This is a loose continuation of this story.
That evening our friend with a green surf invited us for a nyamchom treat. Earlier that day we had brunched on some ugali and straight looking tilapia that oozed sweetness that words cannot describe. He is a good man, because of that. He understands men.
It is around 7.20pm when we popped into some club. A very decent club if you ask me. It was a sign that Kisii town was in the progressive loop, rising to the occasion to compete with other major towns. It was well lit, pomp, quite comfortable and very spacious for a club. You could have a whole table for yourself. Few girls are twerking. Men are seated in leather seats with their ribs, ribs they found in the club. They are leaning in to the chics’ sides and enjoying the moment.
Men and beers are spotted all over. No man alone. Why go to a club and drink alone? Men who drink go to clubs not because they crave for a drink but because they want to feel horny, and in that moment they will crave for a drink. Some who care about their wives will just have lap dances, slap a few notes to her ass, take a drink and drive home. Those who want to pop the cherry will be clubbing to get a pass to ‘thighland.’ They’ll want to have a new taste because he is the cock with a free cock. He will want to use it on any female that can exchange her thighs with notes.
We are now five of us. My two cousins from earlier, a summer bunny, another cousin, Wallace and I. Five men, in a club. The four of us don’t even know how to hold a bottle. Wallace knows a bit of that, plus how to puff some cigar. He looks jubilant as this moment reminds him of his younger years when he could club and drink booze to the wake of dawn, sleep in ditches and miss school.
The air is hot. You can actually feel the heat engulfing you as you move towards the centre. It swallows your humid temperature and plants streaks of sweat that you start unbuttoning your shirt three buttons down. No wonder strippers were naked. They would never do that magic on the poles with clothes on, they would just die in the heat if not on heat.
Our friend, was seated in some corner. Around a big table with Pilsner Mfalme inscribed on it. He has some waitress seated across who I think, from the look, he’ll have some fling with later on. We are introduced to her, and she to us. I don’t recall names because my head rejects names that I might have to attach with something that makes me horny. She was pretty, clad in black trousers, black sweater inscribed something like a brand and a yellow blouse I guess. A uniform. The waitresses in this club served two things as I later came to realize- pussy and drinks.
The friend was so comfortable. A toothpick hanging from his lips as he folded his arms across the stomach. He has a huge frame that can lift a lorry on one hand and an elephant on the other. Okay, that’s a lie, but he is well built. Just like our summer bunny whose body had grown bigger from the American junk that is sold in every corner of the States.
We exchanged greetings and men’s eyes went roaming to admire the lovely girls that were doing rounds. There was this lonely chic, drinking by herself, a long bottle that was not easy to read. She had this bush over her head, glistening lip gloss and cute face. She wore a short black dress and a red petticoat with sparse of white. Men around that table were high in their trousers.
Our friend had ordered a mbuzi to be roasted and some heavy ugali. It is the only thing that can make a man travel from miles away. To dish out on mbuzi. He talked of planning to romp the waitress later that night. I pitied her wife because I knew her, and their three young kids whom I had just met that day. We travelled together from Nairobi, a small caravan. I somehow understood that men can never be satisfied with a single pussy, however much they are loved. There will come a day when their hunger for something new and different will surpass that love, break the dykes of their marriage, and contravene the boundaries of their wedding vows. He will have to cross that bridge if he thinks greener pastures beyond that bridge will get him gratifying pleasure.
I am not married but I have friends who are married. At times I hang around them because men really never choose who to hang out with at some point. So long as you can share some beliefs and be able to reason well and have a bank account- money. I am a witness of fallen soldiers who never stood to fight the enemies they had been trained to kill. They blew the ammunition by entertaining their enemies, allowing them to sleep in their camps, trusting them with their wits and offering them homage. And this right here was one of those cases. Men who gave way when the cock called.
The mbuzi came. Ilikuwa inametameta. Hot. Soon everyone’s attention was arrested by the aroma wafting through the air. Two things that can easily kill a Kisii man- food and women. Our friend’s heat could not let him settle for a bite.
‘Nyi kuleni. Waiter ataniletea bill.’ He said
‘Kwani hukuli na venye hii nyama ni mob?’ Czar asked
Iki kidem kinaenda kunipea kinembe wacha nimalizane naye kwanza.’ Off he whizzed.
