Morn'n Sunshine

The morning intruded on her sleep… one ray at a time. Sneaking soundlessly past the watchful blinds, they settled their autumn warmth on her chocolate hued skin, tenderly caressing the sprawled limbs, skipping lightly over the curves of her hips and splaying themselves over the flat of her belly. One even crept into the small dark cavity in the middle, and disappeared into the naval cracks and crevices, never to be seen again.
 
The rest, relentless in the pursuit of their goal, persisted up the soft curve of her ribcage, stoically avoiding the distraction that was her perfect breasts, ignoring the arresting majesty of the nipples that stood erect at their sentry posts, as speeding, or perhaps fleeing, down the incline of her collar bone, down the graceful stretch of her neck, their momentum carrying them over the soft jut of her jaw and landing them square on their destination…. her left ear.
 
Her tiny ear was too small for all the rays that made it; some spilled over and had to contend with sprawling all over her smooth dark cheek and waiting as the lucky ones that had made it in went to work.

The work was delicate; it needed to be perfect, as a beauty of her stature deserved, and the utmost care was to be taken. There could be no rushing, no jarring... no sudden movements. Even the most astute of observers would have no observation to make other than how there was nothing for them to observe…. Only the trained eye could possibly detect, or sense, that something was happening.
 
Sitting up at the foot of the bed, the awestruck gentleman, silently marveling at this natural beauty who so peacefully was lying at rest, her naked body bathed in the morning sunshine, did not have such an eye. What he had was an instinct… Without even being aware of it, he caught his breath, anticipating what was coming. Instinctively, he knew not to blink lest he misses that which even eternity could not duplicate.

Presently, the soft tickling of the rays in the ear had the desired effect. The movements were slight… almost not there. First was the lips, parting slightly and curving at the edges. The resulting smile, rearranging her whole countenance and emitting a warmth of it's own which effortlessly blended with that of the sunshine.

Then the eyelids fluttered, ever so slightly ... He'd have dismissed it as nothing, his imagination messing with him, had they not fluttered again. Followed by a widening of the smile, and then slowly, like the parting of the heavens, her mouth opened, and let out a yawn. A deep long yawn that seemed to be coming from deep within her gut, and reluctantly so.
 
Her whole body seemed to shudder with the effort and presently he noticed the limbs begin to tense up and her arms stretched out, reaching out for some invisible hand hold. For an eternal second they hang up there and he was tempted to reach out and grab them.... the hands clenched before he could act on his temptation... he watched the delicate fists slowly fold back towards her her bust.... the left one first, and then the right. The legs too, in turn, slowly relaxed and the left was bent slightly at the knee and placed slightly on top of the right.....

Peel four: Gunning for the millennium.

The go-down by the airport was deserted when Kamau dropped me off. He opened the door for me and bid me good bye.

"Happy Millennium, boss!" gruffly shaking my hand before turning around and quickly walking back to his truck.

"Sure... Happy millennium to you too, my friend," I mumbled towards his retreating back. I paused and watched him drive away before shutting the door and walking down the deserted warehouse.

The whole world was abuzz with expectations of what the new millennium would bring. Two years back, the word 'millennium' hardly existed in anyone's vocabulary. Now, even the cucus upcountry were wishing it to their visiting grand kids - 'Iii niguo, mukigie na mireniuamu njega'

We were at the dawn of a new millennium, and the excitement in the air was palpable. We all had our hopes, I guess... and misgivings too. I walked into the office at the back of the warehouse and smiled at one of my hopes....

"Hi Kei!" Flashing me a quick smile before turning back to her computer screen, "I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind."

"Heck no..."

'No way I would have,' I thought to myself. This was the last day of the millennium and possibly my last chance with Mutuku. I had stumbled into her a couple of years back while staying at my aunt's place. My bedroom then had been her bedroom once; and inside the drawer of one bedside table, I'd found a card she'd written to her aunt, thanking her for her love and generosity in beautifully cursive wording that set my teenage imagination wildly on fire. Three years I'd waited patiently to meet this beautiful writer, because surely, she would have to be as beautiful as her writing at least; and my patience was duly rewarded for when I ended up under the employ of my aunt after high-school, it was a girl, even more beautiful than I had imagined, that would show me the ropes.

Those first days of '99 were amazing... as I followed Mutuku around like a little puppy, in the matatu's that plied the Embakasi route, to Corp. HQ in Inda, to the numerous bank-runs, back to the warehouse.... lunches at some dingy joints that sold surprisingly delicious foods, and that at thankfully, affordable prices given my minimum wage status at the time. Life was golden.... the only downer being my new love introduced me to her friends as her cousin.

Cousin! What? Heck no! I mused as I patiently waited for her to finish what it was she was doing so we could get down to business. It wasn't our fault that her uncle had married my aunt.

Her orientating me did not last long; presently my aunt had decided that my 'accounting' skills would serve her better at her office and as it was, their relationship, my aunt's and Mutuku's, had soured since the time of the card writing... they could hardly abide each other. And so it came to pass that the only time I saw Mutuku, once my transfer was official, was when she came to Inda for a chewing out by our boss.

"O.K.. Kei, I'm all set," She said startling me out of my reverie. "Explain to me again what it is you need."

Forget what I need, I thought to myself, how about I tell you how I feel. I reached into my rucksack and took out the three binders I'd procured earlier that week. They were training modules for Microsoft Office from Strathmore College. I explained to her that for my upcoming Visa Interview, I needed to be proficient in MS Word, Excel and PowerPoint.

"Well, aren't you?" She enquired as she perused through the binders.

"Well... not quite."

I'd learnt to use excel and word while working there, since my duties required it, but my skills were basic. I needed to be proficient, per the 'Professionals' who my aunt had paid a handsome amount of money to ensure I pass that interview. I had certificates showing that I was duly trained in all three, gotten for a couple thau from some flashy character that ran a computer training college in Westlands; Why pay for the training when I can get the certification for so much cheaper. Only thing was, apparently, the people at the embassy might ask me to prove my proficiency. So fork over another couple thousand shillings... the coaches said. Heck no!

"But on New Years Eve?"

"Well, the millennium bug might not afford me another chance..." I'd quipped.

"These are really good." Mutuku as she walked over to one of the computer stations and started it. "You won't even need my help with this."

That right there was one of her shortcomings. She never caught on to my sense of humor... and even worse, she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that I seriously lusted after her; had been from the very moment I laid my eyes on her. Perhaps, even, from that day years back when I'd found her card.

"No?" Not even bothering to hide my disappointment as I plunked into the chair she had pulled for me. She quickly went over what I needed to do before inquiring if there was anything else I needed. She was about to go and here I was about to let another chance escape me.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked grasping for something... "You know... to celebrate the new millennium."

"I'll be hanging with some friends later on tonight..."

Somehow, I managed to elicit an invite to join her and her friends before she left me engulfed in MS Office commands. By the time I was through, satisfactorily proficient, and my eyes tired as hell, it was 10:30 P.M. I'd been cooped up in that office for close to seven hours.

I locked up, bid the Maasai watchie good bye...

