By Scrphine Atieno
Eddy* swerved his Toyota Fortuner to avoid hitting a Boda boda who had just crossed in front of him in their urgent and brusque nature.
He entered a lane and a jam quickly formed. His grip was firm on the steering wheel as the husky, novel and mellifluous voice of late Okatch Biggy’s Helena pervaded the car.
He heard a light tap on his car window, a boy of about 11 years stood there with an old rugged lady in tow. Yes, closed eyes because in Nairobi, you can never tell when one is truly blind or is closing their eyes as a business strategy.
The boy’s expression was amenable, one of someone who at his tender age was already inured to the incursion and coldness of people who sat behind warm cars but bore icy hearts.
Eddy reached for his breast pocket, found a hundred shillings note, rolled down his car window and gave it to him. They mumbled their gratitude and went to the next car.
It was Friday evening and he was on his way to meet Anita, the most exciting woman he had ever been involved with, it was as if she had been created purposefully to please men.
She was a woman of unbridled passion and who at his mid life crisis age, made him feel like a Khalwale’s bull, Malinya. Her moans and whimpers always faked sounded like the biblical much awaited tarumbeta to his ears.
He could not remember the last time he did it with his wife, after their third child, her head ache excuses graduated to raging bellows of ‘I am tired, don’t touch me!” The few occasions when she yielded to his pleas, she would say,
‘ero kare tim’ and lay there like a cockroach reeling from the effects of Bolt.
It would then take him 13 good minutes to remove her socks, jumper, promotion T-shirt, biker, mothers union pants and by the time his already half bored manhood gets there, he is met by her soft snores, dead asleep.
But Anita was different; she had a stare that always stirred his loins, and when asking for money, her voice turned mellow and she would caress his beer pot belly and worship his shrinking prick like a god, her agility in the sheets doubled during end month or when she needed some not very little cash.
The last time they were together, in a hotel room, she had worked herself into a blistering rage.
‘I am tired of that bedsitter, yes you pay my rent but instead of booking these expensive hotels every weekend, rent me a better apartment,” she sobbed.
“We will talk about it,”
Why did women have this annoying habit of starting nonsensical conversations during intimacy? Did they know not that at such times a man thinketh not with his head!
After a few fake tears and feminine sniffles, he gave in and asked her to find an apartment.
That night, she rode him like a rodeo; only stopped when she feared he was going to have a stroke.
- MWK is just about sex and money, nothing more
- Half, not all the time, it is wives who push husbands into these affairs.
Never stop being a freak for your man…or these hoes gonna ride him for you.