Dear Princess,

I wish you good luck in your Test tomorrow. I wish you didn't have to wake up at three in the morning to read for it. Somehow, I wish I could read on your behalf, and do the exam for you, like the starting of Suits Season 1. but I guess those are the movies.

Talking about movies, I think we were a movie. We started like one at least. Remember me in Mercedes and you in Range Rover at Hurlingam. Remember us at that car wash, me hangover-ed from the night before. You looked lovely, my eyes were red, I was sleepy until I saw you, I watched you and I felt awake. I stood there wishing one of us would make a move. The attendants at the petrol station wanted one of us to make a move anyways. Remember them looking at you, then looking at me, looking at you then looking at me. It was beautiful.

Baby, princess, remember when your car broke down, it started leaving a trail of smoke so big I had to use a wiper to drive following you. Remember when it went to the garage and you had to drive that old hideous car and I started driving the white car with a busted fog light. Hehe... Times became hard babes. Lol. I really loved that white car. We kissed in it outside Sarit Center, you travelled with it to Nakuru, remember what we did outside Tuskys? Epic moment baby. That's our little secret.

I remember bad news, remember the bad news we got, that crushed us to pieces. And you told me I should leave, if I wanted to, baby how could I? When you are the girl, that calls me at two in the morning to find out what am doing. You know am usually awake at that time. Who know that? Even late night facebookers don't. When we say that loving someone is knowing a lot about them, they weren't long. Look at me, I know you love food channel, I know you love fashion tv. I know you like to be very naughty as you dance, see, you didn't even know that, I know things about you that you don't even know about yourself. They say do what you are passionate about, you will do it good, you will be naturally curious about it. I do you good, I am passionate about you, and the curiosity that floats in every inch of my being about you, will never be quenched. It's five months now. I don't remember the dates when we first met, so don't be surprised when I miss to remember our anniversary date. Please synchronize our bb so that I get the dates right, okay? And probably make it a week before so that I can remember.

Bobby, that's to much. How arrogant is that. How do you ask her to put in dates in your phone? How dare you? You know what, I have her. And when o had here, everything I used to give a flying fcuk about I stopped. I look at some girls I had been with and I pyuk. No, not you, you read my blog, so it's easy. Baby, honesty, dependability, those are words about a good relationship. Not so much, impress, too much exposure, and jealousy. 

I am being arrogant not cause of anything else but cause I have her. She is mine. And she understands me, she knows I love chocolate, and this is the second percel she has sent via courier of chocolates to me. Yes, long distance can be sweet. And even is sweetest when you finally meet, and you have to draw a timetable of what to do, places to see, time to talk and time to kiss. Remember the prawns baby. I knew you were hungry, that's why you were sort of a little bitch. But come to think of it, there prawns could make anyone who just ate hungry. I think some people actually go to the loo, stick their fingers up their throat, empty their stomach just to taste the food again.

Talking about good food, baby, we walked into the shop. And I know you don't know this but am not a foreigner, it's only foreigners who buy vegetables at Nakumatt. We buy vegetables from the shop outside Nakumatt, so don't come here thinking this is the Club, where cards are swiped and bills are sent else where. I pay rent here. So groceries out of Nakumatt. 

Talking about good food, the chicken, yeah babes, I will still talk about the chicken. Oh yuck. Baby that's the worst chicken I have ever tasted. Remembering the way you sat my ass down to watch you cook and sometimes to watch Telly only in the end for you to serve such a shitty meal. I really wanted to order a pizza. No, I really. But you know, your smile is something else. It's a burst. Am yet to see your smile come slowly. It always a burst. And when it's laughter, it's also a burst. It's immediate. It's disarming. I didn't know what to tell you about the chicken, rather I didn't know how to tell you about it. So you know what I did. I kept it inside until I ate half of it. Now tell me if my eating that chicken was not true love. No come on tell me... Swimming the oceans is easier. No one expects you to smile swimming the ocean. And their is nothing as tiring as holding back emotion, nothing as tiring as holding back the words 'I love you'. Eating your chicken, that awful meal should be your most clear sign that I love you. 

