner yesterday. He told me about how most humans are okay with giving themselves to something that takes control of them. This is what I have been doing all week; drinking vodka and being in another world. Since he is a Christian pastor (I think. He is very rational compared to other religious people that I have interacted with), he specifically talked about church. He said to me that people in church give themselves to the pastor and to the worship team. I give myself to alcohol. My neighbor gives herself to crystals (I still do not know the chemical composition but I will let you know as soon as I figure that out). Do we all, every once in a while just want to give control of our lives to something other than ourselves be it religion, drugs, work etc (pick your poison)?

He (the religious practitioner) mentioned that I always excelled at being free which turned me into the villain of the family (he has known me since I was little. I have also always done what I want when I want and I avoid showing weakness as much as I can). I didn’t realize that this is what the world saw in me because I have not felt free or in control this past week. I called all my friends (5 of them) before deciding to do something drastic. I thought that if my life ended, I would be free of the suffering. I just have to stop existing and I would be okay. I ended up at my neighbour’s because I needed someone to talk to and all my friends were unavailable. Thought of ending my life but became a pussy when it got to actually doing it. I think I like living, even when I am at low points, I am happy that I still choose life :).

I am smoking again after three months of taking a break. The head rush feels different. I am not sure where my head is at. Work is perfect, I got into my dream school in London and I am getting along with most of my immediate family. So, what the fuck is wrong?

While talking to my neighbor, she hugged me and thanked me for randomly showing up at her house. She thought talking to me made her feel much better. It may sound stupid but if one person felt better because I was just there to listen, then maybe my existence is somewhat of use.

I am not getting as high as I would like to be but I guess it works for my typing. I also realise, this was my last resort because sometimes, I get a few comments that are actually uplifting. (I just looked at my ceiling and was staring right at my chandelier. If it broke, part of it would pass through my right eye and that would be a complication that I choose not to think about right now. I clearly am not courting death).

Feelings after vodka

That first sip that goes down your throat, feels a little uncomfortable and irritating. It stings but you don’t care because you are waiting for the reward. That first sip hits to specifically remind you of why you should take the next sip. It’s a tipsy wave that comes and goes in almost a second as if teasing you and you are back to normalcy sooner than you hope. You immediately stretch your right hand to pick up your glass and your left hand to pick up the vodka bottle with 47 per cent alcohol. This time you pour a double shot. It tastes like shit but you are after that amazing tipsy feeling that seduced you only after one shot and left you yearning for more. What a bastard!

You take some water and pour another double shot. You worry about the speed at which you are drinking and decide to dilute it with water so you can sip it slowly. It doesn’t taste like shit anymore and you claim your status on the table of responsible alcohol drinkers.

You sip slowly making sure you are still in control of your balance. You start to feel good. He suddenly shows up in your thoughts. Who else would be better to share this feel-good moment than with him! You think about all the things you would love to tell him for no other reason except that you would want him to know every part of you. You think about the last time you saw him and that passionate kiss that is still very fresh in your head. Sigh!! You finally admit to your tipsy self that you miss him.

He’s different and sometimes he makes you uncomfortable but you like it. When around him, things that were once absolutely scary to you don’t seem scary at all. These are your selfish reasons for wanting him around. You are changing for the better, they may look like trivial things to someone else but only you know that this trivial experience if applied to other parts of your life, will move you closer and closer the kind of human you wish to be.

Your heart warms and you imagine that if he was there, you would stretch out your hands and touch his face, your fingers on his temple and the soft part of your palm on his cheek and look at him without speaking but your eyes will say, “I am glad I met you. I am glad you exist. You are a fine collection of atoms and my only hope is that you are getting as much from me as I am from you”. You know you will never utter those words but you hope that someday, he will be able to read your eyes.

It’s almost been three hours. You stand up to go empty your bladder and realize you are about to lose your balance as you walk. You empty your bladder, then head to the kitchen to have some water. You take painkillers hoping it will stop the pending headache. You go to your room, get naked and jump into bed. You whisper a good night and his name afterwards then make sure the last thought in your head before you sleep is of him just looking at you and not saying anything because his eyes tell it all.

