He loves my podcast.
The appearance-obsessed modus operandi of Tinder had been replaced by the morale-boosting Grindr.
The things I was too scared to say to him in person, I would talk about on my podcast. I knew he’d be listening.
My addictions? Yes. Dirty sexual past? Sure. Fears? I’d pepper these throughout the episodes.
“Funny isn’t it,” he’d text me. “The more I listen to you, the more I learn to like you.”
Dotting my lips on the microphone, adjusting my voice to the earphones in his years, I knew I was inside him.
In my mind, I was saving us the trouble of having to discuss the awkward narratives mano-a-mano, but without that vulnerability, we might as well have been spitting in the wind.
I’ve always believed in a man’s right to feel what he can and do what he must. But it’s obvious to me that asking him to come out would easily be regarded as akin to asking the Queen for her bra size.
June is supposed to be pride month. Ha.
Not in Kenya anyway. Not where your ‘pride’ is kept in check. Almost free, but cautious. Not in a place where to stand out you have to fit in. Not where they ask you to broadcast your truth, as long as you say it there way.
Like every episode, the end was inevitable.
– Ken, 27. South C.
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