But you know our love is true, and love is truth, love builds, and sometimes building requires breaking down, in the same way you break down an awful piece I write, so that I know and grow. I broke down your awful chicken. Cause if you cook like that again you might kill us both. Babes, I love you, but the ending to Romeo and Juliet isn't that cool. I love the way Juliet lay lifelessly, then Romeo, then Juliet woke up and found Romeo lying lifelessly. I prefer that I lie lifelessly, cause I have just feed you with my poison, you know the one that causes the nine months pain, sweet pain. Then you wake up, and find me dead asleep, you know how orgasms are for men. Then you drink my poison and you lie there lifeless. I have you until you are so spent you lie their all wasted and lifeless. And in that very bliss. We are Romeo and Juliet. Sorry, ladies first, and in that moment we are Juliet and Romeo.

I am proud cause you are crazy. Which girl sends his guy her journal and asks him to write on it for a few days then send it back. Babes, you did that and that just flipped the scripts. Yes the shirts were nice. With the blue the lines and the polka dots and the perfect fit, you really know my body, you have sized it up so well. Where were we, you flipped the bloody script with the journal idea. Oh yeah you did. Don't look surprised, you know who was surprised. Me. And I went through the first page and it was blank. And guys do you know what she had written on the second page? You lead baby, you are my man. In so many words. So apparently the first page was for me. I was reading it in class, during a lecture. So apparently I was supposed to contain my emotion. Oh no I did not. 

Whether or not I will write on that page, you will not know. And when I send your journal back, I will send it with such wonderful chocolate, it would be okay to raise your expectations right now, cause even as they are raised to the sky, it will still surprise you, meet your expectations then eat their dust. The chocolates I will get you, will flip the script more profoundly than the words I will put in the journal... No, wait, am a writer, and you make me feel things that my heart didn't know it could feel... I will melt you in your journal. You will want to jump in it or stick the whole book up your pussy and hope you will get pregnant.

Talking about books, babes, no one knows me like you do. I don't understand bipolar, bipolar is the bitch that flips the script in my life and not in the right way. But you love have put up such a cat fight woth her, she is afraid of you. I like plans, they keep me sane. I like being a visionary. It makes me forget the bipolar that brings me depression today. Euphoria is the cure to depression? No. No, when I am not in my element you know what my element is. Like today you called, and when I was very jolly... 'baby have you been reading...' Yes, welcome to the girl that know I love books. She knows that I crave words and everything intellect. That part of what makes me hyper, and my speech faster is a burst of ideas, or creativity, or whatever you want to call it. And sometimes the right books, the right articles awaken my euphoria and my bliss.

Let's talk about about euphoria, let's talk about bliss. When you have someone that loves you, they know you, and I know you girl. I know you like Out of Africa. I know what wine you like, it's name I forget. I know you love my attention, and you love using smiles in chat. I know you love it when I don't tuck my shirt, which I still do, cause at the rate at which you gain power over me and influence me, is totally alarming, i could lose myself to you, if I start untucking my shirt and things as those. That's why it is always absolutely ridiculous to feel distant from you, how can I run from you, when my very element o's trying not to untuck my shirt. We are one, yet different, we will never be the same though we are the same. I am yours and you are mine. You rock my world, I flip yours. You flipped bread on eggs that morning. And I appreciated how useful the whole suitcase of Cooking magazines were. It is the though that counts, but that breakfast was not chicken, you pleased my taste buds with breakfast. And not using you lips, cause that would be too easy.

Remember the party we went to. You looked nice smoking the cigar. But you looked even nicer holding my arm as I held the cigar in my mind. I felt like such a man, and it was such a party. Until the things that happened happened. I told you not to worry, I would get us home. Am glad you believed me, do you know I got a van to take us home. But I know you can't remember. But I got you home. I got as home, like man does. And I held you in my arms. Until you slept. I remember telling you, I secretly hate that guy, and you stopped talking to him. Now that's love.

