Location : Eden Beach, Torremilinos, Spain.
Incase you haven’t heard, the United Kingdom will be voting in a referendum on June 23rd to decide whether to leave the European Union (EU) or to stay. This has been aptly termed “Brexit” to leave or “Bremain” to stay.
What brought this on? Since Britain joined the EU back in 1973, dissenting voices have always complained that they wanted to leave the community. They were (and are still) not happy with the EU laws and standards they had to subscribe to as a member country. The idea of being ruled by anyone else other than themselves is abhorrent to them. Rule Britannia and all that.Read More »
Thought I’d share this e-mail from my cousin Nduka, a few days ago……
Cousin Kere, how are you? I see you are in Lagos and it is turning into quite the event. I can’t wait for you to supply details when you get back to London. Meanwhile, while you were away I think I have finally come out to my Mum, or at least she is now officially aware.
Kere, you know my Mum (your older cousin twice removed on your father’s mother’s side – We Nigerians, We like kinship) – is an indomitable, forthright, God-fearing Christian woman and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. As a typical Nigerian mother, she instilled a lot of discipline in her kids. Anyone one of us that misbehaved got our well-deserved punishment, especially if we disgraced her outside, as all our behaviour reflected on her. So things like sex outside marriage was not tolerated and homosexuality was something we talked about. But she is quick to fight our corner if we are right. God help the person who falsely accused us of any wrong doing.
Along with her reputation of being a strict mother, she is also renowned for her traditional culinary skills. In the 1980s, whenever it was our family’s turn to host the village meeting, attendance was always higher than for the other meetings hosted by other families. People looked forward to her cooking and attended en mass.
Need I remind you of her soups? Ofe Egusi (Melon Seed Soup), Ofe Ugba (Oil bean seed soup), Ofe Onugbu (Bitter leaf soup), Ofe Okro (Okra Soup) all eaten with Eba or pounded yam (collectively known as “Swallow”). Not to mention her Jollof rice, Yam & Plantain pottage and Beans & Plantain pottage. All dishes made with fresh ingredients, assorted spices, beef, goat meat and fish.
She knows my favourite breakfast is sweet ripe fried plantain and egg sauce, served with Akamu (Fermented maize) doused in sweet condensed milk. Oh the sweetness could send one into a diabetic coma. Those were the days when I didn’t bother about my then 28 inch waist-line. Now that my waist line is size…..I
In the early 1990s Gen Sani Abacha assumed power and Dad who was a permanent secretary in one of the Federal ministries had to leave the country, because he was being investigated and he was tipped off that incarceration was imminent. I don’t know why people don’t believe that a senior civil servant on an average salary cannot afford to have property abroad and a few hard earned US dollars in foreign bank accounts….. Anyway, we had to move to the UK from Nigeria.
Well the voluntary exile to the UK did not impede Mum’s expertise in the kitchen. She sources the ingredients required for the Nigerian dishes from Dalston and Peckham markets. She continues to slay in the kitchen.
Though we have all left home, we still visit Mum regularly to get fed Nigerian food and take some home. The thing is Mum’s food is moreish and one serving is never enough. And that was the crux of my dilemma.
Mum knows I live with a “flat mate” Jeff and that we cook separately. But the truth as you know, is that Jeff and I have been a couple for over seven years. Jeff though English from East Anglia, an Old Etonian and a Cambridge graduate, whose grandmother’s mannerisms reminds me of the Dowager Countess Grantham in Downton Abbey, has taken a shine to Mum’s cooking.
He looks forward to when I go and visit Mum because of the variety of Nigerian dishes I bring back. And when I don’t go, he cajoles me into visiting her. Jeff can roll the swallow in between both hands, before expertly transferring it between his fingers, dipping it in soup and then passing it into his mouth. Villager. A technique, I swear I did not teach him, as I eat swallow with cutlery. I think he got this eating technique from watching Nollywood films supplied by my sister, which to my chagrin he has also taken a liking to.
The thing is Mum gives me enough food for 2 servings. As she thinks I eat it by myself, she only gives enough for me to eat twice. But with Jeff I can only have it once and like I said, one helping of Mum’s food is never enough.
I have been enduring this food deprivation since Jeff and I started dating. I know I should see it as a means of portion control, but it is a concept not compatible with Mum’s food; and I don’t mind doing the extra cardio session in the gym to burn off the calories.
So on this particular day – at Jeff’s urging – I went to see Mum. She packaged the food in Tupperware containers and labelled each one with its contents. And as usual it was enough for one person to eat twice.
