Liquid confidence (or lack of it thereof)

Saseni dildo lickers 🙂

I have a bestie who is a co-worker, a girl. Of course almost all of my besties are girls.

At this point I should mention that every bone in her body is heterosexual and she is really hot.

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She really likes me, that one I can tell for sure. It might be those cupcakes she brings me in the office or how she always seems to laugh every time I am telling her even the not so funny jokes. Or the fact that she treats me really special compared to the other workmates. This doesn’t settle well with the male colleagues but simply, there is no secret to our bond. I guess it’s a polite way of Mother Nature telling me that I was really born for this.

Despite the fact that we are in different departments, we somehow end up doing some assignments together in and outside the office.

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We do lunch dates, coffee dates, and hanging out dates a lot. And she bought me a teddy bear for my birthday, with a note declaring her love for me (the non lesbian kind).

Side note: The teddy bear was really expensive I almost thought it came with a stripper or something.

I keep re-reading that note like my life depends on it. So as a gesture to return my sweet display of love, on Valentines I decided to be romantic with her (wrong move number one) and bought her flowers with a note declaring my non-lesbian (how I wish) love for her too. She was thrilled. What came after that was her inviting me to her place for dinner (wrong move number two).

We drank wine. And drank some more.

Wine goes into places you never intended it to. Suddenly all caution is thrown out of the window and it makes you so confident you start singing in different tongues.

The liquid confidence.

This is when you are drunk and the straight girls test their curiosity while the lesbian girls throw caution to the wind. What happens after that is anyone’s guess. But she is not the curious girl. Refer to every bone in her body is straight statement above. All she talks about is her boyfriend, ex-boyfriends yada yada. Being the best friend I am, I always stand in and tell her stories of my imaginary boyfriends.

We did everything that night except cuddling, kissing, touching or any other word close to the nethers.

Probably some of you might curse me for not trying but hey the Pope didn’t resign for us to torment innocent girl’s minds.

In hindsight, buying her flowers was the mother of them all. Pray tell, which female buys another woman flowers with words like platonic in her head! I don’t know what to do with her any more.

So I will just go along with swallowing the lesbian instincts vibe and let it be because she is really dear to me, or I continue hoping the Mayans were wrong and the world is ending for real this time or I see the damn shrink.

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A lesbian’s thought on the Kenya Presidential Candidates

 

Hey pussy mongers 🙂

So it’s clear none of the Kenya presidential candidates like the gay people

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I guess it is only one candidate who has vaguely come close to pretending they knew we exist. I am sure most of them don’t read their Bibles but when it comes to matters homosexuality, they go all ham on us quoting Sodom and Gomorrah like it is some kind of rare slimming pill. Seriously, Moses, he of the 10 commandments would be very disappointed by these so called leaders. Every single one of them would score a cute F and maybe a measly E to that other one who I think is a bit connected to reality.  

But hey I am not extremely politically savvy and this is not a political blog, a religious blog, a hate blog or a campaign blog. So let us stick to things that are closer home, Shall we?

Right. So we all know that the Kenyan law does not recognize same sex marriages. That is under Article 45 (2) of the constitution. I will even quote that thingie because I know you have other important things do and no one likes reading the constitution anyway >> “Every adult has the right to marry a person of the opposite sex, based on the free consent of the parties”

 

Couldn’t they have written something clever like why I have been hitting the snooze button everyday for the last one decade?

 

Now it means every single one of us will have to save (and God knows we love drinking and smoking illegal stuff), relocate to a state in the U.S (and live in homeless shelters while at it because the air ticket was fucking expensive), put the ring on the frigging finger of our other better half and then we jet back in Kenya and depress our parents to death live happily ever after.

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Can’t I just be allowed to play footsie in peace in this goddamn country! Now I will have to worry and keep worrying some more until the wrinkles show on my face because I cannot afford to do that bullshit. I am baffled.

 

Fuck you presidential candidates. Because now I will have to keep chanting solidarity forever on the streets of Nairobi begging for rights I own in the first place. I will have to pretend it was a slip of the hand every time I am caught holding my partner’s hand in public. I will have to pretend it is okay every time a gay person is outed or given a thorough beating in public while it gives me nightmares at night.

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I thought we have suffered for so long and maybe this time there would be a president who can give a shit fuck about the fact that if you narrow it all down, gay people are citizens with equal rights. But they are all blinded by the beauty
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Sexuality

Saseni pussy lovers 🙂

A friend (who is a butch) once told me that she can never work in a bank because if you are working there, in most cases you will be required to wear very formal wear and by that I mean the dreaded skirt suits. Skirts are a no-no to her.

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This got me thinking.

How much are we willing to sacrifice as far as our sexuality goes? Does the way you dress determine your career path, your way of life et cetera?  Maybe I am reading too many magazines but I would sure as hell become a grave digger to put champagne food on my bed table. I think grave digging ain’t that bad a career, no?

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Despite the fact that I pass as the girlish kind, I would repair a leaking roof, change a flat tyre, and such like manly (who came up with this name anyway?) jobs. I would never starve my stomach (I am a foodie) while someone is willing to pay for their roof to be fixed. The manicure can wait.

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So while I am huko strutting my Gikomba heels and the lawn mower guy is missing, you know who to call. 

