Dear Diary

Can we please just take a moment to acknowledge the smoking hotness that is David Matiwane.

Now, calm down ladies, we all know the guy is handsome.

But did you know he is modest, and sweet, as well as being built like a rugby player?

So like, we’re in the change rooms today. Usually I won’t dare to approach an alpha jock like that because some of them will punch your head through the wall. For real. But David – he’s not like other guys.

When the other guys are all like, “I got into Phumi’s pants last night,” and they all get excited like a pack of wild dogs, he doesn’t respond. It’s like he’s above that ‘I’m-the-man’ nonsense.

Good: so am I. It’s so lame.

Men are always having to prove who is the strongest, manliest, most sexually active, toughest. It looks exhausting. Shem.

But Diary, I’m not here to talk about toxic masculinity (I read that term on FB).


Ag, he’s dreamy. He has these big liquid eyes – kind of like Bambi.

He could be a boxer. He reminds me a bit of the young Muhammed Ali – quiet on the inside, fire on the outside.

Oef, he is so delicious.

So he’s on his phone (like everyone in the entire school, country, world, universe, galaxy), and I’m like, ‘You on Facebook?’

And he gives this adorable lopsided smile that shows the gap in his front teeth (also cute), and he’s like, ‘Nah, WhatsApp’.

But not meaning like, ‘No: leave me alone!’ Just like ‘nah’ in a friendly, chill way.

I like guys like this. I mean, obviously he’s straight and he’s not gay. Our chances of being together are like zero.

But still, I think straight guys like him are cool. They’re not threatened by gay guys. U know? We don’t freak them out.

So this makes him even hotter in my eyes.

So, I want to say something more, but I don’t know what to say. I should comment on rugby but I have like zero idea how it works.

I rack my brain. “Do you like Frank Ocean?” I ask.

He makes a face like he’s deciding between A and B, kind of tilting his hands like a balance scale.

“Sometimes, hey. Sometimes he gets a bit much.”

This is when he puts his cellphone away. I’m scared he’s going to leave.

“I’m Levi,” I blurt out, just in case.

“I know, dude,” he says, with a short laugh. “Everyone knows you.” This makes me panic a little. But also, like, twenty percent proud.

“Why is that?”

He leans in and tousles my hair, like I’m a kid.

“Cos you’re Levi. Bro. Ain’t nobody gonna mistake you for someone else.”

He walks out, in that confident swag way straight guys have. I watch him leave. In his shorts. Phew.

That boy is fine, fine, fine.


Tell us: Do you agree with Levi that lots of straight guys are oddly threatened by the presence of a gay man?