I hugged her, said goodbye, headed for the door, got into my car and drove off. I think I was so overwhelmed by the thought of watching Jeff (expertly) devour the other half of the food which was, for lack of full disclosure to Mum, rightfully mine – that after driving a few meters, I stopped the car and reversed back into the parking space I just vacated.
I went back into the house and walked into the kitchen. Mum was cutting vegetables with a knife. She looked up still cutting the vegetables and said in Igbo, “Ah, Nduka what did you forget?”
I took a deep breath and said, “Mum, you know Jeff right?”
“Oh yes” she answered. “That your flat mate. How is he? You guys have been sharing a flat for over 5 years now. These days that is longer than most marriages. How is that his girlfriend I saw at your place last year? (She was referring to Jeff’s University female friend who was visiting from Canada last year and stayed with us. Totally platonic)
“He is fine. It is just that, we share everything – bills, the cleaning, cooking, clothes, washing and we sleep in the same bed, like married couples do.
He likes your food and when I bring it home we share it. But it is never enough for both of us and we always crave more. Please next time can I get an extra serving of food to take home?”
She stopped cutting the vegetables. Knife still in her hand, she looked up and gave me a look that I see as a precursor to me getting an ass whopping from her when I was a kid, or a stern rebuke now that I am an adult.
With the knife still in her hand, I wondered maybe asking for extra food portions wasn’t a good idea after all. A bit like Oliver Twist asking for more.
Then she smiled and went back to cutting the vegetables and said,
“Which soup does he like?”
I am glad to say, I now get more than enough food for me and Jeff.
Now, I just need to teach that villager how to use cutlery to eat swallow!!
It was April and I was in Malaga for medical reasons. You see, the UK might offer economic opportunities and basic social freedoms, like allowing same-sex individuals snog in public places without fear of reprisals, if doesn’t offer sunshine. As a result I have to top up my Vitamin D levels periodically and my doctor in addition to prescribing Vitamin D supplements, suggested some time in the sun. So I booked a short 5 – day break in Malaga, Spain with the sole intention of lying on the beach and getting some sun……well until I got distracted.Read More »
Place: Barcelona, Spain
Date: Aug 5 – Aug 16
Weather : Better than in the UK and that is all that matters.
Event: Circuit festival Barcelona, organised by the Matinee group. Each August, Spain’s second city hosts Europe’s largest gay festival, attracting 71,000 visitors this year. The city is taken over by non-stop clubbing and pool parties and a lot of posing on the beach.
The Crowd: Gay, Lesbians, everything in-between and their admirers. All ages, shapes and sizes and mostly down for whatever.
Me: I didn’t work my butt off in the gym and diet for 3 months prior, to get beach ready. I didn’t pack a suitcase full of tank tops, shorts, swim trunks, condoms and lube. My intention on this trip was not to have sex, but to observe, take notes and report back. (If you believe that, please stop reading now!!!)Read More »
It is Sunday. I have been in Prague for two weeks with work. I am horny. I am an arse man.I make no apologies about that. I like them bubble, I like them muscular, I like them pert, I like them visible. When I see guys I like on the street, bus, train, clubs, bars, wherever, I checkout their backsides. I check out the local guys here and though majority of them have porn star looks, their arses were flat, sometimes concave shaped. My chances of getting laid seem low.
Previous attempts at hooking up using Grindr and Scruff have been futile. About 80% of the profiles on there are twinks. I am beginning to think this is where twinks are manufactured and sent out to the rest of Europe – a bit like the Skoda. Twinks are not for me. I prefer muscular/athletic body types. I mention this in my profile, but this is ignored. A common trend I find no matter where in the world I am. No one reads. Why the twinks pose like Victoria Beckham, complete with pouty lips in their profile pics, bewilders me. They send me unsolicited pics of their bums, usually exposing their arseholes. Where I am lucky they send bum pics in a bend over pose to accentuate their bony arses.
The other 20% of the profiles are either not attractive or want a racial sexual fantasy fulfilled. When I get messages like “I like black mans”, “I have never had a black man inside me” or “I want BBC – Big Black Cock ”, I look for the block icon. When Does Sexual Fantasy Become Offensive?
So I head out to one of the two highly recommended Gay saunas in Prague – Sauna Babylonia, situated in the old town area, near Mustek Metro station.Read More »
I see you had a spot of bother last week regarding your comment about effeminate (fem) gay men. Every fem and their Chihuahua gave their 140-character text opinion on Twitter and some wrote articles vilifying and blaming you and other straight-acting (Masc) guys, for everything wrong with the entire world. You apologised and though some said it was a back handed apology, it prevented a melt down on social media.
