my drUg!

Watching her breasts fall up and down as she inhales and exhales. Even her breathing turns me on…


I always know when she is ready. Ours is a routine I know by heart, although I don’t even consider it a routine; it’s more of a rhythm that my body and senses instinctively adopts when she is around me. A reaction of some sort. I lose control of my head coordination with my body, and the trouble is, I don’t mind it. Having her here, looking at her silky smooth legs waiting, begging for my lips to kiss them. I harden a little more. I need to get out of these jeans, too constricting.

She always sits at the recliner chair next to the bed, facing the screen, leaning back against it, and in the process exposing her neck. I nervously shuffle in my seat. Watching her breasts fall up and down as she inhales and exhales. Even her breathing turns me on. I take a long puff and lean back on the bed, one hand unconsciously resting on my crotch. She looks at me from the side and licks her lips, which dries up even before she is done flicking so she does it again. She knows where my thoughts go when she does that, I have confessed before. I close my eyes as the image in my head overwhelms me and take a deep breath. I see her head poised just above my manhood with her tongue flicking playfully at the head the way she is doing to her lips, her eyes never losing contact with mine. She then bites her lower lip and crosses her legs, letting her skirt dip a little lower. Her hand snakes to pull it up but then just rests at the exposed skin, her smooth shining skin inviting my gaze. She then proceeds to make small circles with her fingers, moving slowly, her eyes on me the whole time, her lips glistening with a fresh wave of saliva and I lose it. I inhale deeply, trying unsuccessfully to get my heat heart under control. Am burning. But I will not give in. I sit up on the bed facing her and have another drag, I know how her lips will mould into mine. I anticipate how they will receive my advances with the same soft pressure that mine crave. How her eyes will close, unaware of it she might be, matching me stroke for stroke, giving as much as she receives, generously, and still probing. Leading. She likes to be in control and I don’t mind following her tempo. As soon as my hands make contact with her skin, her heat making me ache beyond belief, I willingly give in to her. I don’t want to be in control. Her pace is never rushed, each move calculated to entangle my senses in a web that I cannot will not fight. Am a willing prisoner. I go through my existence in a blur because my mind can’t grasp any detail when am not with her. I walk around having conversations with her in my head, listening to her laugh over and over in my head, feeling lost until the next time she is in my arms and it all make sense.

In that moment, I give all of me to her, for I would give it to no other. And when she reaches for my hand at her most vulnerable moment, right before her world explodes, I know am not alone in this boat. I squeeze her hand reassuringly and her hand squeezing mine back is the last straw. I let go with her. Spurts. Stars. Feeling and filling forever in a single minute and loving every instant, with all your nerves exploding in harmonious understanding of why they exist.

Hours later I watch her sleeping in the crook of my arm, thanking the stars for crisscrossing our paths. Being in her is not the climax for me; nor is it my lips exploring every inch of her body, licking, tasting, reaching into every dent, every crevice, wanting her whole being, her very essence to be absorbed into me. That is not the treasure for me, although it comes real close. My paragon comes in the form of her hand reaching for my hand; in the pressure of her hand squeezing mine back at our most connected moment. Our most intimate minute. That’s the instant my life makes complete sense.

Happily Never After!

I sniffed in the air, still with my eyes closed. And then the sound. Bang. Phone clattering. A gasp. The feeling. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Nor know. In those five seconds, with my eyes still closed, I prayed as I had never before. Not for me. Not even for her. I prayed for it not to be her…but i knew!