"Happy Millennium boss"

Then walked the mile or so to City Cabanas, my built up anticipation nearly costing me my life as I crossed Mombasa highway. In my mind, I'd imagined what the night was going to be like... wondering if her friends were as cute or cuter. What if I fall for one of them? After all, she most likely would tell them I was her cousin. In any case, no way I was going home that night so she would have to put me up for the night.

When I finally traced the table where they were sitting, somewhat to my disappointment, there was just two girls and four older gentlemen, and by the looks of it, they had been there a while; loud conversation, flushed faces, sweaty armpits. They looked like everyone else in the place and the place was packed. I suppose nobody wanted to miss the millennium.

Introductions were quickly made, chairs moved around to create space, additional rounds were ordered and presently I was conversing just as jovially.

"Who are you again?" The guy to my right yelled into my ear for the fourth time, his slurred speech accentuating his Kamba accent even more.

"Mulwa! Quit bothering my boyfriend!" Mutuku came to my rescue. "Kei, come sit over here, leave that fool alone."

I tried to brush it off but she insisted and made everyone scoot over so I could sit next to her.... between her and the other girl. Good start.... had she just referred to me as her boyfriend... even in jest?

Well, by the time the millennium caught up with us... bug or no bug, we were well fed, and inebriated... enough to dance anyway. Ndombolo ya solo was the hit back then. And I remember dancing the night away, and not really bothered by the fact that I had to share Mutuku with these other gents. One of them especially, was taking a lot of her time, but what the heck, it was New Years.

About 4 O'clock, we staggered gaily home, at least I did. Well, I followed Mutuku, her girlfriend and Peter, this guy who had been taking up most of her time, to Mutuku's place in Embakasi. Somehow we made it there in one piece. I remember singing out loud, falling several times and laughing our heads off. Mostly though, I remember the darkness... both literal and in my head. I remember wondering how anybody could find their way in such black darkness. Then my head had gone black and the next thing I knew I was sitting on the edge of a bed.

I struggled to see where I was...

It was a small studio, with two single beds. Mutuku and the other girl had changed into sleeping attire and were giggling loudly at something Peter had said. Peter was seated next to me, taking off his shoes... socks, jacket, gun....

"Wait, is that a gun?"

"Yeah..." Peter had replied nonchalantly, "Wanna see it?"

Too drunk to know any better, I had nodded affirmative, accepted the proffered weapon... and wielding it with unsteady hands, scrutinized it.... mesmerized. I remember pointing it to my head jokingly and Mutuku snapping at me... and then more blackness.

When I came to next, it was to the sounds of life.... upset babies crying, irate mothers yelling, children playing outside... and the sizzle, very close too, of breakfast frying. I opened my eyes, and caught, sneaking through the crack at the bottom of the door, some rays of daylight. On a wooden stool by the door, in what area served as a kitchen, seated in front of a paraffin stove, Mutuku was frying some eggs. She was conversing in Kamba to her girl friend, sitting up on the bed across from me.

There was no sign of Peter, or the gun.

Racheal.... Part deux

Continued from here

"Brrrrrrr! It is so damn cold.... brrrrrrrr!"

Timi looks in the direction of the voice as he steps out of the doorway into the grey light of dawn and sees Rachael, seated on a plastic deck chair, smoking. She is wearing a puffy white jacket with a furry brim around the hem of the hat, her uncovered thighs tightly squeezed together in an attempt to keep them warm.

She is all by herself, talking to no one in particular as she puffs at her cigarette.... seemingly lost in her cold little world. She does not even seem to notice him as steps outside. He is tempted to say something to the effect of it obviously not being too cold for a smoke but thinks the better of it and walks on to start his car.

The DJ at the club earlier had announced his place as the after-party venue and most of the cars at the cafe's parking lot had found their way to his address. Timi hadn't really been interested in an after-party but had let Mo convince him. Besides, he didn't feel too confident about driving for an hour in the state he was in and did not want to risk getting stopped by the police. He did not need another DUI citation. The last one had cost him way too much. And then, though he'd be hard pressed to admit this was the compelling reason, he had overheard Rachael's friend telling Tony that they were going to that after-party.

Now, as he walks to his car, he wishes he had driven home, the risk of getting that DUI notwithstanding. The after-party had merely been an extension of the dance-session before it, only with, perhaps, a more varied selection of music and the absence of a formal bar. He had not gotten into the music and the one beer he tried tasted like old piss, not that he would know what that tasted like, but it couldn't be far worse.

He'd tried to talk to Rachael and had gotten snubbed. She had even lied about her name. Purity, she had said to him when he shook her hand and told her his, then she had turned to her friend and acted as if he weren't there.

He had watched with mounting resentment as she'd slutted herself around the basement cum disco floor, bumping and grinding her big ass against every other guy, it seemed, in a most suggestive way. He had turned around in disgust when, while dancing to some reggae song, right in front of Timi, she had twined her legs around Ma's waist and flung herself back so that the tall lanky fellow, holding her firmly by her buttocks, swung her back and forth, in an emulation of a scene from a porn flick. From where he was standing, Timi could clearly see her black underwear, exposed as her dress got drawn back up her waist.

Yet now, as he sits in the car waiting for it to warm up, just as after he had found himself a couch then and tried to fall asleep even with the music blaring, he can't bring himself to stop thinking about her. He remembers that first time when she had blown her cigarette smoke at him. She probably didn't recognize him, or perhaps she was just playing hard to get. After all, she has no way of knowing that he does know her name.

*********

He's woken up by the sound of a door opening and loud voices as several people get into the car. He looks up and notices that it's even brighter than when he'd first walked out of the DJ's house.

"Dude, wake up," Mo as he gets into the front passenger seat, "we are taking these ladies to breakfast."
"
Ati what?" Timi can't believe it, he doesn't remember signing up to be anybody's chauffeur, "and where exactly do I come in?"

"Ah! Wee acha kuwa hivyo," Mo replies, unimpressed, "when was the last time you had such beauties in your car."

"African beauties at that,' A voice chips in from the back amidst some feminine giggling.

Timi turns around to see Ma grinning at him from the back seat, ensconced in the middle of Rachael and her light skinned friend. Rachael is leaning back in the chair, her eyes closed as if asleep. The giggles belonged to her friend who at the moment looks quite inebriated. "C'mon man, " making a show of batting her eyes, " be a gentleman and help these damsels in distress."

Timi turns back to Mo, " You are paying for my breakfast,'" he says resignedly, "where are we going?"

They end up at an empty Denny's whose night-time or early morning shift obviously aren't expecting anybody to show up this early. Coffee takes all of twenty minutes to be served, by which time two more carfuls have joined them from the after-party. Timi can't help but pity the poor waitress who's all of a sudden swamped by a rowdy crowd of hungry party animals who go on to tease and cajole her for the next hour and a half as she serves them breakfast.
Everyone is in a pretty good mood, and the banter is quite playful. Timi, although reluctant at first, is quickly drawn into it. As luck would have it, he is seated right next to Rachael who's in a corner seat by the wall.

"O.K. I think I know what I want but they don't have it on the menu," Her voice sounds more accented now, probably because of her fatigue, or because there is no loud music to mask it, but just as deep if not more. She pauses a little as if for effect and when everyone turns to hear what, she continues with a smile "Ugali and maziwa lala."

