When she cheats 1

woman in depression and despair crying on black dark

I hear stories of some tribes having strong affiliation towards sex. We all know them. I hear these women are hungry creatures. Famished sexually, 24/7.  I’m yet to find out if I have roots there too. But I have self-control. I do not lust. I don’t look at a muscular man and start drooling. Or see his Samson arms and start imagining how he can lift me high and kiss me from head to toe! Or hear some baritone and fall. No! I am a very composed woman, with zero facial expressions implying I want sex. All women are like this.

Sometime back I dated a church boy. He was after God’s own heart, knew Leviticus in and out, book of Ezra and did not like having sex. I on the other hand, tried to be a good girl and understand that sex is not for the unmarried and really suppress my insatiable appetites. I have been hearing stories of how we, Bukusu ladies, like hio mambo. I don’t think I am that way. I really can do without that cursed thing. Ok, I lie.

One month into dating, African man did not touch me. 2 months, African man did not kiss me. He would come over and we would watch movie after movie. When people kissed hungrily in the movie, the African did not stir. I, on the other hand, felt those things rushing through my blood stream making me restless. My hands unconsciously touched his neck, his navel then he would shriek and not excuse my hands to do the walking. He would sleep like a log. Vitu zingine ni madharau. I would stay awake questioning my womanhood, fuming and thinking of just chopping off some vestigial parts of his and hang on the wall.

I would go out with my friends, leaving him in MY house and return late into the night. I found him waiting, supper cooked. Aish! Who does that? I hate that! Shouldn’t he like welcome me with a slap or something? Sometimes an aspiring lover called, flirting. I would be uneasy and try to suppress his gutter talks of aki nakupenda…nikam nikupick, nakutaka sana… We all have lists of aspiring lovers, even when you are in a 10 year relationship. Plan B needs to be there.  My good African man did not feel insecure. He trusted me. He was not the type of men who grab your phone and go through all messages, call log, Facebook, WhatsApp and then brood like a viper. He did not even know my friends. In summary my friends, he was good in an annoying way.

I thought to myself, ah, if he wants us to abstain till marriage, no problem. He will make a good husband. These are the types of men we want in the society. Those who do not stare at women’s behinds. Those who can occasionally cook when you come home late. Those who have zero insecurities and trust you. Above all, men who do not ask stupid questions of who is Sam, where are you… My good African man was quite a package in any sane woman’s world. He would never raise his voice at me. Nor question my anything.

My life became peaceful like a sea without a tide. At the same time however, I felt lifeless and incomplete. I thought of how my friends have crazy men and longed for that.

We, women, are very strange creatures you see. We want a good man who treats you right, but when we get him, it all becomes too boring. We want a psychotic. One, who roughs you up occasionally, walks out on your face, bangs the door, and does not pick calls for a whole day. The one who gives you occasional headaches and makes you cry. These things about love are strange and complicated. I am drawn to such idiots. I love fights and love shouting. I love attacking him too when am super mad. I love mysterious men that you can’t even tell their next move, nor feel secure. You are always on your toes. They are arrogant in a sexy way and never, will he give in to your whims. When you whine about stupid things like you didn’t notice my new hairdo, he just ignores your tantrums and asks you to think straight. He does not involve you in any of his plans or ask for advice. He just keeps going and informs you on what to do, as opposed to asking for your opinion. He is controlling and knows his place. I need empowerment dear Caroline Mutoko.

In my hour of anguish, I revised my list of love interests. The way Joe was all up in my space. I can entertain him. Maybe he actually loved me and was genuinely attracted to me. Friday after work, Joe invited me to some concert. I was tired of turning down his invites. I called the African man and told him I was going for a concert. With whom? He did not ask. We stayed out late and he dropped me home at ungodly hours. He did not come in to my house as I hoped. You see such men, very unpredictable. We did not talk until Monday when he called to ask me if we can go out for lunch.

Second date. We went for lunch in town in a quiet restaurant. He told me so many things and boy, his upbringing was admirable, his talks so intoxicating. He was real. Many meetings happened successively and I lost count of the number of times we would meet. Sometimes for silly reasons like him showing me mats that go to Lang’ata or the shop that he bought his headphones. Sometimes, you don’t know the devil is awake and active, until a man invites you to his house on a cold weekend. My life started getting steamy when he invited me to his house in Kasarani.

As expected, Joe did not pick me from town. I frowned at this breed of despicable men! He simply gave instructions. “Unaona hizo mat za orange zimeandikwa MSL, dandia moja. Shukia TRM. I will wait for you kwa hio stage.” I found him pocketing, waiting for me. He had headphones on and a white hoodie and sandals.

We reached his house and it was a good house, for a young working man.  From the aquarium to the paintings, to the cozy seats with a touch of a bachelor, his house was just conducive for what was in my mind. A painting of a leopard and her cubs hang delicately. On the left, was an artificial miniature fountain of a dragon’s head. For his age, he was picking up well. He had a framed picture for his graduation day.

He was in no physical hurry to make any move which had great aphrodisiac effect on me. I sat there like a good girl and remarked about his beautiful house. He moved around his crib with pride and calculated moves. He offered me some drinks and I hoped they were not laced. This Nairobi has dangerous people, this I know. “Do you want a movie, PS ama music?” He came on me too quick with a distant, (probably imagined) desire in his eyes. A movie would do.

…to be continued

photo courtesy huffington post

This entry was posted in Fiction.


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