Now I well understand that the way you live and breathe is grossly influenced by the way you were brought up and who you were brought up with, but ultimately self initiative is what will shape your destiny.
I'm often shocked to hear stories of how some Nairobians have never visited the CBD while others have lived their lives in the confines of gated communities and extended neighbourhoods. But one of the few lessons in life I'm beginning to learn is that you have to travel widely and experience new things, in order to open yourself up to growth and immense prospect.
Enough about sounding like an essay off a judicial paper. Let's talk about keeping it classy.
My best buddie, Jeremy, and I broke some new year resolutions of ours that included giving up on smoking sheesha and going to what we term as ratchet clubs.
There's something silently yet so deliciously attractive about breaking a rule. It may not hit you at the onset but the more you get drawn in, the more you get lost: think of it like the forbidden fruit. Don't they also call anal pleasures by the same name? It's like some empowerment or self worth is convincingly drawn by constantly pushing boundaries and going out of the norm.
Nonetheless we began our tirade of clandestine activities on the week prior to what was to be an amazing weekend. I don't want to jump ahead of myself, so I'll delve into all that later.
We have an innate obsession with karaoke; whereas I flourish in singing my heart out, Jeremy only feigns interest and only genuinely tolerates the 'torment' because of me. But deep down I know it's because of all the sideshows that come with our escapades. It's exhilarating to get into a club and experience undertones of overflowing testosterone bursting at the seems like a veiny dick ready to experience a cataclysmic orgasm. Jeremy has a bouncer who he really fancies, and I used to have a waiter there who really fancied me. Win Win.
You can imagine the oddity of one of the waitresses we had grown fond of pushing us to come with our valentines dates that Saturday. We silently enthused with each other that she thought she knew what was going on between us. Honey girl had no idea whatsoever.
So we got to drinking our favourite half mzinga of Whisky and were soon joined at the ample table by two other men: one was in a red polo shirt, tall, dark and lanky, with a stub and a generous dental formula, while the other was more muscular, with a chain and a visible white vest which he purposefully exposed by unbuttoning his green shirt. His wide eyes and subtle smile weren't fooling anyone of us, because both our gaydars were beeping quite regularly.
The Music at this particular club is usually very appealing to us, as to the rest of the revellers. It was no problem that this happened to be a Wednesday night and the club was thumping, with the DJ playing an intoxicating mix of Afro, Kwaito, Reggae and Kapuka.Totally getting us into the mood.
My mind floated back to a previous experience at the same joint, where I boldly approached a guy in drunken stupor and we ended up going home with him. Never mind the fact that I blacked out after seemingly futile attempts to draw him to my room. But where I failed, Jeremy flourished, as he jacked off the guy who then became super receptive and they partook of the pleasures of the flesh.
I wish I could claim that I heard or witnessed the goings-on, but I was totally out like a light, sleep being no problem at all for me.
Back to the present and we were both OTH (on the hunt), like your friendly neighbourhood predators looking for fresh meat. Alas with all this potential, nothing materialised about two hours later, and we decided that the venue was definitely going to regress and we'd go to some ratchet club in downtown Nairobi.
Surely enough when we checked in, the atmosphere was rife with intent and we were drawn into the epicentre of homosexual activity.
Jeremy spotted a cute light skinned and well toned young guy near the bar, and being the somewhat shy guy he is, pleaded with me to make a move for him and get the guy to our table. And mobilse I did, rather effortlessly. It seems like it was a match made in heaven, but when we were leaving, I was christened a party pooper, as the guy he was interested claimed that he doesn't give out his number but rather relies on fate to draw two people... WTF?
Hashtag ain't nobody gat time, and we were gone...
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