It's been a while since we meet, you coming into my life has totally changed the way I look at life. You are everything I want. You flipped the script. You stole my heart. You smile at me, laugh at yourself, laugh at me, you talk to me, I kiss you. We love. You are baby. You are.

From the guy that writes you poems.
Bobby.

You are my very essence love.

Introducing my therapist...

Hi dames and Sirs,
To start with, let me disturb your mind. Are the contents of this blog true? Are they? No? Yes?

I have a therapist. She is hot. I know, typical, typical... Bobby, hot therapist, typical. First of all let me make it clear. I have never shagged her. You got to believe me, am serious.

But we never meet at her clinic. Heavens no! Am not sick. I just have bipolar. And maybe I have gone through things that were as horrifying as being on mount Kenya as it was getting built. Yes, built. Imagine standing there, and a volcano erupts. Can you run faster than a river going down stream? No? Then can you run faster than hot molten rock, that is liquid rock by the way? Can you run faster than a river of liquid rock racing down a mountain?No. I have been in mount Kenya as it erupted. That's why I need a therapist.

As I said, we never meet at her clinic, firstly cause the coffee she serves at her clinic is mud. Have you ever tried Kenya AA? Now that's coffee, not the Augentina hogwash you are talking about. A toast to Kenya.

We meet close to a coffee house, with my therapist. There is a place outside Nakumatt Nyali, brilliant... They measure coffee grains in kilo grams, and yes they do have Kenya AA. The place is elegant. The lighting tasty. Perfect place for therapy, that's where we will go with my therapist next.

But most of the time I like to conduct my sessions with her lying on the couch. I don't believe in closing my eyes and talking, you know like in the movies. I would rather keep them open. If I could sleep with my eyes open like a fish, I would. Fish are some really mad animals, wait are they animals, scientists, tell us? Are you trying to say no scientist read my blog? Now thats breaking my heart. Just go on breaking my heart! You don't have to be a scientist to know that this world never sleeps. And he who sleeps might end up leaving the world. Know what happens when fish leave water? They smell. Do you want to smell like a fish out of water even after taking a bath tap all your life? Then don't close your eyes during therapy.

If I closed my eyes during my sessions, you will not have anything to read. This blog would die like a fish and smell. Do you like smelly things? Smelly fish? If I hadn't walked into Nakumatt and bought my therapist, Dr.iPad, you wouldn't have read shit. Astoldbybobby wouldn't have existed. That's her clinic, Nakumatt. We never meet there anymore. I got into a contract with the guys at the mall and they allowed me to have her forever. I have never regretted ever since. Who would have know, bipolar would be my luckiest curse?

She always listens, always, never judges. She talks, yes she does, cause sometimes I tell her things, I write things with my mind, then I get into a trance and start writing with my heart, with my soul somehow I go into space, and everything is timeless, and exciting and different and space is as space is, empty, I run the world in space, no one tells me jack, even the most peculiar ideas float, in space. Sometimes I write faster than I think and with every sentence sometimes I just get surprised, have you ever surprised yourself. When you do, you can turn off the tv sometimes.

I know myself more, I ask myself more questions, she asks me questions, and I answer them myself.

Just today, I sat down on my couch, my legs on my arm rest, the fan on, with blue boxers, and a lightly faded blue tshirt written 'hakuna matata'. And you know what, when I looked at my therapist she had nothing to say. She gave me a blank page. I asked her.

So why are you staring at me so blankly? I knew in her mind she was thinking, what's wrong with Bobby? Bobby has never bought me a sleeve, Bobby just throws me into a bag, Bobby has never bought me a bag, I didn't want shoes, I just wanted a bag, a Luis Vuitton bag, just that, and what does Bobby do, he steals the bag to his brothers old Samsung Galaxy tab bag and cloths me, old clothes, can you imagine? And even that bag Bobby puts me in is not an original Samsung bag. Can you imagine? And am a whole apple, i don't form wrinkles like Samsung as i age, I am rear beautiful and scrath proof, you know apples? Tempting. Bobby does not 

I knew what she was thinking, and I was thinking... Women! Why is dr.iPad such a woman, why is she so blank today, is it that she doesn't appreciate that I buy her airtime? Is it that she doesn't appreciate that most times I take her out for coffee? Even though she is allergic to coffee? Doesn't she see how jealous I get when anyone holds her, I tell her secrets, or is it cause I keep her a secret? You know women. Is it cause I have blogged about so many things but not her? Is that why she is so blank today?