They all burst out laughing then everyone, as if vying for an originality title, names the Kenyan dish that comes to mind regardless of its absurdity as a breakfast meal. Some suggestions actually border on disgusting. Some he hasn't heard of in close to a decade.

"Are you ready to order?" Timi looks up to find the tired looking waitress looking expectantly at him, probably having singled him out as the most approachable of the group or something,

"Sure," He answers while trying to find the omelet he'd picked from the menu.

"I'd like this," He says pointing it out to her, " and this nice lady here" turning towards Rachael, "Will have whatever ugali you have that's left over from last night, with a glass of diet milk."

"She'll have what?"The poor waitress looks at him, bewildered, as the whole table bursts out in an uproar that has the cook peeping anxiously from behind the kitchen doors. It takes her twenty whole minutes, and as many different hues of red, to take their order as people make up and then change their minds. Timi is almost sorry that he started it but she seems to be taking it all in stride.

By the time they are done with the breakfast it's already eight in the morning and the regular patrons , mostly older white couples, are already walking in and seeing the disheveled youths at their table, are finding seats as far away from the noisy lot as possible then going on to throw their looks of disapproval from a safe distant. The rest of his friends, as far as Timi can tell, are unaware of their loudness, or even of the presence of other patrons in the restaurant as they continue to joke and heckle as they have their breakfast.

The scene turns more ridiculous when its time to pay. Nobody will take the check from the waitress and this time she seems intent on avoiding Timi's eyes, perhaps not wanting to be embarrassed again."I'll take that," He calls out to her, putting on as straight a face as he can muster. She hands it to him hesitantly, and winking at her, "these are my kid brothers and sisters, I'll take care of it for you."

She's shaking her head as she scurries out of there. Clearly this is a new experience for her. He looks over at the check and sees that most of the meals roughly averaged twelve dollars. Turning to the rest, "kila mtu, fifteen dolla" he demands fifteen dollars from each and goes on to tell them that there is no exception and that he is not taking any argument. That doesn't stop them from giving him shit, saying he's fallen for the Mzungu 'white' waitress, and asking if he takes charge cards.

Ten minutes later he walks up to her and hands her the check with the due money plus a twenty five dollar tip. She smiles gratefully at him and he can see how relieved she is as his party files out behind him still heckling as loud as ever.

Rachael, who had asked for the keys and excused herself earlier, is already in the car when they get there. She's in the front passenger seat so Mo, Ma and her friend, whose name apparently was Crystal, pile into the back of the bimma and promptly go to sleep.

"Great!" Timi thinks to himself as he gets into the driver's seat. He'd already made up his mind back at the after-party that he did not like this girl. Finding himself sitting next to her at breakfast had thrown him off a bit, but he had gotten over his hang up fast. He'd noticed that she liked attention and was constantly doing things that brought her the center of attention.

Now as he backs out of the Denny's lot and goes in search of the turnpike, he decides to ignore her, but her flipping from one radio station to another is rubbing him off the wrong place.

"Aren't you sleepy?" He asks testily.

She tilts her head sideways to look at him and fixes him with a deep penetrating stare as if she's trying to read from his face what is behind his query. Finally, she shakes her head, "Nope! I never sleep." She says and continues to look at him as if waiting for him to contest the claim.

He doesn't say anything so she continues, "I haven't slept at all since Thursday."

This is said in a tone that suggests that she finds that fact quite amazing herself. Timi doesn't show it on his face, but he doesn't believe her. He wonders why she feels the need to lie to him. Does she think that he might be impressed by her super-insomnia?

"So, how come you haven't? Didn't you have to work on Friday?" He asks her, noting that she is still observing him from her side, as if waiting for a certain reaction.
"I did." She answers, then goes on to explain how it had been her sister's birthday and that they had stayed out so late that by the time she had gotten to her apartment, it had not made any sense to go to sleep when she would be getting up in a couple of hours anyway. She goes on to tell him about the many parties that she and Crys, as she called her friend, had been to on Friday.

"Oh my God!" Putting more emphasis on the words than Timi thought was necessary, "I don't even know how we got to Springfield. Our car is somewhere in Worcester."

Over breakfast he had learnt a few things about the two girls... one being that they were both Burundians or from Burundi and that they both lived in Marlborough, a city twenty minutes or so northeast of Worcester. Another, and this had come as a surprise to him, they did not know either of the twins in the back from before. How do you get into a car with a bunch of strangers just like that, he wonders.

"Somewhere?" He asks skeptically.

"I know.... it's crazy," She says, her words mirroring his thoughts. He's about to ask her how she aims to find out where the car is or how to get home but notices that she is no longer paying attention to him. She is singing along to some RnB-ish gospel song, having chanced upon a gospel channel. She is now leaning back, more towards her side at an angle facing towards him. Her face is turned upwards and her weave has fallen evenly around her small round face, slightly covering the outer edges of her closed eyes giving her a trance-like angelic face.

Her lips are barely moving but he can hear the murmured phrases over the car stereo. There is something more to her than meets the eye, he figures. Dismissing her as a tramp or a hood rat as he almost had would be missing something, if only he could figure out what. His mind again went back to that initial sighting at Higgins Industrial Park, then quickly replays the scenes from last night to this morning.

*******

"You better slow down Timi, there is a cop ahead of us." Rachael calls out urgently.

"Oh crap!" Snapping out of his reverie, Timi taps the brake pedal automatically as he fast approaches the blue cruiser parked alongside the turnpike. He glances at the dial and realizes he was doing close to 80 when she warned him. He taps the brakes again as he passes the cruiser.

He has a terrible feeling, even as he crosses his fingers and even before he sees the cop car pull out right after he goes by that cop had clocked him. He watches in his rear-view mirror as the trooper gains on him and when about fifty yards behind, flashes his high beams then turns the flashing blue lights on his dashboard on. Timi slows down and indicates with his right side blinker before pulling onto the breakdown lane.

"Aww! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Timi glances at the back seat where the three are still sleeping. Mo is leaning against his door on the passenger side, his head leaning hard against the tinted glass. His mouth is slightly open and there is a thin line of drool running from the right edge of his mouth and disappearing into his chin.

Crystal is laying against him, his jacket pulled over her body, covering all but her face. Her legs are splayed over Ma's lap, who is sleeping seated up straight. Timi shakes his head at the sight as he turns his attention to the copper behind him in the rear-view mirror. He is taking his time coming out. Probably running his plates to see if it's a stolen vehicle.

Feeling Rachael's gaze on him, He turns and finds her in that curious pose again, head tilted to one side as she contemplates him with her half open eyes. He is not sure what he sees in them, pity, empathy, admiration... it could be anything, or nothing.

"He's coming to your side," He says to her as he catches sight of the black state trooper in her side's side mirror. He lowers the window on her side and the trooper after peering into the back seat, stops just before he is full view and stoops to look into the front. He barely glances at Rachael who is now leaning her small body as far back into the chair as possible before glaring straight at Timi.

"Good morning Sir! Do you know why I stopped..." He begins his standard speeding motorist salutation. Timi has often wondered if this is taught at the police academy. The policeman, however doesn't finish, before Rachael excitedly cuts him off.

"Oh my God! Benson, is that you?" She exclaims, before bursting out in laughter.