Another weird day

The hormonal shit happening in my body is on a whole new level. I snoozed my alarm clock for a bloody three hours. Thank goodness I did not have any work backlog. I do have a presentation tomorrow. The point of waking up early was to go through my documentation. I have to make sure there are no mistakes, add any new information and master that shit because I cannot look like I do not know what I am talking about during the presentation. I did engage in one of my guilty pleasures before sleeping the previous night hence my shameless snoozing. Hell, I do not know how my guilty pleasure and my snoozing are related but the two seem to be correlated.

I do actually get into work in time. I don’t exactly log in but I do reply to emails from my phone. I am working from home by the way. I do not log into Microsoft teams because being online will predispose me to tasks that I am not particularly interested in and can also be done by someone else. I am not in the mood for mundane tasks. My tits hurt too much for this.

As soon as I gather all the energy I need to work and feel proud of myself, my twatty neighbours start playing loud music from a genre I did not even know existed. I want to murder then, strangle them as I watch the life fade out of their eyes. Who the fuck plays loud music on Tuesday morning. I need to find a neighbourhood for introvert nerds. So I put on my headphones. I start playing “Portals” from “Avengers Endgame”, “All the strange strange creatures” and “This Is Gallifrey: Our Childhood, Our home” from “Doctor Who”, the David Tennant period. I blast this shit with my headphones. The decibels are enough to not harm my eardrums. Everything disappears and it is me and my work and I do not want to kill the bitches anymore.

It gets to 3 pm and for some reason, I am sad. I don’t know why I am sad. I try playing the sudoku puzzles that I had printed but it does not help. I try watching “Dr Stone” and end up getting angry at “Tsukasa”.

Its 5 pm and I do not know what to do with myself. It’s after work so I go offline. How is Marta doing?. She had a fever and has been indisposed all day. I like her because she has been nice to me our relationship has developed from colleague to friend. I am speaking for myself. I will check on her tomorrow. At the supermarket, I get myself some snacks, I am tempted to get cigarettes but I decide not to. On my way back to my place, the little devil on my shoulder urges me to pass by the liquor store and get some gin.

My feelings are still all over the place. But here I am ranting on a blog post because I don’t feel like bothering my dear friends with this information. I will instead bother you, my dear reader. I am tipsy enough to feel every single emotion. There has been a myriad of those emotions. Hope I will kill it in my presentation tomorrow which is on my least favourite topic.

It’s been a while dear religion

Hey babes 😁😁

Hey hey. What’s with the creepy smile? What are you doing here? Thought I got rid of you. You are persistent. You alone or did you bring along some believers to convert me?

Your mama keeps sending me back to you. She seems to be unaware that you kicked me out of your life. Your daddy too. Since you started talking to him again, he’s been quite curious about my relationship with you.

Damn!! If I tell them that we are still together, I might have to constantly lie about what I do with my time on Sunday. This one, is going to be exhausting for me. If I tell them the truth, I will get disowned. We both know you are the stick up my parents’ asses. I could just stay away from them for a while. Not sure how this one will end. Fuck me…..

I would make them mind their own business but that is against everything that I teach them. You probably should just disappear and change your name. You will be fine.

Sigh. I got a decision to make. It has to involve never seeing you again. Go back tgo my parents and feed them whatever bullshit you usually do. Why do you keep feeding my mom ideas about how my tattoos will send me to hell?? You are an asshole.

Yes I am.

Lol!! I didn’t expect you to agree to that.

Why won’t you take me back? Your life is so much better without me, people might find out that I am actually unnecessary.

I hate to say it, but some people might actually need you. I know a few people whose lives got better after subscribing to you. Don’t sulk. It’s weird when you sulk.

Remember that time you gave up on life because I made you think God and not you is in control at a time when your prayers weren’t changing anything so you decided that you are being punished for your sins and you should suffer your punishment gracefully and lead a life of pain until God decided that you had paid your dues and can start enjoying life once again.

