Creative Writing

One Night Stand!

Part 1

“50, 50, Wanye na mbele ya Wanye!”, the conductor shouted. I was at Prestige stage along Ngong Rd. Music blared in the background as cars horned all over. I had a date. More like a fuck date in Satellite. It was my first day going there. And I only had directions to take me. He couldn’t be bothered to pick me up. Idiot. Or did that apply to me too?

Nervously, I approached the conductor “Niaje unaweza ni shukisha stage ya Wanye na husinipitishe? ” I asked the conductor. Chewing khat like a cow, and not bothering to close his mouth, “Msister, usijali utashukishwa. Wewe panda ndai”,  he responded patting my back while spattering saliva all over me. Disgusting!

I boarded the matatu. I sat near the door with a couple who ignored me most of the journey while they conversed in Gikuyu with raised voices over the blaring reggae music. But I didn’t mind. My anxiety had me busy with worry if I will arrive safely where I was headed to. It was pretty late to be going to a new place. It was heading to 9 pm.

The matatu was really packed. Other people were standing and I couldn’t even see the conductor. I didn’t have anyone to ask if I had reached my destination. So I  turned on the couple seated next to me to ask them. They had no idea. Luckily, a man standing next to me told me the matatu had already passed the stage I was due. So I signaled the conductor amid lots of jostling to stop the matatu so that I could alight.

I arrived at his place around 9.30 pm after taking a pikipiki to the right stage.  I was sweating and a little mad. Here I was in a new place , I called the ninja and his phone didn’t go through immediately. I had to try several times and all I got from him when it went through, “Sorry network was really bad kwa keja. ”  Can you believe that?  To top it all up, I had to wait for him for several minutes to come pick me up. By now I  had started to think I was begging for some as if I was on dry spell- even though I was.

Part 2

I was wearing a  clingy white knee length dress to compliment my petite curvy body. It was one of my favorite. It showed my curves in the best way especially my bust with it’s cleavage. I am a C cup. Am neither big nor small. Just the right size. Or so I have been told by many guys. I had worn the dress intentionally. It was easy to remove and I did not need to wear any panty. I had gone for seduction mode and I needed all the leverage I could get- like my little tight ass looking like a Kardashian’s. While my hips looked well formed and rounded in the best way possible.  He was not helping matters though. As a policy,  I wait for no man.

I saw him before he spotted me. ” You have guts to make me wait Gite. ” I said approaching him my arms folded up on my ample boobs.

Smiling, he met me half and embraced me in this bear hug.   “And you, you are gorgeous. Your pictures don’t do you justice.” I knew what he was trying to do “Gite, that is not gonna work on me softening me up with compliments. You suck big time. But anyway, you are lucky. You not my guy and it’s a one-night thing.  We both know why we arranged this don’t you ?” I ran my hand shamelessly in front of his snug trousers and squeezed.

Groaning, he covered my hand. “Not here”,  he whispered. ” I know you are a wild one and this is all a fantasy we both are acting it out but easy on me, would you? Can’t walk with my dick all aroused and all.Shida tupu. ” I couldn’t care less. I had come for a specific thing.  To get laid. And I had chosen him out of many other guys from Tagged. He was the kind of guy I could shag and forget he existed.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….Part three coming next week 🙂

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Florence Kimuyu

Florence Kimuyu is a lover of literature and anything artistry. She fancies herself as a sapio who has a penchant for the crazy, fun things in life with a twist for the morbid and fascinating dilemmas of life. Aside from that, she is also convinced, the only way to fight social and cultural stigmatization and backward thinking is yanking the horn where it hurts the most (in this case, where it matters)
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