Timi sees that the officer is just as startled as he is, as he gives Rachael another look and starts to smile as he recognizes her. "What the....., Rachael? Step out of the car gal, where the hell are you coming from?"

Timi, still anxious, watches as Rachael, not bothering to hide her excitement unbuckles and jumps out of the car and gives Officer Benson, standing almost a foot and a half taller than he,r a hug. "Must be an old pal," He figures as the two start talking all at once.

Rachael: "Is this where they transferred you to?"

Officer: "Still partying hard I see...."

"Please shut that window." He glances back and sees that Crystal and Ma are awake and she is shivering, even with Mo's jacket wrapped around her. He reaches out and rolls up the window, and Crystal fills them in on Officer Benson and Rachael outside.

Benson and Rachael's boyfriend had been best friends and had served together in Iraq, three years back. Benson had made it out, Rachael's fiance at the time hadn't. On his dismissal, Benson had applied to the State Trooper Academy, and in that first year, he and Rachael had become close, but due to the connection, he had opted not to get involved with her romantically. As far as Crystal knew, they hadn't seen or talked to each other since he'd graduated.

Timi watches as the two embrace after exchanging numbers. The tall policeman opens the door and pokes his head in and looks in the back seat. "What's this Crystal, you don't wanna holla at your boy?" He chides her.

"Ah aaah!" She answers leaning forward between the two seats and kissing him lightly on the cheek, "This sista ain't stepping out in that cold fa nobody, Mr. Officer, Sir" she replies flippantly.

"I see how how it is," The officer smiles as he backs out and lets Rachael in. He waits till she is buckled up before leaning in and addresses Timi this time, "Take it easy man, this is my gal right here, " smiling at Rachael, "you don't wanna be messing with her."
Timi nods as he shuts the door and steps back. He watches as Benson walks back to his cruiser before shifting into first and driving off.

*******

"Phew!" Timi is relieved, "That was close....."

He glances sideways at Rachael who is bunched against her door, staring straight ahead, dreamily, her lips smiling slightly. He notices the goosebumps on her exposed thighs, and turns up the heat.

She notices the gesture and smiles gratefully at him.

"I miss that boy" She says absently.

There is a heaviness in her tone as she says those words that tugs at Timi's heart. He wants to ask about her boyfriend but decides against it.

"O.K. Who am I dropping off first and where?" He asks loudly to no one in particular as they drive by a green sign that states 'Worcester, Next 3 Exits'

Racheal.... Part One.

Timi finds the badge and is clipping it onto his lapel when he notices her. She is standing outside the building in front of him, a mere ten feet away, cigarette smoke trailing upwards from her right hand which is held at an angle across her bust. She is tiny in stature, dressed in light blue scrubs with a white turtle-neck inside. She is looking at him.

He stares back at her broody eyes, somewhat obscured by her bangs which are combed towards one side. There is a trace of a smile at the corner of her tiny mouth but not in the eyes. She continues to look at him for a moment longer before drawing deeply on her cigarette then blowing a white plume of smoke straight at him. So straight on he ducks reflexively.... She smiles as she stumps out the cigarette on the wall, then turns around and walks into the building.

He sits there a moment longer not sure if she was real or if his mind was playing games with him. He grabs his jacket as he gets out to walk to his building. He catches a whiff of the menthol cig she was smoking mingled with a sweeter fruity scent. He holds his breath, savoring it for as long as he can and walks slowly to his building.

"Hi Timi!" Sheila, the elderly lady behind the desk smiles genuinely.

"Hey Sheils...." he answers, a little distracted as he fumbles with his badge, before swiping it against the reader on the wall so that he can enter Fort Knox as they jokingly refer to their work-place.

"How did it go?" She asks, genuinely concerned, "is everything alright?"

"Yes!" He turns to her as he answers and smiles widely...

"Couldn't be better." He adds as he pulls open the door and lets himself into the receiving room of the online movie library he works for.

**********

By five o'clock work is done, and Timi is anxious to get out of there. He finds JB at the front lobby as he's heading out.

"Goodnight." He nods at him.

"Goodnight man." JB replies putting down the paper he had been reading. "Thanks for staying late... Much appreciated."

"No problem!" Timi replies as he heads for the door, then as a thought occurs to him.. "can I have that paper? You done with it?"

"Sure thing man!" JB folds the paper before handing it to him...."running out of reading material?"

Timi smiles and takes the paper thanking him as he walks out the door. There is still some light outside. As sure a sign as any that Winter is coming to an end. It is by far his worst season. He hates walking out of the building into pitch darkness. He walks briskly towards where he left his car. As he gets around the next building so that his car is now in sight, he catches a glimpse of her, the girl from earlier on.

He's sure he recognizes the tiny figure walking between two other ladies in the opposite direction. He watches as they walk towards a bunch of cars and as she separates from the other two and walks towards a small dark jeep.

"Goodnight Rachael," One of them calls after her.

She raises her right hand to wave acknowledgment as she digs her other hand into her pocket book, probably looking for her keys. He notices the red glow coming from her raised hand and he's sure he can smell the minty smoke from before. He continues to watch as he walks to his car, his pace having slowed...

"Rachael.... huh?" He muses as he opens his car door and gets in, catching the red lights of her brake lights in his rear-view mirror as she shifts into drive and takes off.

*******

It takes them a little more than an hour to get to the 'Laughin Times Cafe' where Dj Sheez Nit was spinning the best of Bongo and Genge. Mo had laughed when Timi pleaded ignorance to the Bongo flava phenomena that had apparently taken the Kenyan music scene by storm these past few years. Timi had shrugged helplessly and let Mo, who supposedly had been here 'thau' times and was giving directions, lose them for close to twenty minutes before they ran into a carful of loud kids that was heading to the same place.

It had been rather tricky getting rid of Kerry. Mo's plan had been clumsy at best and Timi was left wondering how he managed to get the playa reputation that he had. Maybe the girls were so taken with his looks, they lost their common sense.

"How do you tell a girl that you have to take your friend who you found in a drunken stupor to pick up his grandmother from the airport?" Timi muses as he remembers standing there and trying to keep a straight face as Mo pleaded his case and how sorry he had felt for the girl who surely must have known she was being lied to.

They get to the place and the first thing that strikes him is the number of late model cars parked outside which, looking at the outside facade of 'laughing times', are clearly out of place. The flash of anxiety that had first caught him as he sought a parking spot on the street disappears as he realizes that only a fool would take his old bimma when there is that much of a better choice to pick from.

They walk in and the first floor apparently, is the 'cafe'. Actually in this case it is a bar that has been converted into a dance hall by clearing the tables to one side. There is loud reggae music blaring from enormous speakers and someone is toasting loudly in Jamaican patois over it. Timi figures it must be since he can barely hear what they are saying yet it all sounds familiar, like what he'd heard once when a rasta friend had token him to Club MonteCarlo back in Nairobi.

As he follows Mo across the dance floor he notices that only girls are on the dance-floor, about eight of them, in rather flashy colors. The guys are all standing to the sides and he is very conscious of their stares and the barely disguised hostility behind them. They come to a staircase that is just past a couple of pool tables and he follows Mo as he bounds up them, rather relieved that the Reggae dancehall back there was not their destination.