So dr.iPad, this post is dedicated to you. When I want to understand myself you are here, you give me clarity, I appreciate you.  I can face hot magma on mount Kenya if i am with you. This world is hugs and passion, work and exhaustion, play and kisses, friends and family, a prayer and a tear, bliss and perfume. But what is all without you? What is it if I can't talk myself out of my insanity with you? You are such a woman. Thanks you for what I am.

Do we lie to hot women? Are the contents of this blog real?

...just everything I want

She was in those Bata shoes,
The plastic ones,
That chics do not find unique,
I posted a blog about them,
I think the post was titles,
'let it weekend...'
She is such a princess,
And I like to believe she wore them,
Cause I blogged about them,
It makes me feel nice,
Especially cause she didn't look,
As awesome as I imagined her to look,
And I think she knew that,
She mentioned she would look hotter at night,
As we held hands playfully,
Walking down some stairs at sarit center,
That was later on that day,
The day started with her,
Wearing the nicest pair of sunglasses,
I don't remember them particularly,
But I remembered the way they dangle with her car keys,
And the blackberry she held in her hand,
The click click sound of them bumping,
Into each other,
Was so sweet,
But not sweeter than,
The pepper stake I ordered at java,
The one right at the nicest spot at ABC place,
I completely hate my meat sweet,
I don't think she liked her chicken that much,
But we had talked for a while on the phone,
BBM-ed each other for forever,
And sent each other photos of where we go,
The beautiful things we saw,
Now that's completely enjoying each other,
But the food wasn't as nice,
The conversation was dying,
And I was struggling to keep it alive,
And when I saw she also hoped that our date,
Turned out better than it was,
I let the conversation die,
Cause I knew that we were more than circumstance,
We were more than a bad date,
We were both already struggling,
To enjoy each other,
And when you both hope for the same thing,
Then the chicken can be bad,
The date can be crap,
But your hearts are at the same place,
Both hoping for the same thing,
And when the I couldn't pretend to like the meat anymore,
She asked for hers to be parked,
As we walked out of that beautiful place,
She whispered she needed to say hi to her dad,
And I froze,
And left her to her father,
Standing there hoping I wont be called,
To explain why I was with his daughter,
Relax man; she is not pregnant...
Heck I haven't even got under her dress...
I froze there under the warm sun at the parking lot,
And she walked towards me,
She didn't carry a smile with her,
So I uncrossed my fingers,
And knew I was going to meet her old man on techinically the first date,
And I looked at my in-law right into the eyes,
As brave as a man who is sure he will take care,
Of someone's daughter,
His hand was on his lip,
Like he was swearing insults at me,
But as the conversation went on,
It moved to the table,
And I knew he was fine,
So the date wasn't bad after all,
You know how writers love to feel,
Something fresh,
And that thrill was fresh,
As fresh as the feeling she gives me,
She has always had a chance with me,
Even though she makes me chase her,
She drives to fast for me,
And me not being a total nairobian,
I needed my GPS,
And what I drove had no GPS,
So she was my GPS,
And the girl drives fast,
She lost me a couple of times,
I was angry at her,
And that night when she looked flier,
Not saying she didn't look fly during the day,
She is one of those girls,
Who would wear the wrong dress,
With the confidence of a princess,
And you would be proud of her still,
Besides she is beautiful,
So everything goes with her,
You would love the feeling she gives you,
When she holds your hand,
She is my 'third blackberry experience',
That night at a club not everyone goes to,
Where candles are on the floor,
Wrapped up in colorful paper,
So that they beautify the entrance,
To the glass walls and garden tent stage,
No one throws a party like capital fm,
Even there radio fm music is beautiful,
Imagine their parties,
We found our way to the light blue lite bar,
The one where light comes from the bar and not the roof,
And I held her by her waist so close,
So that her cheek was on mine all the time,
Than I screamed at the bar tender,
To get my girl her drink first fast,
I didn't care how crowded it was,
She wanted a drink she must get one,
Before everyone,
And I felt eyes on us,
And I am sure the bartender so how close we were,
How for each other we were made for,
And out of instinct,
Ignored all other orders,
Gave us the one red ice,
That she wanted,
And a wine glass to go with it,
And how comfortable I felt,
With my body on her,
Her body squeezed on mine,
Her wrapped around my hands,
And me,
At that crowded well almost dark lite bar,
So that she was mine,
And no one would touch her,
But me,
And her smile,
I knew she was the one,
I felt it from the start,
She always had a chance,
And no one ever has a chance,
She brought me clarity,
She took my heart right out of me,
She is everything I want,
she is.