Like I said, you are a bloody twat.

You broke up with me and started glowing. I am a little jealous of all the control you have in your life. You are a now a goddess and you live like one. I don’t like that I have no influence over you. Please let me back in. We could start a cult, and you will be the God I peddle around.

Get the fuck out of here and go bother my parents and their toxic marriage that they stay in because you told them divorce will send them to hell.

You are a rude one.

Not so Sunday-like musings (again)

You touch me and goosebumps follow the path of your fingers and I hold my breath waiting. “Good morning.” your voice is low, like a roll of thunder. This turns me on like crazy. You move your hands over my shoulders, to my arms, past my waist and stop on my hip. “Are you sore?” you whisper close to my ear. Your fingers flexing and releasing on my hip distract me and a light slap to my thigh brings me out of my head long enough to reply. “No, Sir,” I say, my eyes closed against the sting of your palm. “Look at me,” you command, slipping your hand inside my panties to cup between my legs. “Are you sure?” you ask in a whisper. Twisting my
body slightly, I get a glimpse of you for the first time since last night, and memories of our sexcapades come to mind. “Which response will make you keep touching me?” I ask. You chuckle. I realize how desperate I sound; how desperate I actually am. “The truth will do just fine, ” you reply. You have an amused expression but there is genuine concern in your eyes. “I am a little sore,” I say truthfully. “But I’m fine. I promise.” I smile. You look at me for a long moment before apparently deciding my answer is an honest one.

“On your back.” You say as you remove your hand from my panties. Not a request, but rather a demand that sends a thrill through my entire body. I reposition as quickly as I possibly can while trying not to look too eager. I watch as you turn and push the blanket to the floor. Turning back to me, you gently clasp one of my ankles in each large hand and begin to massage my calves, pressing into the muscle. Leisurely you keep on working, your palms rubbing up and down the outside of my thighs, heating my skin until your hand’s get to the delicate lace of my
panties and you pull them down. This makes my clit throb. Kneeling between my thighs, you lean forward and press your calloused palms into my breasts, scraping my nipples between your fingertips and causing them to harden. I mewl, arching my back, begging for more contact, craving a firmer touch. “Now,” you murmur, “hands-on the posts behind you. Keep them there unless I instruct you otherwise, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes. —Sir.” I add hastily, moving my arms and positioning my hands as instructed. The corner of your mouth lifts in a slight smile. “Good girl,” you say, and I feel the effects of your words where your erection teases the lips of my increasingly wet vagina. You begin to trace the seam of my pussy with the tip of his cock, spreading my moisture. With no warning at all, you thrust forward, seating yourself fully inside me. I groan, and my body begins to obey without my conscious permission. My breathing slowly evens out, and my muscles start to uncoil. I move my hands to touch your chest. “Hands. On. The. Posts,” you re-instruct. Quickly and with no hesitation, I place my hands back on the posts, wrapping my fingers tightly around them and you nod once with approval. You flex your hips, and a ragged moan escapes my lips. I can already feel the soreness this will leave behind, but I crave it; I enjoy it. You begin to withdraw, and I immediately miss the too-full sensation, but you are back before I can form a protest. You set a rhythm, fast, forceful, jarring my body with each of your thrusts, filling me to capacity, and withdrawing again. My mouth opens on a silent scream. Your teeth are nipping sharply at my neck. I hear myself gasping and crying out, but I’m not forming words.

