The first time I met Sally was when she was hurriedly going up the stairs of our building. I was going down, to buy supper, and see if I could find some weed from the Kinyozi.
When she passed me in her hurry to reach her destination, I stopped and stared after her for what seemed like hours. Now, there are three main reasons why I did that:
- She was gorgeous.
- She was very gorgeous.
- She was very very gorgeous.
And I am not just talking about the typical gorgeousness of a fine girl. No. Although that’s what you are probably going to get from my description of her.
It doesn’t matter what you think anyway, because I know in my heart the kind of gorgeousness, I saw in her that day. And it was a unique kind.
She had on these black tights, or yoga pants; I don’t know what they call them, but the way they hugged her body. Whew.
And the way they enunciated her thighs, her ass. God.
And then, to make matters even harder, she had adorned these tights with a colorful crop top, revealing her sexy navel sitting pretty on her flat stomach.
Then, there was that black bomber jacket written on the back in big red letters the word LOVE.
Then, then, her hair. That curly brown hair bringing out the shape of her eyes, the redness of her lipstick, the chubbiness of her face.
God, had I just met the girl of my dreams?
Turns out, I hadn’t, because when I followed her with my eyes, I saw her going to your house. She knocked twice, and then adjusted her crop top, her tights, her smile.
You opened the door a few seconds later, and then scooped her up in your arms.
She laughed, a deep loud laugh that found the way to my ears, and a residence in my heart.
That night, she was all I could think about. And I tried not to. Trust me I did. But what is a man to do when he has just met the girl of his dreams?
I’ll tell you what he is to do. He wanks off at the thought of her, and doesn’t stop even when he has just cum three times.
Oh, come on, can you quit struggling with that rope?
We both know you can’t get out of it.
What, does the image of me wanking off to her get you mad? You want to kill me? Oh, I can see it in your eyes. You want to kill me, don’t you?
Well, bro, can you please wait till I finish my story first?
Alright, now, where was I?
Oh, jerking off to the thought of your girl.
Yeah, so after that night, I tried to forget her. She was taken, off the market. You had gotten to her first, I was just the unlucky fool who she didn’t even know existed.
I had no claim of her at all, as much as I wish did. And, plus, I am not a thief. I couldn’t steal her even if I wanted to, you see.
But, when a week later when you guys came over at my house to see if I had any movies or series; and I guess to be neighborly, to introduce her to me, I was done.
Were you gloating? Was that it? Had you come to twist the knife even further in my stomach?
And why did she have to be in those pink short shorts?
Did you tell her to wear those, so you could rub it in my face how you are the one who gets to feel those exposed brown thighs?
Oh shut up. Why are you trying to talk? You know I cannot hear you with that rug stuffed in your mouth.
Oh great, now you are shaking your head. You didn’t tell her to wear them, huh?
Maybe, just maybe, Sally had a thing for me then. Has. Has a thing for me.
Now it all makes sense actually. That night, on the rooftop, after you saw I had no movies so we decided to just smoke the two joints that I had.
Sally is the one who suggested the rooftop, and we, like the love blind idiots we were, agreed with her even though I could not stand you, and you, me.
You have always been a lightweight, haven’t you? Three puffs and you were gone, wanting to go back into the house and lie down.
You asked Sally to go back with you, but she wouldn’t.
“Manze me hadi sijakuwa high. We enda nitakupata.”
Two sentences that warmed my heart.
We smoked in silence for a while after you were gone, and then Sally broke it;
“So, what’s your story,” she asked, in a way that told me she had watched too many movies.
I mean, that’s the way movie characters always start their conversations, right?
I didn’t mind it though. Did she want to know my story? Hell, I could write her whole book if she wanted.
But for then, I just told her the basics. Fourth-year student; oh just like me, she said.
Umm, a lover of life and art. Umm, a good person who loves his family …ummm, what else did I tell her?
Honestly, I can’t remember what I said, but I remember what she told me when we had finished one joint and were sufficiently high.
She looked into the night, and said;
“Can I tell you a secret? “
I loved that we were speaking English now. I have always preferred to communicate in English, especially if it’s with the girl of my dreams. Kiswahili doesn’t just cut it, you know?
Anyway, I said yes. Of course, I wanted to hear her secret. Who would pass off on that offer?
“I can’t wait for my first marriage,” she said.
And, for a moment, I was disappointed. I thought the big secret was going to be something like I don’t love my boyfriend anymore.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day I passed you on the stairs.
Or, better yet;
I am horny. Let’s fuck right here, right now.
But, instead, she was telling me what every girl dreams of; a marriage.
Just as I was about to give her a non-interested answer, I stopped and analyzed her words again.
I can’t wait for my first marriage.
Did that mean there was going to be a second?
“Does that mean there’s going to be a second?” I asked, taking the blunt she was passing my way.
She was still staring into the night as she answered me;
“I mean, why not. Don’t get me wrong, I love marriages, relationships, all that shit. In fact, I love them so so much I know there’s no way I am staying in one till death do us part. I want to experience all of them; you know? I want to fall in love with someone, get married to them for a while; maybe a year, maybe two; have the best life; have the worst life; get divorced, meet someone new, and experience it all over again. That’s not so bad, right?”
Oh no, it was not bad.
It was not bad at all.
You know what it meant? It meant that she was done with you. You are her first marriage, her first relationship, whatever shit she said.
The point is, she was done with you and needed a divorce, another experience, another person to come in and give her the best time of her life. ‘
It meant that I had a shot with her if only I played my cards right.
And so, here we are.
Me, playing my cards.
That’s why you are here. Tied up, gagged, defenseless.
After I kill you, she is going to be sad for a moment. It’s only expected.
But you know who is going to be her shoulder to cry on? Me, her smoking companion, her next relationship, and probably the one who is going to finally satisfy her and make her stop wishing for other experiences.
So, now, will you be a good boy and try not to cry as I slit your throat?