That first time I saw her, she was walking down the stairs, her right hand buried in her pocket, her left swinging with each step, complementing the rhythm of her hips. She was looking down, didn’t even see me as I stood transfixed at the bottom of the stairs. I thought she might have been counting her steps, or the stairs, her face was that in earnest. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs did she look up and for the tiniest millisecond, our eyes met! There were no jolts of electricity, or shimmers of colors at the edge of the eyesight, as I would have expected. None of that. She gave me a nod of acknowledgement; not the kind someone gives you because they know you, or they have seen you somewhere, no, not that kind. It was more the kind of nod that you give to strangers when you catch them looking at you and you don’t want to seem rude or self-conceited; the nod to acknowledge their appreciation of how you were created.
I smiled at her nod and watched her behind as she sashayed past me, every bit as conscious as I was, of how beautiful she was. I shook my head.
God created.
I waited at the stairs, hoping and praying for any small sign that this would not be the first and last time I would see her; am not going to say that I felt something deep, something that was not going to be ignored, that’s too cliché, but I did feel something. I just did not know what it was. So I watched her retreating back waiting for her to turn back, just for a second, but she rounded the corner and was gone. The only sign she left behind of her having passed that hallway being the whiff of her sweet perfume which I figured would be lost in the next ten seconds.
That is how my obsession set in. Might have been the lingering perfume with promises that drove my senses wild, or the way the baggy army pants hang on to her hips and let her slim legs be lost in the excess material that made it a trouser. Might have been her counting the stairs. Might have been her curt nod of acknowledgement, or maybe the mouth that had the look of giving so much joy if left a little bit unrestrained. Might have been all that and more. But from then on, I saw her. I smelled her perfume everywhere. I walked with dreams of meeting her, it seemed like I was always waiting for her to round the corner and walk towards me; unknowingly waiting.
I pictured and imagined our meeting so many times and on so many different scenes that I believed I had covered all the bases. My plan was simple. Bump into her. Step forward and introduce myself. Make her smile. Get the number. Once I imagined walking at night, seeing a silhouette ahead of me which unexpectedly turns out to be hers, I would watch as the moonlight (there’s a full moon in this fantasy) played with her face, its soft light falling lightly on her forehead making it glimmer, she would be cautious as I start the conversation, it being at night and all. Her hair would fall and block part of her face, which she would shrug back with little celebration. I would tell her a stupid story just to keep her engaged, and also to try and see whether her mouth can curve upwards. That should be a beautiful sight, I always think. And from there, we would gradually fall in love and live happily ever after.
But when it happened, it was in a situation that I never saw coming. A situation I couldn’t have thought of because to be honest, how can the love of my life not be part of it? For months, I have been dreaming with the same face, I have walked around looking for it in my wake time. I had hoped that when it happened, it would all make sense, the stars would align in my favor, and I would be rewarded for my patience. I would tell her of how I have been looking everywhere for her and she would be so flattered, and I would possibly get a peck. Hopefully, a date!
It happened in a robbery. Call it a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or call it fate! I was waiting in line at the bank, swiping left and right on my phone like everyone else on the line, which might explain why everyone was taken by surprise. No one saw them coming. But I did! I happen to be waiting for a photo to load on twitter and I was looking up the line when this pair of gentlemen walked in. Dressed expensively and nicely. Like bodyguards. Suits. Gleaming shoes. Top button of the shirt undone. Neat. And alert.
I remember thinking, if I was dressed like that, I would have guns tucked in my trouser somewhere. They looked around. Conspicuously suspicious. The guard had by then noticed them. He walked up to them, holding his soldier stick out in a menacing manner. Trying to look authoritative in the face of such eminent power. Failing miserably.
‘kuna shida gani, boss?’, he asked.
One looked at him and smiled while his friend unbuttoned his coat and drew a gun from a holster, shooting the guard just once on the forehead. He didn’t feel anything. Just sunk to oblivion. He still wore the smile he had returned. His body crumpled to the floor.
Everyone dropped to the floor. Even I. I observed some trying to capture the faces of the culprits with their high definition cameras, which was for naught as all gadgets were soon gathered. Two mores thugs came in and tried to lock the doors but the doors were automated; they gave up and joined their colleagues. The operated like one machine. Never hurrying. Never shouting. Not even using force. They had a plan. And their plan was working out. They were fast but not rushed. Focused but not vindictive. I checked the clock on the wall from where I was lying, only three minutes had elapsed since the first pair made its entry.
The door opened and no one looked up. At least I didn’t. Expecting it to be another thug, I didn’t look up from my position. Dedicating the little time I had to God, promising to move heaven and earth for Him if I made it out alive. And that’s when it hit me. The whiff. That perfume. I sniffed in the air, still with my eyes closed. And then the sound. Bang. Phone clattering. A gasp. The feeling. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Nor know. In those five seconds, with my eyes still closed, I prayed as I had never before. Not for me. Not even for her. I prayed for it not to be her. But I knew. I didn’t have to open my eyes. I felt it. Without looking, I knew. She never knew what hit her. I never got her number… nor her name!

