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“I Don’t Like You Like That”


Based On a True Story

Characters’ names have been changed to avoid potential lawsuits and possible deaths from shame and embarrassment. Enjoy.

Billy was an overweight boy that sat at the back of his classroom. He liked it at the back, he found it serenely isolated from the pell-mell of the class – the spotlight had always been a dark place for him.

Billy was in a weird primary school where there were no desk mates, everyone sat alone. Every man was an island. And as much as other students hated this, Billy loved it. He could hear the voices in his head more clearly this way.

The class teacher’s desk was right behind him, and most times, he would find himself talking to him more than he would his fellow students. It wasn’t that he was kissing ass or anything. It was pride that made him this way. To him, his classmates, especially the boys, were a bit too immature for him. He hated that he felt this way but it was true. Brian, the boy on his right, had rather foul farts that he always took credit for. And Michael with all his genius had a tendency to hit people for no reason, he was a little too jumpy for his taste.

Billy’s life in that class always felt like he was outside a great party looking in, secretly staring through the window as the others had the time of their lives. Not that he felt unwanted, no. He had always got the invitation to the party, but once he was there, he couldn’t let himself enjoy.

He’d always thought everyone’s ‘insane’ behaviour in his class came from all the biological changes they were going through. The bits of hair growing around their loins and armpits. The hoarseness of the guys’ voices. And even once, a blood stain on Grace’s dress one day when she stood up to solve a math problem. Grace had been so terrorized she could barely walk and while the ‘insane’ boys laughed, Billy felt for her.

His voice had started changing and every time he would talk, the frequency of his voice would rise and drop in extremities. He sounded like a badly played flute. His Adam’s apple doubled in size and baby fat started disappearing. Our dear Billy was growing into a man.

The hormones in his body flowed in frenzy, burning through especially, his loins. They would flow so heavily that most times during morning parade, he would be flying at full mast, like the flag. The slightest of touch by a girl – even the random brushing of shoulders – would make his whole body shudder orgasmically.

He’d even started noticing Wandia’s breasts.

Oh Wandia. Wandia was every little boy’s dream. Her young perky breasts looked supple and threatened to tear through her shirt every afternoon when she would take off her sweater. Under her shirt, Billy had the advantage to see the struggling straps of her bra and his mind would wander into the cesspits of something nastier than a porn set. He was so enticed by this pair that he decided he would not leave school without grabbing or at least touching them.

So he started his journey of breasts. Talking to her more. Making her laugh more. And once in a while, he would sacrifice his breakfast (loaf of bread) and give it to her at tea break. He was making more headway than most of his male colleagues. Or at least he thought he did.

With all the chumminess he had developed with lovely Wandia, he had not been able to muster enough confidence to pull the trigger. (Pulling the trigger is sealing the deal, you know, put a deal to bed or rather, put her to bed)

He’d not had the confidence to tell her how he felt about her or the pair. All he wanted to do was pull her closer like they did in those atrocious soap operas he’d watched, and feel the pair on his chest as he kissed her. That’s all the boy wanted, really.

I Don’t Like You Like That

The crush grew deeper. The shlong grew every time Wandia would smile at him. He couldn’t contain it anymore, the love, not the schlong.

The holidays came and the boy’s plan was ready to be executed.

He would hide behind a screen and pour his heart out in a wonderfully prosed sms (He’d always been good at English) He had genuinely believed that this method would work – and it would work in this way; Wandia would read it, get hooked by the mysterious, enigmatic yet heartwarming text, and they’d fall in love and get little babies with Wandia’s eyes.

Oh, silly Billy.

The day of pulling the trigger came. Boy went and bought a load of airtime from his little savings. Made sure his phone was fully charged and even changed his number in case Wandia had his old one. Boy was ready to execute his plan.

Hey there Wandia…” He started.

“Ever since you came into my class, I haven’t been able to focus on anything other than you. You have brightened up my days and I think I’ve fallen for you. I don’t want to say that I can’t eat or sleep because of you coz that would be a lie. The truth is, I eat and sleep, but I do it while thinking and dreaming of you. You are beautiful, Wandia, and your smile makes my insides melt. I love you, Wandia.”

And then he read it and thought it best to add, “From your secret admirer.”

He reread it over a dozen times, adding and removing lines until he finally settled on what he had first.

He’d thought that writing would be the hardest part but now it was clear that sending it was the real pickle. He couldn’t bring his trigger finger to the hit send button. He simply could not. And then self-doubt began to kick in.

What if she changed her number? Or worse, her mom has her phone and I get her into trouble? Maybe she’ll snitch me to her dad once I reveal my identity.

Aiiiii, Billy, and the way she laughs when you crack your silly jokes, no way she will reject you. Kwanza ebu remember when she laughed so hard and tapped you on the back in hysteria? This mama loves you, si ati nini ama nini. Ako ndani.

The dilemma in his mind lasted a while until he finally said fuck it and hit send and left it all to fate. The trigger was pulled.

He grew edgy and jumpy only five minutes into sending his love letter. He couldn’t sit still – his palms were sweaty and knees grew heavy. He felt like throwing up the spaghetti he had had for lunch.

Half an hour later and still nothing. He restarted his phone, maybe phone yake imehang, and when it came back on, there was still no text. So he decided that maybe the first text didn’t go through. He copied, pasted it and resent it and waited again to no luck.

Maybe she’s asleep, let me wait. But let me resend it again just to be sure. Desperation didn’t look good on him.

At night as he held on to the last bit of hope he had, the greatest text in his life came buzzing through his phone. Her reply was rather curt, though. “Who’s this?” It read.

“Just guess, darling.”

His little games went on for some time until Wandia threatened to stop replying if he didn’t reveal his identity. He texted back.

“It’s Billy.”

“Like Billy, Billy? Billy from class.”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Hahaha, you really got me there.”

“No, I’m serious. I really like you, Wandia.”

“Khai… For real? I thought we were good friends. Aki I’m sorry I don’t like you like that.”


“I don’t know. I just don’t.”

He heard the shattering of his heartbreaking.

Boy had a long night that night. Little did he know that that would be the first of many rejections in his life.

Back in school the following term, he died of shame and embarrassment.




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King is a mad writer on the loose. He is suspected to have lost his mind a few years after he was born. Since then, he has been writing his mind almost everywhere he can put his pen on. Someone – a government, a state, a police force, a parent, a teacher, a rabbi, a president, a sacco, a doctor, a deranged ex, a church, a therapist, or anyone with a bit of power bestowed upon them – should reprimand him and help him.