At the top of the staircase, a door opens outwards as they approach and a barely dressed bundle tumbles out and almost topples down the stairs. Luckily, Mo is close enough and reaches out and steadies her.

"Oh! My God!" She exclaims in a deep husky voice as she holds on to him. She steadies herself then tilts her head up and to the side to take a good look at him.

"Thank you handsome, I swear these people are trying to kill me." She lets go of him and starts to continue down the stairs before something occurs to her and she turns back towards Mo who's already heading towards the door, "Hey, handsome, you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette now, would you?"

Mo, without turning or missing a step, throws over his shoulder, " I quit last night, sorry." And goes into the club.

There is something strikingly familiar about her to Timi and he's trying to figure out what it is when she turns around and gingerly starts to walk down the steps, carefully looking down before stepping down. It's only when she's but a step before him, and their heads are almost level that she turns and looks at him, and then it hits him.

"Do you smoke?" The voice is even deeper at this range.

Timi is too stunned to answer and shakes his head, negative, then watches as after thanking him anyway, she feels her way down the staircase and disappears around the bend.

"Rachael? No. It couldn't be." But he's positive it is her, the girl from the parking lot the other day.

********

..........It must be Mo, he figures. That was the only person they had ran into a couple of times, he and his brother Ma, now that he thinks about it. There is no way of avoiding those two, they are everywhere. Just about then, as if on cue, Ma comes walking in. With him is a tall, dark, strikingly beautiful girl, in a green blouse that seems to be barely hanging on to her huge bust.

Right behind them, the girl that had been dancing with Tony earlier and Rachael, her black high heels in her hands. She's wearing a tiny brown dress that's reaching way above her knees and that's open at the shoulders. She is walking gingerly on her tiny feet and he can't tell if it's because she's high as a kite or because she's barefoot.

Timi watches as the four of them start to make their way across the nearly empty dance-floor heading in their direction. Rachael seems a little unsteady on her feet. He wonders how much she has been drinking and if she's even going to make it across the dance-floor. She doesn't.

While they are about halfway across, the track that's been playing comes to an end and as the beginning notes of the next one start, the crooning of the singer seems to electrify the whole room. Suddenly there is a mad dash to the middle of the dance-floor, as just about everybody, singles and couples both, arms, beers, purses and what not all up in the air, heads thrown back in some form of ecstasy, and it's apparent to Timi that everyone but him knows the the song.

The DJ, probably knowing to expect this reaction, is stopping and rewinding the track after the first few notes as if to tease the dancers, and he is not disappointed as they yell at him to keep it going. Timi can't help smiling at the excitement as everyone, it seems, sings along to the unfamiliar song, "Ooo.. Ooo... ooo oh! Mara ya mwisho kuonana..." mostly off key, and swing to the smooth beat of the song. Most of them only know some of the words and he can hear them singing louder as the hook comes about so that he only catches a few words. "... Kigoma.... ya weh ya weh.... aitwa Cindarella"

"Shit man!" Tony had exclaimed as he put down his beer, " This joint is hot" before disappearing into the madness.

Timi had lost sight of Rachael when the stampede to the floor began. Now as he looks into the mass, wondering if she had managed to retain her footing or if she had fallen and been trampled by this crazy people, he catches sight of her, very much alive. She is holding a shoe in each hand, half-raised to her side, dancing. She is half turned towards him, slightly bent forward at the waist, backed up against the midriff of the girl she came in with, who's got both her hands around Rachael's waist and her head leaning back against Tony's chest, who is dancing close behind her.

Timi stares , aghast, at the sensual threesome. Their movements start to conjure up some rather disturbing thoughts in his head so he decides to focus on Rachael. Her face is turned up and tilted to the side, the weave falling over to that side and completely covering that eye. The eye that's exposed is closed and her mouth is slightly open; in a half-smile that gives her face a strange sedated appearance, as if she is high on something and is experiencing a peace that is out of this world.

He realizes, as he watches, that the only part of her body that is really moving is her pelvis; slow and deliberate; up, down, in and out in a sensual-ness that is carrying from her pelvic bone, down to her feet and up to her shoulders. Watching her dance, transfixed even, Timi feels something stir within him. He has the urge to walk up and get in between the two girls. He is certain she wouldn't mind, probably wouldn't even notice.

Sipping on his drink to brace himself, he mentally calculates how many steps will get him there and how he is going to step in between them. But before he sets off, the 'Cinderalla' song comes to an end and though most of the people continue to dance, Timi watches, crestfallen, as Rachael slumps off and slowly makes her way to the table right next to his.

For the first time though, he is able to see her up close as she walks by. She is really short, he notes, with her shoes off; hardly more than five feet tall. Her body is stoutish for her height, but still on the smaller side. The little brown dress she is wearing exposes the milky brown round shoulders, is loose around the back, and tight at the waist and around what must be the fullest buttocks Timi has ever seen. He's not sure if it's due to the smallness of the rest of her body, or the way the hem of the little dress gathers just below where the curvature of her buttocks ends.

Perhaps he is drunk, he figures as, mersmirized, he watches as she hoists herself up on the tall stool across from him.

**********************

"Brrrrrrr! It is so damn cold.... brrrrrrrr!"
Timi looks in the direction of the voice as he steps out of the doorway into the grey light of dawn and sees Rachael, seated in a plastic deck chair smoking. She is wearing a puffy jacket with a furry brim around the hem of the hat, but her uncoverd thighs are tightly squeezed together in an attempt to keep them warm.

TO BE CONTINUED........

I am a wanted man... Running away from the...

I stand here... in front of my bathroom mirror... still slightly out of breath. I stare back at the mischievous set of eyes on the other side.... and can't help myself as I grin sheepishly and wipe the sweat that's trickled down my forehead and into my my eyes. I can taste the saltiness as some of it finds its way past my lips into my mouth. That was quite a run... I muse as I contemplate my glistening body bathed in sweat.....

'I feel good...' I feel like yelling.

And I'm feeling it too. The kinda tired, worn out, good that one feels after an unexpected session of morning sex.... my favorite kind if you care to know. You know the kind where you roll over after a long night out... and eventual loss of memory.... and, lo and behold, your arm falls upon a soft fleshy mass that most certainly can not be your pillow. And before u can say... 'whoa!'... a fleshy thigh reaches over and straddles yours... and you and your morning glory recoil in horror. That is until u ascertain that the thigh is feminine and that the flesh you inadvertently caressed was of the mammary kind.

And then your manly instincts take over, allowing you to slowly wake up to the choreographed rocking of your bodies amid loud bed noises, as the two of you attempt to remake the soundtrack to Sex and the City... but succeed only in annoying the neighbors... as they come to to the sounds of you two coming. Then, exhausted, you both lay back... lost in your own little worlds....

She, amazed that she actually came... and you thinking to yourself... 'wow, this sure beats wanking.." just before you begin to drift back to sleep.... smiling inwardly to yourself... only to be brought out of it by that fleshy thigh... Except that now, it suddenly feels much heavier than before... and more persistant too... as you try to shrug it off and feign sleep. But a taste of the fruit has been had and the thigh's owner will not be denied as she works to convince other parts of your body... the few that are still working that is.... that they are more than the sum of their parts.