Life Musings!

We only fail the day we refuse to struggle…

I need to be left alone. You whisper quietly to yourself, to your mind hoping beyond hope that your mind will take it seriously and just stop. Just for a minute. Not for long. Just for a minute. Long enough to organize the compartments. Long enough to reach into the jungle of half strings that threatens to choke you at every corner and turn. Long enough to hush the screams that always deafen you on the inside, the horror screams that never seem to go away or even dissipate with all the smiles that you show the world. The chaos in my mind frightening and engulfing me, drowning every fiber of sense that I could clutch at, leaving me empty and hollow. With thoughts of distractions to destructions in my head. Seeing the light one moment and when it finally feels like I almost have it, the light shifting to the shadows that purposely work to make me blind. Blind of anything but my existence, if it could be could that.

Someone whispers to me, what are you doing? I would look around expecting some foul breathed creature looking at me intently with disgust in its eyes and hate crowding its face but all I see is nothing. Am breathing, I would think to myself. What for? It would persist. And I would be lost. Holding my breath hoping for a revelation, feeling a little dizzy and lightheaded but no answer. What for indeed? The massive weight of the world threaten to cripple me, how do I take a step when am overwhelmed by all this weight, all these thoughts that threaten my every step, that suffocate me at every turn. How and when did it all pile here I ask. I look ahead and struggle, each day at a time girl, I silently encourage myself. Sometimes it’s too much and that don’t even work, so I whisper, an hour a day girl and when that insistently fail, I focus on the seconds. One second at a time. I don’t know what I’ll focus on if ever that gets to be too much. When that second will seem to kill my vibe. Vibe? What vibe? You call this movement of chest, this dragging of air in and out of your pathetic system vibe? I cringe.

This can’t be it. I say that as often and as convincingly as I can. Maybe eventually some part of me will listen, and maybe that part will grow and strengthen my whole system, but in the meantime, what do I do? What do I tell myself? What will keep me grounded when the whole world is shifting around me and I feel stuck, my feet sinking into the quicksand I didn’t know I had stepped on? Where will my heart lead my feet? I laugh. The cold slab of meat inside me that supposedly pumps and keeps me upright is my salvation? My compass? Sighs. I got lost even before I started it would seem. Were it possible, I would call it a day. Disintegrate all my parts and bid each goodbye. See you legs, may your feet forever follow the light. Oh brain, this is the end for us, may your activities be factual now that the mind has left you, and oh, don’t forget to keep in touch. Yes mouth, this is really it! Maybe if I had used you better, we wouldn’t be in this hole of despair that we find ourselves in. Stomach, it was always a pleasure but maybe life would be easier without you, I certainly hope so. Eyes, for all we have seen and all I expected to see, am tempted not to part with you…but you are troublesome in your fixture. Sometimes I believed if I didn’t see it, I wouldn’t need it, or want it, so take care and maybe you should take the ears with you for company. Oh, you have the other eye for company, well, good riddance to you then. Ears, you have heard so much and listened so little, why is that? The mind is to blame? Look at you passing off blame so effortlessly. May the sounds of the world be kinder!

Only then would I find peace I guess…probably! I don’t know! So I breathe and hide behind my glasses, push back the tears that brim over, square my shoulders and shift the weight around them. We will only fail the day we refuse to struggle,

Bar and Boundaries!

