Friday, April 26, 2013

Like I said earlier, April is the month of the devil in my calender. If you happen to live in the eastern side of Nairobi, you can wager a good deal that every day there has to be a peculiar drama of sorts. By fate or forces that I cannot understand, I am one among the many Kenyans who live somewhere beyond the famous Donholm round about. Call me a sufferer if you are buying me a drink. If you are not, you are also broke as I am. Where was I?

This post is not motivated by alcohol and that is why it is taking this long to get to my point.

Schools are closed again. What does that mean? Children in the pupae stage are everywhere making noise and running in-front of my jalopy as I drive through the estate. But the dirty offspring of the middle-class is insignificant. It is the female high-school going children that have motivated my fingers to caress this keyboard with my tongue hanging out like a dehydrated bear. These women in their larvae stages of life have so much glory around the abdomens. They swing and sway as they walk in the estate and if you are a testosterone fountain like I am, you will certainly feel some boxer activity just by looking at one or a pack of these kids walking.

So there is this particular one. Let's just call her Jess because I still don't know her name. You can bet I am mulling over a number of tactics that will see me conquer her mind successfully. It has become apparent that women have started to love with their brains and so we have left the hearts to the surgeons and we are also chasing the brain. A good example is leaving the glove compartment open and letting a woman see a bunch of browns like 30 of them. The next day, let her see 15 and the next day you make them 30 again. And when you go to spend, you fetch like 5 from your pocket to pay the bill. Woman is smitten. The orifice in her pelvic area will be crying with erotic pulp and her eyes will be shouting your name singing.....'werocamuuuu wero, werocamuuuuu...........'

So Jess is always having those china wires with speakers at the end. In our days they were called earphones. These days they must be ear shackles or something. Why else would someone have them plugged to their ears all the days of her adolescence? I really curse the day I bought a silver car. A silver car means you can pass anywhere and if anyone is asked if there is a car that has passed, they will shake their head to the negative. Jess is no exception. I even hoot as I pass by her gate. This woman just shakes her head to the beats of FUSEDOGG or some Jamaican nut-head like Konshens or Popcaan(my small brother, 2013).

Now Jess has a habit of wearing shorts whose ambition is to become hot pants but they are restrained by the width of her thighs. Show a man some feminine meat above the knee and he will give you an idea that works best when people are naked. I beg to be tempted Jess. Just go on, tempt me like you never have to any man. At this juncture dear reader, words cannot really give meaning so I wish I could have a photo of her and you could relate to my object of lustrous desire.

Jess must be a halfcast of a Kamba woman and a man from a very prolific tribe like Luhya or kisii. Her lips are somewhere between pouty and very sexy and her mounds of diary point towards mt. Kilimanjaro even on the sunniest days. Who said things sag when heated?? They should try their experiments on Jess. But after I am done with her.

The sad thing and the reason why this father and husband and boyfriend of 3 has not yet passed a gesture is the fact that I think that this lass is not a day over 16 years old. My kinsmen from the core of the country say that capital crimes will make you locked up in the behind. This is not what I want to go through for a night or 30 minutes of juvenile pleasure in hotel Jimlizer. There is another week before school opens and this young woman will strain my boxers every other day as I enter the court with her harmless skin straining to hold the wobbly muscle inside.

I could go on and on but at this point I realize the missus could be wondering how quiet I am and she cannot see a YouTube video of Kenny Rogers on this screen. So I beg to halt as I ponder on the best way of sending a signal to Jess that she could be my kelekele love. Ideas are welcome from well-wishers.

Till then,
I remain,

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