You are tempted to ignore her... and the mutineeing parts of your body... but your manhood is literally on the line here... and you give in to something... sense or sensuality... not that it matters which.You open your eyes and thanks to the now risen sun, what you brought home last night.... actually, more aptly... what brought you home last night is laid bare... and the sight of it manages to do what you previously thought was impossible... stop the flowing blood dead in it's tracks... effectively leaving you limp with apprehension.

Kwani jana kuliendaje? ... you wonder as you stare aghast at what, just but a short climax ago, was the hottest mama this side of the bedroom wall..... now transformed to an Amazon of a woman. What? You actually plied those gargantuan breasts between your fingers... You glance at them with renewed respect... the fingers that is. The melons are another thing all together... the owner having decided that smothering your face with them could possibly pass for sexy.... and now you are literally fighting for your life as you struggle to breath and search for that light at the end of the tunnel. You think you have caught a glimpse of it as the huge ones give you a breather, but your hopes are dashed when you realize it was only so she could lead 'that one' into a more sinister tunnel.

Damn it man... why is he responding... you wonder as you notice that the blood flow has resumed.. and for sure there is not a light at the end of that particular tunnel. You give in graciously... being the man that you are. After all, the essense of living is in giving... you think to yourself as you initiate a roll that you are hoping will put you in controll and in a position to win... on top. You succeed... except for the fact that the effort literally kills you... and are unable to do anything more than lay there. The withering look she gives you does not help matters at all... and that is when the daily alarm you've set for 7:30 A.M. saves the day... so to speak.

"Oh! Shit! I am fucking late...." you cry out lamely..... as you dismount urgently and grabbing your articles of clothing, hurriedly get dressed... steadfastly keeping from looking her way while at the same time trying to recall how the hell you got here in the first place. The last thing you see out of the corner of your eye, as you dash out of the den of death, is your tormentor... trust me, she is nothing less by then, reaching into her bedside drawer and grabbing what at first sight could be mistaken for a weapon, but which you know from your previous such encounters is just but the first step that the women have taken to eliminate the need for men. You physically shrink from the sight of the enormous dildo and, belt and socks still in hand, slither out of the door and find your way down the unfamiliar hall, down a flight of stairs.

You half smile at the lil kid who half turns from his video game console to give you a half shocked, half incredulous look... and you smile wryly to yourself as you catch sight of your shoes by the door...."yeah... I know son.... I gotta stop drinking"

Outside, it's a beautiful Sunday... you gleefully skip around a grey SUV that strikes you as familiar, but the familiarity ends there. You have no idea where you are... the neighborhood dogs don't know who you are either. They seem quite intent of rousing the whole hood. Is it your imagination or did you hear her wailing above the barking of the dogs? Surely the end is nigh.. You decide as you hunker down and half walk and half trot out of suburbia; praying to the good Lord that none of the dog owners takes their dog's seriously enough to call the cops...

No sooner than the thought escapes your mind, sure enough, a patrol car rounds the corner. You slow down, suddenly feeling very conspicous in your blackness. You stare ahead grimly, avoid eye contact and try as hard as you can to mesh with the pavement you are walking on. The patrol car slows down and the white policeman throws a good-natured smile your way and it's all but enough to make you run for it... Instead, though, you flash a grim smile and keep walking, and as soon as you round the corner he just came from you take off...

Your body, mercifully, is light after your heavy encounter earlier on. You run like you are running for your life... even as you wonder what part of you life you have left behind. Who was that woman? Did we use protection... the uncertainity drives you to run even harder. You ignore the curious looks of motorists going in the opposite direction even as you wish you were back in Nairobi... Surely, you would have caught a mat by now.

Eventually you hit some familiar terrain and after glancing back and making sure that no one's on your heels, you slow down and find your way to the tenement yard that has been your home these past few years. By this time, the events of last night, that led to you ending up in the bed of the amazon have slowly filtered there way through your hazy memory. You recall the unreturned texts, the ignored calls, the rejected drink offers and finally after four hours straight of drinking by yourself, the pretty woman with the beautiful woman with an inviting bust that had pulled a seat next to you and paid rapt attention as you related your misery. How understanding she had been. Your last memory being of the instance you lost your balance... by design... and landed smack right into that enormous bossom.

I am interrupted from my reverie by stirring of the sleeping roommates. I shake my head at the crazy bastard in the mirror. I better hurry or I'll be late for choir practice. I turn the shower on and start whistling as I wait for the water to warm up.... "What can wash away my sins...."

Go Kei; It's your birthday

Hard to believe but it has actually been 28 years since that fateful November morning, when after three hours of hard labour, my mother and I, both sobbing, she in relief and exhaustion, me in indignant mortification, lay next to each other, too fatigued to even acknowledge each other's presence. My bum was still hurting, even more than my underdeveloped muscles. I imagine it was burning red, after that mean looking inconsiderate midwife took to it with the back of her hand, to try and get me to do what I knew, right from the beginning and was later to be confirmed in the patriarchal society I'd be brought up in, was a big no no for boys, cry.


One loud yelp, is all that the stinging slap had elicited; the fingers tips of that big burly hand having come a tad bit too close to that hub of sensitivity that is my rectum. It is not surprising then, when you take the trauma that that event caused into consideration, that though the sullen attitude I held towards women in general and the slapping ones in particular since then had remained in place for pretty much the next couple of decades, I never went the gay route.


But sullen I was, and sullen I remained. Who wouldn't with all the undue attention these women continued to give me, pinching and pulling my cheeks, this way and that way; slobbering kisses all over my face; making faces at me; oohing at my poop accidents. C'mon now, what red-blooded male wants that kind of attention. Just feed me and let me be... find some other sissy to amuse yourselves with.


And the big deal they made of that particular day, every year hence. Sitting me in the middle of a bunch of snotty kids and making them sing, off key, some birthday song that some adult had invented, with triangular caps on our heads... puleez. Dressing me up in new, stuffy clothes that any self-respecting man would never be caught dead wearing, how embarrassing. I thought I'd escaped those ordeals when they sent me, against my will, to school, but alas, the teacher there was in cahoots. I should have guessed when she stated in that singsong voice of hers, " today is a special day for one of us." It was special alright.


I'm sorry to be subjecting you to this sour side of me but those memories really do irk me so.

Finally, after my tenth such public humiliation, when practically the whole village and their mother were invited to one such event, I decided I had had enough of this. I sat my mother down and explained to her in no uncertain terms that I was not going to endure that kind of humiliation ever again if I could help it. I did not have much leverage, so I used what little I had, the threat of desertion. Unlikely as it is, it worked... or the opportunity to embarrass me happened to stop availing itself to her. And for the next 17 or so years, with the help of self-counselling, and lack of disclosure to my friends et al, I managed to bury that date and those disturbing memories of it in the dark recesses of my mind.

For many years, that day came and passed, without my noticing it. I didn't have to rant about it, you did not have to hear of it. Girlfriends past and present, tried to cajole, in vain attempts at being my mother, but were effectively put off or thrown off the bus altogether. The one time I relented, we ended up at a packed Cheese Cake Factory and had to wait in line for close to half an hour. They gave us a vibrating alert-er which I unwittingly put in my back pocket, since I meant for my hands to occupy the front ones. When it was time for us to be seated, the alert went off.... A little too close for comfort. Needless to say, there was no cheese cake to be had, and the girlfriend sought immediate breakup, citing irreconcilable differences as regards birthday celebrations and what not.