There is something strongly sexy about a man in a wedding ring, undressing you with his eyes all the way from across the bar…

There is something strongly sexy about a man in a wedding ring, undressing you with his eyes all the way from across the bar, and watching you squirm under his gaze.
The room is crowded, the noise has reached a crescendo and am thinking of making my exit, I look at the time and decide I can afford another drink. I signal the bartender as I look around for my girlfriend, who I notice is pinned at the wall in the back and is not putting up much of a fight… Oh well!
I pick up my drink and look up! He’s been at it for a while…the staring! I can tell. His eyes are too comfortable on my skin, lingering at my neck more than they should have; my mind tries to gauge what he’s thinking and my cheeks flush. Also the way his fingers are circling the mouth of the beer bottle, that’s a fantasy that has been going on for a while, definitely been checking me out. Of course I return the courtesy. He’s broad shouldered, his sweater fits him good, it’s not fitted but it’s not something he just threw on. His whole outfit looks well thought out. Well put together. Not someone who is second guessing with colors. That’s someone who knows his fashion.
I figure he’s married; no guy could dress that well and that casually without a woman’s help. Too old for it to be mum, and too well done for it to be the girlfriend. That leaves option three: the wife! He knows am checking him out, I can see his body tensing as he awaits my appraisal. I laugh under my breath. Men!
He visibly relaxes as he catches a whiff of a smile as I sip and meet his eyes! How is it that I know this tango, I wonder! His fingers resume the circling of the bottle, his eyes never leaving mine. Knowing full well he knows I know where his thoughts are. Two can play the game. I lean back in my seat, my hand on my thigh, slowly making circles with my fingers and simultaneously folding the hem of the dress back less than half an inch. But he gets it. He shifts and smiles. Looks down and picks up his beer, that’s when I see it! Even this far I can tell. I can feel my earlier excitement dying. A wedding band.
He sees where my eyes are; he looks at me waiting for a reaction. My mind is racing. I should leave. Its late, am tipsy and it’s getting smoggy…or is it my brain? I can’t tell. The stranger still looks at me, waiting! I can’t comprehend this conversation. No, I refuse to comprehend this conversation. This level of intimacy shouldn’t be done with him… Or here! I glance at him as I take another sip. It’s definitely smoky here, this can’t be me!
His eyes plead. Plead for what I wonder! His short hair hugging his scalp closely entices me, my fingers clench, imagining the smoothness of it…tracing the collarbone…waiting for his lips, a part begging for them and another begging to break it off before it happens. His fingers grip the bottle tighter, his knuckles shows. I take another sip.
I walk towards him, my eyes on his. I lick my lips as I pass him and pat his arm. I go to the bathroom and stare at my face on the bathroom mirror. What am I doing? I should stop. But I can’t. I want to feel this. I walk out and he’s waiting, like I knew he would be. I smile…he grabs me. His hands move over my waist as though terrified, he moves slow, taking his time, his eyes closed. I am lost. He feels better than I thought. Even his wedding band is electrifying. Not horrifying…electrifying. My skin seething under its caress. His breath is on my lips. He’s waiting for approval.
What am I thinking? Am so caught up I don’t see him approach.
‘Hi, can I buy you another drink?’
I look up. He’s standing right there. Adonis in the flesh. I could reach out right now and live out my fantasy. I could. I should. His jeans look smug!
‘Thanks! Sure…have a seat!’
He pulls up a chair and sits. He signals the bartender. I see it up-close…the wedding band! It hits me then, boundaries that can’t be crossed. Bar boundaries.
‘Would you feel better if I removed it?’ he wiggles the finger with the ring. I look up at him.
‘That would beat the point of you having it, wouldn’t it?’
I smile and pick up my bag. It’s raining outside.

George Musings!