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I will do you the lawn so good your neighbors will hear you scream 🙂 Ha! I am getting really professional whoring my CV.

That is why I don’t want ‘em fucking clothes and stereotypes define who I am. I will rock the boy pants, girl pants, man pants and whatever others pants there are and rock them good. Things are pretty ugly on youth unemployment in Kenya and this bad ass sister got to survive.

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The above mentioned friend is still in college and while in college you are allowed to get away with almost everything, Nairobi sun has a way of scorching your ass like a hormonal bitch. So what do you do then when the only job in offer involves you hawking your body assets (not what you are thinking pervs) to bored clients in a plane? I am not implying that those girls who serve you tea in the plane are hawking their goodies, but I am not saying that I love them skimpily dressed either.

Sexuality is a broad subject. And at the expense of sounding like a total insensitive bitch, if there is anything other than learning stuff as we grow older, it is the invaluable gift of perspective.

Perspective that we are not defined by our mode of dressing. Perspective that we can be cross dressers, studs, femmes, and work and be whatever we want in life. Perspective that our friends don’t define us. Perspective that we can break the rules sometimes. Perspective that we got to to show off some skin because we look really good while at it.

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Perspective that yeah, it is all fucking worth it sometimes.

Have a smashing week y’all.

Tomboy love

I have a tendency to get over obsessive over some things, namely tomboys. I skip the dentist’s appointment ogling at them. Heck, I might even lose my job really soon.

ImageI love you 🙂

Not even a 5000 words long ass post can describe my love for these bad ass sisters. They are kissable, pretty, smart, witty, lovable, and kissable (I know I had said that earlier).

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A tomboy look is not something you can just pull. It is as confusing as helping a primary school kid solve his math homework. It has to be present during and after delivery. Tomboys will whine and cry and shove when their moms dress them like girls, they know they aren’t like the other girls, they are special.

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You will see her walking down the streets, hands in her pocket. She knows she is the shizzle. She knows she is breaking innocent girls’ hearts, even the boys adores the ground she walks on.  

 

Just the simple fact that I am writing this at my work place is reason enough for you to believe that my lady boner goes berserk for these little humanoids. I am in awe of how much confidence they exude. My dad would erase his last name on my ID if I walked out of the house dressed anything not close to girlish 🙂

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I know femmes have all these myths and things to say about tomboys, they are players, they will suck your wallet dry blah blaaah blah. I get that, but unlike y’all and my body fat percentage, I choose to ignore the lies. I love me some tomboy smile.

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They make me weep. So either I am hormonally imbalanced or there wasn’t enough tomboys when I was growing up. But if tomboys don’t reduce you quivering to a jellyfish of tears, you girl, are made of stone and I completely wash my hands off you!

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They are pretty many, in Nairobi especially. It’s like they compete on who will make us fall the hardest while we are trying so damn hard to walk in our heels.

So without further ado, I present to you tomboy porn. You are welcome.

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The awesomeness…

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The swag..

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The way you look at me…

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*sprinkles water on self*

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This one is..

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omg

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Carry me with you too Toya..

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Hold me in your arms like that guitar

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Please Marry me

 

And that is why I don’t get anything accomplished.

Photos Credit:
Black Tomboy- Facebook

WomanCrush # 1

Saseni girl lovers 🙂

Lots of women make me happy. One of those women is our very own gracious; beautiful, stunning, fuck-a-mazing (is my thirst showing just yet?)

ImageANNE-for-all-things-holy-KIGUTA. You have to pause for five minutes just for the awesomeness of her name to get correctly wired in your brain.

She is a TV anchor and reporter (the cavemen are people too). Ever since she started gracing our 9 o’clock news, my life isn’t mines anymore. The voices of lesbian fantasies in my head have taken over. They are so loud I am afraid the priest will hear them during confession.

ImageRight, so we are all in agreement that lesbians love Kiguta, gay boys love Kiguta, okay for the gay boys I am not sure but I am sure you make a point to stop and watch her kill it dead right there in your living room every night if the opportunity arises.

The Standard Media group should set aside a whole show just for her. Because one hour is not enough and I am talking of thousands of gay girls obsessing over one woman. I can show you a whole list of them.  Hell you guys I am talking of gazillions of lost revenue.

She haunts me (in a good way of course).

I think about her.

I process her to my friends all the time.

I obsess about her.

I quietly stalk her online.

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I dissect her over drinks.

I will never be over her.

I am fucked.

Let me go mourn my misery.

 

 

 

 

 

Sad

I will have the favorite corner in hell heaven just for venting. I mean, how cool will it be if everyone worked so hard on earth housing stray dogs and I am there sitting in my favorite corner drinking iced tea (please lord let there be iced tea in heaven).

Sadness.          

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I should be working on my first queer story by now. But I am not. Instead, I am still trying to figure out how on earth is this my blog? You know, like how I got that new bag in primary school and I slept on it the whole night (the bag was made up of many stuff, mostly sisal). My dad had great taste in bags 🙂

How on earth is this my blog and I am still staring at it like it will transform me to famousity (I just made that word up) if I stare really hard at it kinda thing.

So meanwhile, I promise I am working on a lesbian crush story.