Dude, I am a fan and I have seen you in most things you have done. I like your character in Looking, I can relate to his situation where he has to choose between his boyfriend and his office romance. I too have been in a similar situation on numerous occasion though not in the office (One shouldn’t shit where one eats). Right now I have to decide whether to bump my regular Friday night shag for the fresh meat I had a prior dalliance with. Tough, really tough.
I also saw you in Pass at the Jerwood Theatre upstairs at the London Royal Court. That was a hot play, especially the shower scene where you were butt naked. (Though not too sure about the dodgy Nigerian accent you tried to put on in one scene). For most of the play you were in tight Calvin Klein boxer shorts and I could see that the work you put in at the gym in preparation for your role paid off.
As you know the seating configuration of the theatre was such that the audience could reach out and touch the actors. You may or may not remember, but on the night before the play’s final run, during the scene were the stage lights were dimmed really low, just before you ran off exiting stage right, someone in the audience squeezed your bum and you fluffed your lines. It may or may not have been me, but all I am going to say is that you must have done some serious squats during those gym sessions.
I also saw you in San Francisco a day or so before Folsom street fair. You were walking with a lady who I now understand is your mum (lovely lady by the way). Around Mission and 17th Street you both stopped and talked to a homeless man. You reached into your pocket and gave him some money. That really moved me. ** Wipes away a tear**
Just to be clear, I am no stalker. We just happen to be at the same place at the same time…over and over again.
What you said about effeminate guys was a tad insensitive. In this blessed world of political correctness, you can think it, but you are not allowed to say it, particularly not to strangers holding a recording device. We are All God’s children (well the jury is still out on Vladimir Putin) and you can’t be implying (outwardly) that there is a more socially acceptable gay comportment than the other.
I am not going to go into the whole “internalised homophobia” accusations you got or into feeling of deep insecurity effeminate guys’ feel when they see “Masc only” on Grindr profiles and so on; for I am sure you have heard and read enough of that to last you a lifetime, so I won’t bore you. (But you can read what I think about it here between takes)
However, I would like to say in response to the comments made about your Dad, I think he is a visionary. When he saw your flair for acting he probably thought, after seeing the visible gay actors around at that time like Kenneth Williams and John Inman, why not go against the grain? Instead of his son being a gay actor, why not be an actor who also happens to be gay? That way you get to play other roles other than the stereotype gay comedy relief, that always for some reason are effeminate. So he shipped you off to a drama school where you learned and honed your acting skills. Incidentally you happened to get toughened up along the way. So fucking what?
So now you can play any male role, straight or gay, requiring an Essex accent convincingly. I have seen an episode of Banished on BBC and you play the straight guy extremely well. Good on you and a huge thanks to your Dad.
For the haters that called you the “Worst gay ever”, just think of them as fans in denial. They will soon come round.
Anyway, the furore your comment caused on Twitter has all but died down now, just like most gay relationships in London for men aged between 18-40 these things tend to last a few days then we move on the next thing. Right now it is all about Jeremy Clarkson’s ‘fracas’.
If however someone out there is still throwing shade at you on social media and you need a place to hide out, drop me a line. I have a place you can hide out in London. No one will know where you are. It would just be two of us doing what masculine guys – hanging out in our underpants, wrestling on the floor, watching sports on TV and drinking beer (Non alcoholic beer for me though). I could even teach you a proper Nigerian accent.
Drop me line….
It was 7am on Wednesday morning and I was standing at the edge of the bed, with my back against the wall and “Fluffer” was sliding his muscular ass back and forth along my hard cock with such ferocity I almost shed my load. To stop myself cumming, I willed myself to think about how I got myself in this position.Read More »
Few nights before I left Tokyo, in light of my visit to the onsen , I re-consider my bubble butt policy and decided to sample the locals. In other words I got horny and I lowered my standards. Maybe the butt did not have to be so round, it could be at least visible and distinguishable from the rest of the back.
I also reasoned (in trying to justify my new policy) that it would be a shame to travel all that distance and not sample the local cuisine so to speak. I am not one to go on holiday and look for fish and chips on the menu.Read More »
About a week into my stay in Tokyo, I came to the sad realization that the phrase “Bubble butt” cannot be used in anyway to describe the posteriors of the local male population. This point was driven home, when I visited an Onsen – Japanese bathing facilities set around hot springs. The water from the hot springs are believed to have healing powers and are a central part of Japanese local tourism.Read More »