We settled down, hands and mouths busy. I have never enjoyed Nyamchom this way. I bet it is because the goat was of the indigenous species that taste so good that you can easily swallow your own tongue. You could notice distinguishable difference between the goats we eat in Nairobi, the quickly bred and fattened ones, and the naturally bred goat, one that you eat with confidence.
All along the bush continued to drink alone. And our summer bunny who knows nothing about patience with women was all over her table getting her sassed. He is a man who ladies fall for naturally. American height, well built, rangi ya thao, nice looking clothes and his nice looking dashing eyes. Brains and also mastery of language. I didn’t understand how they disappeared because the moment I looked back, I was greeted by empty chairs and a straw staring at me like a vigilante.
Four men now. The mountain in front of us is still huge because our friend had ordered much thinking we would eat like Kisiis who stay in Kisii. If that was the case we would have cleared the table and left licking our fingers in disbelief that the meal is actually over. Everyone backed at their own pace. I being the second last. Wallace had a stomach for things, but ugali had repelled him so he was stocking meat in his belly. He loved it. He confessed so.
At around 10 pm I was left alone with Wallace. A man who was afraid to talk to women. The other two guys had gone to get something from the shops before they close. Their old man would eat them by the nails if they showed up minus it. I really wanted to walk around and feel the place. We had idled in one corner for hours, bundled like our bodies were chained to the table. But leaving Wallace alone posed three major predicaments- he would suffer by himself with boredom, women would take an opportunity and milk his pockets dry and he might walk around and get lost. So I had to hang around him like a damned babysitter, shouting across the table because the music was loud. The only place I could go was the loo.
There was this time Wallace felt that he could use a cigar. So I showed him to the smoking zone which was in the balcony, overlooking the beautifully lit town with empty streets except for the few men and women who were staying up late because they wanted either a drink or sex, and a few street kids. After taking in the view, I moved as the smoke was really dreadful to me. It sickens me.
I was on the way to our spot when I suddenly felt horny when I saw a couple kissing hard on some dingy corner of that club. My mind got altered and I could not see well from then. Everything around me started revolving and I was the centre of all the madness. A sudden surge of a want to hold someone against the corner hit me so cruel. I moved from one end to another trying to drive the craze out of me. Finally I landed on this lady dancing on the dance floor… swinging her ass and waist with all the freedom. She didn’t look like she was afraid of anything even that late. Her life at that moment was the only thing that mattered.
Seconds later I was swinging, swaying with less worry. Going around her and dancing to her tune. She got my message and soon were dancing partners, dancing romantically. It is only in a club you can hold a woman you just met and they would love it. Grab her ass and boobs and she will maintain her cool. She will be fine with everything so long as you don’t cut it from her. And soon she was grinding her ass on my groin, sending electric pulses all over my body and getting my member so sensitive and aware of what stood in front of him flashing red lights.
I remember kissing her around her neck. The next second we were having a quickie in the gents, her bent over the toilet seat and I having a time of fun with my fly down and trouser on. I was somewhere to ejaculate when some janitor who has been hungry for a raise bashed the door and caught us in the middle of that rogue affair.
He might have been waiting for this moment to get that raise, and for sure it was his day. There I was with a fully erect member who is about to spit and a lady with her skirt up and knickers on the floor with a face full of horror. We were let off the hook after our summer bunny who was also from a fling on the other end bailed us.
Wallace had finished his cigar and wandered off. Getting him took us endless calls and numerous drives around town. We found him two hours later, in some dark alley with a hooker on his D. On our way home everyone was silent. Some exponential silence that weighed heavily on each of us. One way or another everyone had some blame on himself. Only our hearts knew what had transpired…it was a lot full of men with hungry cocks that could be used at the slightest opportunity.
In this life there is only one thing, scars remind us of the past, but they do not dictate where we are going. We have the destiny in our hands because we have the freedom of choice. You either choose to be good or bad. Where do you stand?
We aspire to be writing on a daily basis so that our blog can be active. For that case are requesting for four guest writers who will be handling Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Those interested should be above board. They should have excellent writing skills, not wannabes.
If you fit that category, contact us through firstname.lastname@example.org
Photo Credit: Hukzegraphics