Much too soon, a familiar pressure begins to build low in my belly. White-hot sensation spreads, radiating from the place where you hit the end of me on each inward stroke, and I know I have to get myself together enough to speak. I try to even out my breathing, force my brain to cooperate with my mouth. “Pl-ease” I beg, my words breathy and strained as I continue to absorb the force of your body thrusting into mine. “I’m so close.” “You need it, don’t you?” you taunt. “Yesss” I hiss. I’m so afraid I won’t be able to stop myself, and I tighten my hands on the posts behind my head, fingers going numb in my effort to maintain a modicum of control. “You want to cum?” you ask casually. “Yes, please.” Suddenly you pull out completely, and I’m left gasping, teetering on the edge of oblivion. I try to pull my legs together to hold in the sensation, alleviate the hollowness of your absence, but you brace my thighs apart with
your hands on my knees. “Turn over, ass in the air. Do not cum yet.” Turn over. Turn over. Turn over. I’m chanting in my mind, trying to remember what the words mean. My brain is jumbled and refusing to cooperate with my limbs.

I eventually turn over. You push your veiny cock inside of my tight ass, you push slowly as I haven’t done anal much and I am still new to it. As you push inside of me, you grab my ass and I moan audibly. It is insane. You thrust deeply into me a few times before you cum inside of my ass. You pull out of me and sit down on the bed beside me, I lay naked with my legs across you and that’s when you pull my legs apart, your cum making its way out of me and you push your fingers inside of me. “Cum, now!” you whisper. And I do, thrashing and convulsing, squeezing you. My legs are quivering under my weight and I collapse to my side as soon as you release your fingers. My mind is completely empty, my body replete, and before I even realize it, I’ve closed my eyes, and I’m asleep. A few hours later, I wake and manage to drag myself out of bed. My body still buzzing with pleasure.

A rant interrupted by Vivaldi

Vivaldi’s ‘The Four Seasons’ is breathtakingly beautiful to my ears today. I just can’t stop listening to it.  I am in heaven. I am not sure which is better between this and an orgasm. It is an ear orgasm…if such a thing exists at all. This man Antonio Lucio Vivaldi is indeed a gift to my existence. He was actually an ordained priest but gave up celebrating mass because of a chronic ailment that is believed to have been bronchial asthma. Despite this circumstance, he took his status as a secular priest seriously and even earned the reputation of a religious bigot. Oh my dear Antonio Vivaldi, my kindred spirit.

Well, I came here to write about something else, not as interesting as Vivaldi but seeing as my sexy hot therapist is unavailable, I will rant here instead.

I have been very introverted since I was young. However, I started realizing it only when I was in my late twenties. I am still in my late twenties and very much enjoying learning about myself. A lot has changed since I started figuring out what I am. I have lost most of my extroverted friends. I have gained a few new introverted friends. Most of my friendships that were based on parties, alcohol and commonly outdoor activities are all dead. My extroverted friends are actually very mad at me because they think I do not respect their time given that I have constantly declined their party invitations. I could feel the subtext in their WhatsApp statuses about how I disrespect their time because I say “NO” more often than “YES”.

Let’s just say that I got tired. I got tired of pretending that I enjoy these parties. I got tired of shallow conversations. I got tired of being called weird by a bunch of complacent people, I got tired of being told that I am too quiet, I got tired of being forced to get out of the house to do shit that I do care about, I got tired of having personality arguments with people who fucking think they are superior because they talk a lot, I got tired of people who think I secretly need company because I am always walking alone so they accompany me thinking they are doing me a favor, I got tired of my mother not accepting me for who I am (she would have preferred an extroverted kid), I got tired of people thinking that their plans are better than mine, I got tired of people thinking my “NO” is because I do not know what I want, I got tired of repeating myself to people who do not fucking listen, I got tired of being forced to talk to people at parties, I got tired of being forced to got to dance floor, I got tired of men hitting on me because they think I am mysterious, I got tired of listening to people who constantly care about what society thinks, I got tired of bible thumping idiots who see me as the devil because I am not fucking religious and don’t believe in whatever god they believe in, i got tired of people constantly talking to me when I have my earphones on, I got tired of people constantly telling me their problems, me finding a solution for them and them appreciating my listening and then proceeding to not follow my advice and when the same shit happens again, they come crying saying that they should have listened to me, I got fucking tired of people mistaking my niceness for stupidity, I got fucking tired of people mistaking my smiling for friendship, I GOT FUCKING TIRED.

