,,,,,,,,,,,,Do you expect me to go to a five star and request for chipo kuku or chapo chafua the way I do nikienda kwa Njugunas keg bar and café.
When the food was brought she changed topic. ‘How old are you?’ She asked. Am 24 by Feb nxt year I will be 25’ I answered. ’24 yet you behave so mature than 40 something old men I know. ‘What of you, how old are you?’. I know it is criminal to ask a woman her age but I played it so carefully. ‘Am 38’ she responded. ’38 yet you look like a sweet 16’ I complemented her. She blushed. ‘I love your dimples btw’ I added. She smiled shyly and thanked me. I knew I have scored an extra point. Men make it an habit to complement your women. She asked for my opinion on the marriage between French president Emmanuel Macron and Bridget his wife. I knew this question is technical and I needed a technical answer. ‘Mhhhh (as I reviewed my answers from my book of treachery) age is but a number, ‘I answered. ‘As long as there is love they are good to go. I continued. I told her how influential she was in Macrons victory. I explained how her middle upper class upbringing had made Macrons aides and inner circle think she is the current day Marie Antoinette ( Louis sixteenth wife who had ordered the French to
eat cake if they couldn’t afford bread. If your remember 1789 French revolution)
I saw Rita had started getting bored with the story. By the way ukiona dame ameanza kuitika tu ati ‘Mh’ kwa story jua amelose interest. I quickly changed the story after delivering the point: age is but a number. To bring her back I told her how I admired her dress and how the tailor had curved so well the cleavage part. I brought her smile back as she pulled it up a bit‘I love you Conrad’ she said looking down. She was shy. I did not know the right answer to give. From nowhere music started playing. Immediately she took my hand and directed me for a dance. We danced so seductively. At some instances she could make me sit for a lap dance (kama hujui hii dance google) just to keep me in the mood. As the song played, she blind folded me. She took my hand and led me to the other door I told you about. She opened it. She removed the blind fold and what I saw surprised me: A king size bed with a white cover. On it red flower petals were sprinkled with an inscription, ‘WELCOME HOME LOVE’. Somehow she had decided to revenge on Beatrice, the church girl who left my house like a grasshopper. The girl she housed as she waited to join campus. The girl who made me sing nimedungwa sindano which had not been injected nor injected. A wine bottle with two glasses stood on the bedside stool. She turned the light to dim blue making the whole room heaven on earth. I swear no man, on earth or in heaven can stand such a vexation. She smiled an indication she had won. ‘Do you love me Conrad?’ She whispered again. Before I could finish nodding, she pushed me with her index finger to the king size bed.
I woke up exhausted. I felt like resting. ‘Wow you are so good’ Rita exclaimed. Her words encouraged me. She left me her car keys and 3000 for fuel. ‘Go and ride as you wish but be back by four I will have left the office’. She left me another 2000 for lunch. She hugged me and left for work. It was Monday. After about 5 minutes I also left. I arrived at the car, a black Harrier. When I ignited the engine fuel was almost full. I drove myself past Thika towards Garissa. I passed a place called Ngoliba, NYS and when I arrived Kithimani I turned back. I was driving at a moderate speed with my right hand hanging through the window.
When I got back to town, it was some minutes to four. I bribed a Kanjo man who allowed me to park at National archives. When you have a serious machine KBL you don’t park by the roadside where a boda boda guy can run into your side mirror. I texted Rita where she was to meet me.
She responded by calling back. She later joined me and she opted to drive. This time she didn’t care at all. She wanted me to see everything. Her thighs were yellow like a ripened pawpaw. I did not see them last night because of the blue lighting. When we got to Jogoo road traffic had built up. She pulled the hand brake and we kissed a bit. She smiled exposing her white teeth. Half past 5pm we were home. I escorted her to her house. I hugged and kissed her and I left. That night we did not chat for she was tired.
The week rolled by quickly. We did not meet again until that Saturday evening when she requested me to pass by her house. I hesitated because I did not want to meet Beatrice: the church girl. ‘I am all alone in the house, Beatrice left for Xmas holiday till Jan’ she confirmed.My love for Rita had increased spontaneously. I could not do anything without thinking of her
When I entered, she was humming in the kitchen while cooking. She left what she was doing and came to hug me as was our routine (for couples reading, try this secret. It works magic for your love life).
I helped in cooking. She was cooking Ugali, kales and chicken. My favourite meal. Am a Kisii and ugali is my thing. It’s while we were in the kitchen when we heard a knock at the door. We thought it was Beatrice. I cursed her in my mind. When I opened the door, which we had locked on the upper and lower side, it was Khadija, the Mombasa lady whose husband works with KDF.
‘Mama Rita, mekuja kukuomba kiberiti naona yangu imeisha’ Khadija said as she proceeded to
join Rita in the kitchen. ‘sitakaa sana nataka kulala na mapema’ I heard Khadija tell Rita in the kitchen. I was happy. I wanted more time with my love Rita. Moments later they came to the sitting room. It is in their talk that Khadija posed a question, ‘Mama Rita kumbe una kijana mkubwa hivi?’