Blast from the past.....A Christmas Heck_Aya

Anatha Wan from The Grandson of the Patriarch

Hehehe, it’s like this. Most of you have flooded my inbox with requests for a write up on Christmas. And I ask, what is your want, what is this thronging in my inbox , this holding out of Olive boughs all wreathed in woe. What about Christmas do you seek. Speak friends, for there isn’t a write-up I could so cold bloodedly deny petioners so pitiful… (Hehehe… Always wanted to say that.)

Seeing that am not very swimful this afternoon, let me hearken to you calls and once again dip deep into my bottomless ambyss of a frustrated childhood and serve you what I may.
Eons past, I lived in a place called Karagoini, several light years away from the blue green waters of Tudor lagoon , where I presently cacoon. This village, nestled on the foot hills of the God mountain, was and still is next to the Ndaragwa Forest. It was thus common for the residents to unleash their cattle in the forest, particularly during dry season for some good pasture.
On this eventful day, lack had conspired with my Family , and it was my turn to go graze the six cattle in the forest. Although I had protested gravely, I silently cherished the time alone, being introverted and all.
So I picked my Robert Ludlum, and followed the cattle into the heart of the forest.
I knew the bushes like the back of my hand. A thirty minutes walking found me and the cattle in an expansive clearing devoid of trees but with knee high Rabbit grass that the cattle were so fond of. Nearby, hidden by some thick Thigio bushes, a stream whispered it’s existence , a lullaby to the sleeping woods.
A picked a vantage high ground, lit up my first of six Rooster cigarets, thumped the novel, and teleported to that wordeful world of cities that I had only read in books. I was lost.
It must have been an hour or two, when my sixth sense told me I had company. I slowly turned to face whatever scavanger, carnival or beast that lay crounched in the grass, fully intent on deploying the various escapes that had for long been told us by our elders in forest survival.
Several meters downwind, partly hidden by a struggling Pondo tree, was a female human. She moved a step and I immediately recognized her. Mama Ben, who lived in the next village of Kahembe, was well known to me. For one, she had done her O level an year before me, and had immediately married Wabeni, a son to the local shopkeeper.

She saw me at once, and came over for company. She was also out grazing, and her herd was just then merging with mine.
Two hours later, we had just about talked of everything, and naturally the conversation drifted into how many girls in the village I had treed. While I was keen to maintain the number to a minimum , she was intent to baloon the number to dubious figures, accusing me of sleeping with anything in a dress in the parish. Hehe
The talk drifted, and she was eager to know what exactly I tell girls that made my number such. It put me in some precarious defence. But she was determined. She now wanted to know what I gave them. “Kana ni muti uyu waku umekiraga Ngoma” (ama ni hii miti yako huwatia wazimu) she said , reaching out and touching the legendary sycamore tree. I backed out, playfully. She reached out, I backed out. Eventually, I didn’t back out. She touched it. Then held it . And then the tree engaged the hydraulics. And grew, as she held it. It grew, by length and girth, and she struggled to hold on to an uncoiling 21yr old sycamore tree.
All the while, am struggling to free myself, but making sure I remain within her warm grip. I stretched out my left hand, and, the noon sun bearing witness, I caressed my first married woman breast. I kneaded, and fondled. Then, I reached out with my right hand, just like Robert Ludlum had said, and held her by the butt. She let out a fitful gasp, that carried in the wind, to the grazing cattle. One or two cows, lifted their heads, inquisitively at us, then went back to their rabbit grass.
In minutes, she was on her back, resistingly helping me remove her bluish mother’s Union.
I feasted on her, my first married woman, as the heavens and the sun watched. Then we air dried.
Several minutes later, I was on top of her , and after the wind dried my sycamore, I ate her once again.
Funny, when it was all over, she took her Blue niniii, chuckling, walked into the stream thicket, washed up, and after struggling a bit to separate her herd, she walked off to the horizon, without a word.
Me, I didn’t wash up. The evidence needed to linger awhile longer till I wanked on the morrow

Tudor is a creek. Not a lagoon.:D:D:D:D:D:D

Brilliant read.

:D:D:D:D:D

I do like this,a lot,mabenda long time.

Your hekayas are always on point!

Unajua Uruku?

nimeenda hata kwa waterfall

Kuna mzae anaitwa Kanyua hapo. Unamjua?

She let out a fitful gasp, that carried in the wind, to the grazing cattle. One or two cows, lifted their heads, inquisitively at us, then went back to their rabbit grass.

:D:D:D:D Noma Sana.

Leta Pay bill.