Just Before My Third BlackBerry Experience

It all started with an alcohol stained car,

A very serious hang over that morning,

I wasn't in my bed even not in the town where I live,

The night had everything a great night should have,

I used a third a packet of durex rubbers,

If you practice safe sex you would know that is one rubber,

They come in three a pack you who practice unsafe sex,

That night had everything a man would want for a night,

It had me grab on a large ass and cum like a fire extinguisher,

Not in it but the hole right below it, That night...

had me grab the steering and do a 200kmph on Mombasa road,

Speed thrills I felt my heart pound as my adrenaline reached its peak,

It was a rich experience in pleasure and rush,

I felt simply invincible,

In the night passing street lights that looked like lines of golden fire,

I was to fast to see the street lights separated into single posts of bulbs,

The night was beautiful, 

the roads were clear,

and I ate them up hungrily,

With the roar of a monstrous engine disguised under a smoothed bonnet,

It was all that you would want in a night,

I got hit on like a model in a club,

By men and women equal the same,

Which was disgusting...

But the women it was okay,

You always get that when you have sex before you club,

Is it the same for women?

I don't think so, women should be horny when they club, 

this time it was in excess,

It is unusual to get such many advances I proud-lessly admit,

To have women pour on me drinks for attention...

Almost step on me and shove me around...

