Making out a bit. Sometimes we do more. But mostly telling each other the dark secrets only married or engaged people share.
I just finished washing you with that new shower gel we got. I rub you down. You keep fidgeting especially when the towel is in between your thighs. You tell me it makes you ticklish and horny at the same time. You are always finding excuses to get aroused.
Do you remember the first time you kissed a girl? Not a silly simple peck. I mean a proper kiss. The kind that starts on her neck, and somehow your tongue is at the back of her throat. Swabbing it. Tickling her esophagus. You can literally taste her insides with her pants on. And when you both come up for air, she has to take a step back to remind you that she has parents who would rather she was not devoured like this.
Perhaps the bible erred in telling us Heaven is a place with streets lined with gold. Maybe instead there’s free wine, music and we can hang out with friends and family for eternity. Every Saturday we will meet at Bonnie’s mansion for a welcome party. For the newbies who’ve been admitted in. There is no lust here. No sin. Where once I would have described ladies thighs as heavenly. They are now meeeeh! Often, at the party, you will find me at the corner. Sipping something, talking to Cindy while staring at the door. Hoping maybe, today is the day you come.
We buried a friend today. Somewhere in Othaya. Where you need to turn left off the C70 and drive until you can smell the Aberdares. I couldn't make it. Work. I asked another friend to say goodbye for me. I know. How does one say goodbye to the dead? Forgive me. It felt right to … Continue reading In Remembrance
He looks disappointed, he probably thinks only bad people are born in Nairobi. I assure him only the politicians are bad. He waves me in smiling. He thinks I am funny. If I were a lady, I'd probably get a, "naweza kununulia soda baadaye madam?" Instead, I bear the burdens of masculinity. Making brothers laugh and getting a nod, only.
With that, the conversation turns to fatherhood. What fatherhood means for each of us. How our fathers color who we are as men, husbands and human beings. They asked me to swear not to write about it. Of course I refused. It's like asking a Nairobi man not to hit on his girlfriend's busty friend. It is impossible.