I am not a complicated person. so simple, I could be used to define simple. And yet I find myself in complicated situations. Time and again, I find myself in some parts of town, in the dark and lost, wondering the whole time why good things happen to bad people! But oh well!
I am a simple person. At least I’d like to think so. And this is the story, or rather, my version of how I met George. We met at a time when my loins were on fire twenty four seven! It happens to the best of us…we all should acknowledge that and move on. I was young and ‘unattached’! I wasn’t looking, well, I was looking forward to spending time with my grandmother, but that’s all! He gave me my first big O! Who can forget that!
He had this quirky way of smiling that made me want to bite his lower lip and close my eyes while at it. And when he spoke, you’d know he was talking to you, he voice was just the right volume and soft. Maybe it was the sack business that made me glow when I walked with him, stand an inch taller, and smile a bit wider, or maybe it was the tall, dark and handsome guy walking beside me who was completely besotted with the way my hips scaled the 50-50 to make 100 measure! We were good together…and we looked good together! That was the most charming part! He matched me step by step…inch by inch, and the sex was awesome!
Anyways, like all good things, we came to a sudden end too soon. But somehow, whatever happened between us has been defining us the whole time. But this happened three years ago and although we occasionally hop in the sack for old time sakes, I always feel like we are stuck in a rut! We should either let go or let each other go…but I don’t know why it’s always easy thinking about it that doing it!

P.S this was not to make much sense!

Disclaimer: Some of the things mentioned here are not meant to be taken literary…think figuratively!

Sharing is caring…tell a friend to tell a friend!

Wearing Love!

Let me start off by wishing all Muslims around the world an Eid Mubarak. This is the one day I would wish to be at Mombasa. Eid festivities there are out of this world awesome. There are bursts of colour from all corners, the aroma that hung in the air tantalising the senses, people laughing and talking loudly, men in white all over! You don’t get to see that many men in white anywhere else in Kenya! There, you get to understand the meaning of Eid even as a Christian!
Its different at Nairobi. Or maybe am in the wrong neighbourhood! But the only thing people seem to love about Eid here is that its a national holiday! Sad but true!
Knowing how today should be celebrated is the purpose of this post. I have gone all out and worn love. Literary! Everything I have worn today is because somebody somewhere loves me!


The pendant is from one of my bestest friends I have. Miss Victoria, the best part of my life is having you in it!


That’s a bracelet from a Miss Maryanne, it reached me via Vickie!


I was with Libby when these were bought at Toi’s market after hours of looking. Shoe shopping is one of the most frustrating lady things that I do. But am usually with Libby, whose very presence makes me comfortable with being a big foot! She’s the only friend who has the right to be honest with me regarding my feet…her and Vickie!


The pink scarf is courtesy of Phylis Kamatei. I love that girl to bits…bubbly, lively, ass-full (Hehe) that’s how I can describe her!


My girl friend Tilda insisted I buy the silvery glistening top and it was a wise investment. That girl knows her fashion!


The bag is actually borrowed from Vio, she keeps telling me not to take her bags but I really can’t resist! She knows her bags!



The denim shorts and pink earings are solely my mum! I miss you, mum! And that concludes my Eid attire post.


Happy Eid to all!

Sharing is caring…tell a friend to tell a friend!

Banana sense!

Ever wondered how flour-less banana pancakes would taste like? Neither had I…till recently! There i was, minding my own business, completely not looking for anything special. Just scrolling down my homepage on Facebook while I waited for something to fall. It was on Saturday, and I didn’t have to be anywhere special except where I was….in the toilet! I carry my phone to the toilet cos its usually a lengthy process, and I like keeping up with the world at my most personal moment.
So there I was, scanning the updates, and liking photos and trying to come up with an update that will blow everybody’s mind…when I saw this!


I did what any normal person would do, I shared it!
A friend of mine tried it and this was her response!


So in case somebody else’s common sense goes bananas, try this out and don’t forget to share your results!

Sharing is caring…tell a friend to tell a friend!