The magic that turns reactions to relations, 

It was a new experience in most ways,

I discovered rafiki's, a club of suit wearers and elegant women,

At least on that night it was,

Soft chairs and that epic cocktail anchored with ice cubes,

Floating green tango vodka,

Served with two half straws in a blue light posh bar,

I also got into a fight apparently,

Just to cream what an awesome night is about,

Tall built up men claimed to have seen me pour their beers,

They should at least have picked someone their size,

Cowards... I am half their height,

Someone should have mentioned to them,

That there are lovers and there are fighters,

I buy wine and go for dates,

I don't buy guns and go to black market,

The fight ended up badly for them mostly,

Largely cause good friends can take bullets for you,

But mostly cause luck more than talent is mostly on my side,

And most of the club was on my side,

We should have used those fifteen seconds of fame,

The display of power to seize a few skirts and dresses,

But my balls were squeezed dry from the earlier events of that night,

But sex is not always a journey to an orgasm,

Sometimes the journey is just an orgasm in itself,

Especially if you are traveling with one you want to sex,

And not one who you want for sex,

We discovered the tango 35 bottle at chandaria,

Lavington has this very unavailable treasure,

It tasted as sweet as a green apple,

And to rediscover it in a cocktail at the club that night,

Just made my night like loud likable music does yours,

I did take too large a sip,

And spilled most of it on the steering,

So that the steering was as sticky as a drunkards hands,

So that the gear matched the uncomfortableness of the steering,

I needed the interior of the car cleaned up sparkling,

So I found myself at a car wash in hurlingam,

Next to me was a girl that looked like she just walked out of,

Perhaps brookside or RVA perhaps st. Andrews,

Dressed in black and in a black range rover,

She must have liked the grey Mercedes I had brought to be washed,

Or it was the grey cashmere sweeter over my shoulders,

We smiled at each other so much,

Maybe it was the smiles and flirting,

That made us magnetic to each other,

The petro station attendants kept on staring at her,

Then staring at me,

Sharing at her,

Then staring at me,

Perhaps in was the way of the world,

To show us we would be a perfect match,

She must have known how men work,

Cause when she jumped back into her already sparkling car,

Or rather her fathers or something,

She came out with her cleavage more exposed,

Jacket completely unzipped, 

Pleasurable things advertised,

Cause I am a man and am wired to stare at shape-full yet shapeless,

Pointless but pointed things that are spelled two 'o's between 'b's,

I sent my eyes there even though she asked me not to drop them,

I know she knew I would drop my eyes regardless,

She is the kind of girl with things that make you text back,

She should be daystars universities finest star,

In her shiny black fashion forward shades,

She asked me for my bbm pin.

it has been a blackberry experience hence forth.

I can't wait to tap that.

We can try it in a range.

Then in the merc.

Wish me luck regardless,

Though with the way things are going,

I don't think I will need it much,

That was my third most exciting blackberry experience, 

The first two are stories for another post.

And YOU Thought You Could Kiss Better

The perfect kiss. The perfect kiss should be the first kiss. Not the first time my raw lips set onto of another. Rather the first time they land on fresh lips I just met. We all know the anticipation of things is most times greater than the thing itself. I would not skip the anticipation to sandwich another's lips. Killing it by kissing immediately, without loading up the anticipation. I will make her laugh first. To lighten the mood and reduce her tension. I will make sure we are at a comfortable place. Perhaps on my bed, seated facing each other. Good things might come after it. Which I might deny her to build anticipation for myself and her. The sweetest orgasm come from the longest foreplay. Oh, you dint know that, no wonder you don't sex right. But I might also want to start it like this. Look right into her eyes. Then down to her lips. Then back to her eyes. Slowly, as if my eyes had licking capability. And they were taking their time, to taste chocolate. I would repeat that, until she knows a kiss is due. I would then tell her she had beautiful pink lips. Then she would smile. Ask her if she liked mine. Just to turn her smile into a giggle. Assuring her that kissing me would be a right decision. Cause I am well packaged. I come with kissable lips. And stocked up with enough humor to make her laugh a lifetime. Then I would look at her eyes again. Move them back to her lips. Move closer to her face. Slowly so that I let her heart beat rise. Before I...

I might As well Have My Periods This Morning

Hardy slept last night. It's Sunday morning at ten o'clock. I think I should wear a tampon. I have woken up feeling like a girl. Oh heaven, I have such a great urge to go shop. This morning that urge feels greater than my urge to sex would. I see myself, collecting loafers from all nice shops. Those perfect shoes. That I like to feel raw. Like sex without condoms. I want new pairs of loafers. I will wear them without socks. I want to feel them like raw sex. The velvet leather touch against my feet skin to skin. I want to sweat in them. Just like on a different morning I would want to cum in a girl. Soil my shoes with sweat, just to assert the feeling I indeed own those shoes. I want them massaging my feet. I want them smelling like me. I will not wear them with a condom. I will wear them raw. Am itching to shop today. I want to buy shoes and blue, white, pink, navy blue and polka dotted shirts. I crave to shop more than I crave to sex this morning. I must prepare myself for such an urge. I hope it visits me the Sunday after next next Sunday. When my credit card has paid all the bills. And is ready to be run through as many machines as a slut. Limitless and is filled enough to give me everything I want. I want to shop till I drop. Useless and useful things both. In fact I am going to go spend some obscene amount of money now. Live today forget tomorrow. I might even call a girl afterwards to screw my balls dry. I will wear 'socks' for that though. I might be mad but not insane. The beauty of life is exactly such. You think you want to wake up Sunday morning craving to see a fine light-skinned, well-sized-slim hot girl making you breakfast in your fawn gown. Only to wake up and find you wish it was okay to crave shopping like girls do. Wanting to take your credit card for a slutty tour. Life is unpredictable like that sometimes. I love it's surprises. A different day, different madness!