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.
Category: Short Stories
A love story, gone horribly wrong. A corpse, an older lover and the threat of jail.
You come over to the kitchen, wrap your hands around me. You kiss my neck, and I giggle and blush like I am not a 43 year old woman. You whisper into my ear something nice. I push you away playfully.
You asked me a year ago why I loved you. I blushed. Then I said something about not having the words for it. Imagine that. A writer lacking the words to explain an emotion. I've thought about it long and hard. Of you, of me, of us. So here's your answer; a year later....this is why I love you.
She is on my bed. Her left leg is over mine and she is telling me she loves me. Yes, she has a boyfriend but it is me she loves. She will leave him. She just hasn't figured out how to do it. He is working in the big city. He sends her money every now and then. He doesn't ask for much. He only wants to see her once every month. I never ask what happens when she goes there. It is always the last Sunday of the month. He always sends her fare and some spare change in case she needs to buy something while traveling. Sometimes he calls her at night, when she is sleeping over at my place. He says her voice makes him sleep a little better. Just before he ends every call, he asks her.
For now though, he feels a new dialogue happening in his pants. One he particularly enjoys. She will feel it too. She will reach out to grab it. Gently at first then.... She will grab the back of his neck. His breathing will quicken. His ears will grow just a little bit hotter. She will stop kissing him. She will draw back. Look him straight in the eye, and say happily, I like you. She will kiss him again. And again. And again. A really small part of him will want to lift one leg up and lean into the kiss. Just a small part.....
The first time a man touched me, it was at home. I was barely 6 years old. My parents used to travel a lot for work. Most of the time, it was just me and the nanny. That afternoon, she was giving me a bath.