I was a successful career guy and I earned an awesome salary. I was never broke. I had great savings in my personal accounts. I could afford to go on holidays, get trendy clothes, rent a luxury apartment and buy great sex.  Even if I was dating Limbani, I would occasionally sleep with other guys. I had a weakness for straight hot boys. And they were many in the gym, at the malls, in clubs and on social media. I discovered that all it took was boldness and a strategy to get any guy. Throw in a generous amount of money and they were ready to deliver. I would get a straight guy and sleep not only with him but his entire group of friends. The power I had was great. It kept them coming. 


Then I met Njekwa. He was single, comfortable with his sexuality, hot and independent. I took him for dinner and drinks at a trendy place and he insisted on covering his bill. I came driving my gleaming grey BMW X5. He came in a sparkling latest pearl white Range Rover. I invited him over to my three bedroom luxuriously furnished apartment. He took me to his equally splendid house. I noticed his clothes, his cologne, his mind and I knew I had met my match. I was home. 


I worked in marketing and we met at an international trade expo in Lusaka. It was attraction at first sight. He too was worked out and his body was snatched. I pursued him like a rabid dog. His game was ‘there’s something I don’t hide but may never show’. I was hooked. It took me more than two months to even get a hug from him. I had gone to his house one Sunday evening. Limbani was with his family and it suited me. When I was about to leave, Njekwa said it. 


‘I guess a hug wouldn’t be bad. I’ve been shaking hands with you forever.’ He said it calmly while giving me his sexy smile. Sex sirens rang. 


I agreed and went for the hug. And we kissed. It was mind-blowing. But he refused to have sex. Wow. I was shocked. This was a first. Most guys would have been naked by now. Not Njekwa. I left his house with blue balls. He had pressed my buttons. 


Life is so full of surprises. And it surprised me a lot with Njekwa. I fell in love. I recognised it all too well. This was how I used to feel with my late partner. He was in control, considerate, a great listener, ever looking out for me, great sense of humour. All boxes ticked. That was Njekwa. I loved how he kissed me, how his tongue explored places on my body I can’t describe in words, how he was so spontaneous. Bliss. Limbani noticed my change. He asked me. I assured him all was fine. I could tell he was getting very insecure. He loved me. I started feeling pity for him because I didn’t know if I was going to keep pretending all was well. Limbani had been this confident guy but now with his insecurities, he became nagging and weak. I hated it. So I ended it with him. 


Njekwa had made it clear that he only dated single men. He basically told me to leave Limbani and I jumped his hoops. 


Njekwa and I had a beautiful time. We moved in together. I cancelled my lease on my apartment. Njekwa insisted I move in with him. I agreed. We were lovers and had to be together. When we went out, heads turned. We were a hot combination. Great toned bodies. Fashion forward. Successful. We were never short of friends and those who wanted a piece of us. I liked it that no matter how hard gay guys tried hitting on Njekwa, he turned them down and let it be known I was his. And as for women, Njekwa turned them down with a combination of flattery and disinterest. I did the same. We had it all. We even contemplated adoption. 


Around this time, my family started putting a lot of pressure on me to marry. I had everything, they said. What was the hold up? I had run out of lies. But the thought of getting married to a woman and being trapped in a loveless marriage was appalling. I decided to confide in my younger sister who I had observed, had no issues with gay people. She embraced my truth. The relief I felt was unimaginable. We bonded even more after that. She got to meet Njekwa and she liked him. They got along well. I decided I would tell my family later. 


Then disaster came. Njekwa, my beloved and in whom I was well pleased, left me. For his ex. The ex he had never told me about. The ex turned out to be the son of one of the richest men in  the country. The news shook me. I was speechless. The way he broke the news to me in a very casual way. It was as if he was telling me about a soccer match.  


I fell to my knees, devastation hitting me in waves. ‘No Njekwa. Think of us. What we have built together.’


‘What you see, this house, the cars and the rest? They are all his. He made me. I can’t do this to him.’


Never had I imagined I would wail for a guy but I did. ‘No! You can’t do this Njekwa. Please. My sister likes you. You and I are planning our future together.’ My desperate pleas must have been sad to him. 


He looked down at me, his face impassive. ‘Go back home Mwiza.’ 


I was numb and confused. I tried to think of anything I could have done that had ticked him off. And what did his ex have that I didn’t have? I was a hot guy. Now I wasn’t anymore. As I walked out of his house and into my car, it hit me. Njekwa was my karma. I had done a lot of bullshit to other guys and this was my payback. I cried during my drive to a hotel I decided to check into. I stayed in that hotel room, ordering food and wine, watching TV, crying, hating myself and occasionally watching the people on the street below and wondering if they too had a shitty life like me. Finally, I emerged from the hotel room, put things in motion to start my healing. 

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