Why can’t we just have a dating app where we can rate men?
Hang on. May have got my lines mixed up there. Will get back to you. In life, my thirst cannot be quenched. In bed, my cup overfloweth with underperformance, men who only cared about putting it in, and that’s it.
I speak for several women when I say it is hard to be faithful in Nairobi when you look the way I look. Bomb-ass-tic. The kind that don’t turn heads, but breaks necks.
But the thing about talking to people on Tinder is that it is boring.
I want a conversation partner who skids through an abundance of interesting material at breakneck speed, with a flair for the dramatic, shouting over their shoulder at me: Keep up. I want a conversation partner who goes mano-a-mano, who assumes I have just as much matter between my ears as behind my pelvis. I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved.
Here, the conversations all seemed the same to me: pro forma and predictable. A true Turing test.
“Hi?” “Hai” “Hello?” “Helo” “Greetings!” “Hw r u?” “Hy?” “Hae?”
He wasn’t afraid to go deep — you know what I mean. He decried his abandonment issues. He opined that ugali is good with cabbages. He thought I’d make a very beautiful pregnant woman. Listen: I would make a very beautiful pregnant woman.
During sex, he choked me. Not for long, and not very hard, but his hands manifested very suddenly around my throat. He probably thought that that was ‘sexy’, but to me, from this relative stranger, totally frightening. I know people are into that. I could even be into that. But not as a surprise.
In the end, he left just like he came.