Then this year I made the ultimate mistake of signing up on that social network they call facebook and like the ignorant fool I was, went on to tell all and sundry the date of my birth. Now all night yesterday, and all day today, I've been inundated with tonnes of well wishes and even more, questions about my plans. I'll tell you my plan, I'll throw my shoe at the next person that asks me that question. There is a plan for you.

O.K. Maybe I don't want to chance losing my shoe in cyber-space. Work is relatively bearable today, and probably won't be too stressed when I get out. I'll find me a cool spot at the Barnes and Noble and work on my other book. Yes, that may explain why I have not been peeling around here... but I'll be back... soon. That peeps is my plan. I plan to lose myself in my passion tonight.....

Peel 3: A fatefull day in Paradise

She calls out to the man on the street
'Sir, can you help me?
it's cold and I've nowhere to sleep,
Is there somewhere you can tell me?'
He walks on, doesn't look back
He pretends he can't hear her
Starts to whistle as he crosses the street
Seems embarrassed to be there

-Phil Collins

Its just beginning to lighten up outside. I can see fairly well with the little light straining through the blinds. I look at her lying there next to me.... On her back, snoring slightly, eyes shut... mouth slightly agape... breasts rising and falling..... rhythmical symphony.

Her dark skin... clear and even in the dim light... has no tell tale tan lines; no visible faults. Angelic beauty.... the beauty of youth. She has a perfect nymph's form, but for the tussled-up weave..... Yes, the ubiquitous weave, defiantly escaping from beneath the versatile stocking. That stocking that is just as offensive, if not more, as the weave it’s meant to be restraining.

She stirs, snapping me out of my reverie. I watch as she subconsciously rearranges her body... leaving it midway between prone on her back and resting on her left side, leaning back slightly as if propped up by some invisible column. Her left hand is bent underneath her head… making for a pillow; her face slightly upturned, facing away from me. Her right hand carelessly flung over the tussled sheets that are lying between us.

Her right breast is within my view; mango shaped and still gravity defiant..... rising ever so slightly with the rhythm of her breathing. A series of small bumps surround the dark coloration that is her nipple; semi-stiff as if aware of my dwelling gaze. The edge of her ribcage clear, as it tapers away from her chest giving way to the gentle rise of her belly. I follow the tell-tale stretch marks past her love-handles to the curvaceous hips. Those hips that had arrested my eyes the first time I had seen her. The image of them, sheathed in a sheer miniskirt, had since been permanently emblazoned in my memory.

****************************

Memories of that night, barely a week ago, replay in the background of my mind. I wonder if like Phil... I too should have walked away. But she had not given me the choice... she had followed me from that all night party.... silently daring me to turn her away. I hadn't had the heart... nor the will, and so we'd gone to my place... to sleep off the after effects of too much partying.

I remember wondering if she was worth breaking my rule of not bringing girls to my place. I loved my space... the last thing I wanted was anyone thinking that it was big enough for the two of us. But she didn't have a place of her own. That much I'd gathered from the sketchy answer she'd given when I'd asked who she lived with. She was living at her elder sister's house at the present, though she tended to split time between there and her mother's across town. She had vaguely alluded to having just recently moved here from Springfield.

We had half stumbled up the stairs to my apartment... her babbling incoherently and me quietly contemplating the future and what may or may not transpire when we get inside. I'd let her in and showed her to the bedroom. I'd poured us both a quarter glass of Alize each and watched as she quickly downed hers.... then she'd found a playlist on imeem and proceeded to dance around my bedroom... an amazing fete considering what a cramped mess the said room is.

I'd watched, somewhat bemused, as she had stopped suddenly in her step during a break in the song, then raising both hands straight up as if reaching for the ceiling, she'd began to tip forward slowly.... then all at once, as if some invisible hand which had been holding her up had let go, she had toppled, rigid as a post, face first into the fluffy softness of the down-comforter covering my bed. The force of her dead-weight landing on the spring bed had jarred me, splashing the contents of the glass in my hand all over me.

She did not get up.

Her passing out in a drunken stupor should have immediately raised red flags in my well developed defense system... but I too was in a state perilously close to hers. I had struggled with the buttons of her denim jacket before giving up and arranging her best I could on one side of the bed. Then I'd blacked out right next to her.

I was woken up 5 hours later by a strange alarm... which turned out to be her cellphone going off incessantly. I tried ignoring it, but figured after the fifth ring that it must be important. It was her family wondering where the hell she was.... she told me before answering and diving into a long discourse in Dholuo. It ended with her saying... in English... that she would be there in fifteen minutes. Then we had gone right back to sleep only to be woken up two hours later... by the same alarm. This time she left right away promising to bring me back some food later.

The call came in at about 5... in the afternoon. Did I care for some tilapia , she wanted to know? The question brought to mind memories of 'Mama Samaki'; the lady that sold us cooked fishby the road right outside our court in Komarocks - where I had lived briefly before moving to the States.

I politely declined the offer; not because I didn't care for the fish but for the simple fact that I wasn't sure I wanted her to come over. She did anyway, lagging a young kid. In the hour she spent there, I determined that she was onlyslightly more coherent while sober. Thankfully her year and a half old nephew was a good distraction.

I had tried to subtly find out more about her.... beyond the skimpy outfits, and the excessive drinking, but wasn't able get far. The conversation kept going back to what her friends were up to, how she didn't care much for this or that plan... how her mother wanted her to do this and not that.

What did she want to do with herself?

Well, she was gonna be enrolling for nursing school... she was gonna move to another state... Did I want to go out with her and her friend that night?

"Ummm.. NO....Thank you. Gotta work in the morning.." I'd replied, perhaps wanting to impress upon her shallow mind that there was more to life than partying non-stop. If she caught my drift, she did not show it. She said it was too bad I had to work and that she would call me after she left the club just in case I was not sleeping. When she'd left shortly thereafter, I did not anticipate I'd be seeing her again.... not under any circumstances.

*****************************

How ironic I muse as, smiling incredulously to myself, I reach across the gulf that's separating our so different personalities, gently cup that breast that still continues to rise n fall... as if in mock defiance of my inferred though unspoken superiority..... and catch my breath as the nipple perceptibly hardens beneath my hands. I watch her face, her lips tightly sealed forming a thin line across her face. A smile begins to to form at the corner of her mouth as I squeeze gently... the supple flesh yielding softly in my hand.

Her eyes flutter open... and the lips begin to widen into a smile before the owner stifles it quickly... giving me but a flash of white before the lips close up.

Mhhmmm! What doesn't she like about her smile..... I wonder as I continue to knead the flesh in my hand.

I watch as she begins to stretch... curving her back inwards so that her bust extends forward and away from me; and my hand. I watch her ribcage extend upwards as she inhales deeply, her legs stiff and extended; both arms come up and bend at the elbows.

And for a long moment she poses there... like a Greek statue. The curve of one tight buttock... visible; holding up a firm fleshy thigh, covered with the tell tale imprints of the ruffled sheet she'd been lying on. Her eyes tightly closed, as if savoring this moment....