You aren’t entitled to anyone’s help

Disclaimer: I am not a religious person at all but I grew up in a religious family.

There is this collection of people that possess the characteristics of poor, Christian and African. I am yet to meet a group of people more entitled than this bunch. Not all of them though, just most of them. It drives me mad just listening to them talk. This is a group of people that quite often over-spiritualize everything. God is not going to fucking earn money for you.

“Look at him and his five cars yet he cannot give me even one thousand shillings.”

“He could pay my daughter’s fees and not feel any effect.”

“He can’t even help his own people.”

“His judgement is coming. God will fight for us this battle.” (How arrogant can you be to say this. To imagine you are qualified to decide people’s fates.)

“Aliye juu, mngojee chini.” -This basically refers to grace to grass kind of situation- (You might wait for the rest of your life for this to happen)

I got news for you mate, YOU ARE NOT FUCKING ENTITLED TO THE RICH MAN’S MONEY. THE RICH MAN OWES YOU NOTHING AND NOTHING BAD WILL HAPPEN TO HIM JUST BECAUSE HE DID NOT HELP YOU. In fact, he will keep making a lot more money without the knowledge of your existence while you keep complaining. Nothing bad will happen to him.

That money is his to do with it what he pleases. All these people do, is prattle all day long about these rich assholes and their hearts of stone and while they prattle, the rich man is working to make more money. You have no fucking idea what he has done to get where he is but you are quick to talk shit without any evidence most of the time. After prattling all day about the rich privileged people that won’t help them, they pray that same prayer asking God for a breakthrough then say “God will take away.” I got news for you dumbo, GOD ALREADY FUCKING MADE A WAY. You got a brain and working limbs. Get off your ass. I like to think that God has more on his plate than to worry about which hardworking humans with working brains and limbs will earn their deserved money so they can go and use some of it as handouts to lazy humans with working brains and limbs who spend the day bitching about the same people giving them handouts.

People will help you because they want to. If it’s not in God’s plan for this person to help you, you will never get that help however much you talk shit and quietly hope that God will punish them. You will talk shit all you want but never get that help. Here’s is an idea, USE YOUR HANDS, LEGS AND BRAIN AND GO GET A FUCKING JOB. Ask the rich man for a job instead of money, use that talent you know you have, plough that piece of land. Righteousness and poverty are not the same things and wealth do not signify a lack of righteousness. Heaven isn’t for poor people. Hell isn’t for rich people. Your wealth has nothing to do with where you end up if an afterlife exists at all.

You get angry when someone refuses to help. Why? You are not entitled to that help. Move on to the next person until you get the help you need. Most of the time, you don’t even need help. Stop fucking feeling sorry for yourself. The sooner you make yourself acquainted with life’s fuckedupedness, the quicker it will be for you to get off your lazy sorry ass and do what needs to be done to make your life as comfortable as you can with or without the help of that rich person that you quietly resent.

Break up texts

I have been dumped twice on the text. I have never really been the one one that ended a relationship. I am too chicken to do it. The universe has always worked in my favour. Most of the time, my getting dumped has happened simultaneously with my need to end the relationship. After nursing my wounds, I had a lot of time to appreciate the prose in the preceding texts.

Break up text 1 —

Let’s not be coy – as opposed to me, you barely had any importance attached to this acquaintance. More often than not, I would be the one looking for you. Both unfortunately and fortunately for me, I think everything has eventually run its course. It was however quite ethereal while it lasted. Topping those memories will be no easy task.

Break up text 2 —

I possess only a finite amount of space in my brain and you have given me no reason to prioritize you in my thoughts. You are too much of an unknown variable. I find myself incapable of placing a quantitative value for you in my life. Logic dictates that I give precedence to existing constants. As for the conversations and the sex, well, I will miss those but can surely make do without. You have given me some of my best memories, let’s hope nobody tops them.

I cannot tell which I love more. I honestly appreciate the work they put into those. I know how much energy was conjured to come up with that.