Then slowly, as if suspended in time... she begins to relax, letting out a low moan in the process.

Her eyes open and lock with mine.

She smiles.... a hint of a smile, with her mouth closed. She raises her head and lays it on her open palm, her hand bent at the elbow supporting it against the mattress. Now she is looking down at me, and the smile is now in her eyes. I can feel my pulse quicken, blood draining from my head.... I lick my now dry lips and as if on cue, she bends over and gingerly places a kiss on them and with the same movement lithely drapes one leg over my torso before straightening and sitting up... effectively straddling me.

*************************

The creaking of the bed brings to mind that song - 'bed noise' by Lady Saw. I smile......

'Damn the neighbors...' I think.... 'let them cite me for noise making again!' I figure as I bring myself back to the task at hand. My hands seem to have become a part of those pliable breasts, now wet with the sweat that has her whole dark body glistening.

Her head is flung back.... way back for I can feel her hair brushing against my shin as her body rocks in an increasingly frenzied motion. Whatever became of the stocking?

Her hands tightly grip my wrists, pulling them tightly against her body, effectively using them as supports as she rocks back and forth; faster and faster and faster. I am almost certain that her effort will soon have us flying across the room. Those thoughts are soon lost as my whole body is racked with spasms that seem to rise from the depths of my being....

One after the other, they rise to the top and then dissipate to my extremeties... Pretty soon, like the climax of a July 4th fireworks show, they start riding on each others tail end... so that now I feel like my body is one spasmodic train, suspended high in eternal bliss.

It is in the midst of this that a lone thought struggles to the surface of my consciousness.... having fought it's way through a melting pot of electrodes and the whatnot that is standing for brain activity at this moment......

'NOOOO..... No Protection....' It screams out at me.

And for a fraction of a second.... it's as if everything is suspended in time. Everything on my end comes to a halt.... but just for a fraction of a second.

She must have sensed the hesitation - either that or that thought had escaped through my mouth, because she at that instant bends forward and grips me by my shoulders - her pelvis seeming to open further than I thought was humanly possible, the warmth of her femininity sucking me in and swallowing me whole and through teeth gritted in ecstasy, managed in a guttural whisper....

"Don't worry...... I'm safe."

Her words are barely audible thru the convulsions that have gripped her body. Not that it would matter, anyway, for at the same time she is saying them, whatever instinctive brakes I'd applied to that spasmodic train, slip.... crashing under the weight of the pent up centrifugalized orgasmic energy. It plunges unrestrained over a cliff that has suddenly materialized out of nowhere and goes flying into a dark abyss.......

A warm feeling embraces me as I am enveloped by the darkness of that eternal pit.

Slowly, I regain control of my faculties..... I fight to keep my eyes closed as my brain tackles the strangeness of my circumstances... in the midst of which are those few words, hanging conspicuosly in the post coital air long after she had uttered them. Those words, uttered in a most untimely manner and serving to give anything but the reassurance that they are meant to: Those words that are only rivaled in their incredulity by similar words uttered by the same mouth... under similar circumstances... the previous night.

"This is the first time I am having unprotected sex."

Peel 2: The future has always been bright

"Since education is the key... you now, my dear Serah, have the master key. May you go on to open those doors - not quite sure which, for the rest of us who didn't quite earn them keys yet, but have watched and cheered you on in your quest for yours these many years....." Toasting my friend Serah during a ceremony to celebrate her graduation with her second Masters in some Human Resource thing or the other.

Me I've been going to school... college, for the longest time. 9 yrs actually, and I'm yet to get a bachelorate degree. I could try to explain why a simple four year degree program has turned out to be a decade long quest, but like I said before, I don't give excuses.

I mean, I could tell you that I have all these many years had to work full time, party part time, dodge the authorities - sometimes; and to be frank with you, been rather hard pressed to put in any time or effort towards studying.... but me I won't. Others have faced tougher odds and made it in half the time.

And yet, I despaireth not. Something to do with my folks always believing in me to this very day. I am very bright, they insist, always have been. I am not sure about that, never have been. I recently looked up my cumulative GPA, which of course they have not seen, and it really was nothing to write home about. Of course, the four Es didn't help much... E, I assumed, standing for incomplete... a good summation of my life's endevours so far - incomplete.

And a sad one too.

Depressing actually. Me I actually had stopped attending my friends' graduation parties... I mean, watching someone with whom you attended College 101 (I think that was the name of the case. Forgive me that was 9 years ago... there has been a lot of courses since then) getting his first degree, and then his second and yes his third... and him introducing you as his first friend in college all these three times and expecting you to tell all them curious cats that you did not graduate with anything... better yet that you did not graduate yet, can wash out even the brightest of spirits.

This year, though, I relented and attended several graduations... not my friends', but their younger siblings'. These kids who I used to give rides home from college... that same college that I helped them get into in the first place.... showing their older brothers and sisters how to go about filling those applications.

These kids who I had lent my text books to... instead of selling them like I would have loved to. The same kids who'd invaded my house at one point or the other and pillaged my fridge before they could get jobs and afford McDees. Yes, those same kids who'd taken advantage of my long working hours and partied on my beer before they were of legal drinking age.

And so I did feel duty bound to attend their graduations... if only to remind them of where they are coming from... or, more aptly, what exit they missed... or was it a rest area that I got delayed at. See, Me I missed... nah, I skipped all the core english requirement courses.... part of why I have not graduated.... hence my use of metaphor is rather sketchy if I may say so myself.

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But this was not always so... Me I really was a bright young kid... so they'd said. They being everyone else.... I learned to read when I was fairly young... By the time I was seven I read my favorite book- The Bible, daily... and with an uncanny fluency. That of course is no validation of my genius... but, for some reason, i

Nothing

'...The truth though is, I started out with nothing and I still have most of it..." Potashius

I once overheard a very wealthy gentleman of Indian descent say that he arrived in this country with $84.00. Now he is a millionaire, living a lifestyle that would be the envy of most high paid CEOs.

Me I had five soc ($500) when I left Kenya. A friend of my mother's saw it fit to give me an extra ka-ufiftee ($50) for "cai" - Kikuyu euphymysm for some non-descript spending, as I traveled. Of course I took her literally and bought me a cup of tea during my 8 hour layover in some huge impersonal european airport. I figured it would calm my nerves and keep me up.... there was no way I was gonna sleep and miss that connection to Boston.

So my first week here I was rich... $500.00 and quite some change from that $50.00. Of course some of that change was in Dannish Francs or whatever currency they used then and totally useless in the good ole US of A. Imagine my surprise then when I went to the store and after digging into my pockets for whatever change I had, the kind and polite store manager quickly pointed out ''none of that money is good here."

That was my very first experience, though I did not know it then, of racism in this storied land of black and white. I know now that she only refused my money because I was black. I actually didn't even know I was black... I had all my childhood suffered through endless teasing for my light skin... Imagine my surprise (pleasant) when I found out that I was actually black..... and lucky too since all the application forms I've had to fill out since then have this demographics section that wants to know what I am... and Black (of African Descent) is the only thing that comes close.... no brown. But I digress....

My instant riches didn't last long..... I learnt first hand how money can quickly disappear... even lots of it. By the end of my first week here... I was down to just the change. Yap,