The velvet scrunchy

The Valentine of the year 2004 was disappointing for me. First this holiday was unofficial, so I was in the office. Secondly I was wearing something unacceptable. Though it was concealed, fear of somebody finding out stuck to my chest making me feel uncomfortable all day. It was a Saturday, and the secret wear was a female pink lace. I did not put it on willingly. No, I would not in a thousand years. But I had to, because I lost in a stupid game my girlfriend and I were playing the previous night: Truth or dare.

Whenever a colleague came to my desk for help or to discuss something, I started sweating. My heart beat faster. Some asked if I had fever or something wrong? I gave them a fake smile and said it was the temperature. But we were in an air conditioned office. They all made weird faces before they went away. The deal, I had to this the whole day. I chose my times to visit the gents and made a point of not using the lino even when it was just to pass down water. I had to go in an enclosed place. No one was supposed to find out in the office or I would fast become the object of conversation for the next six months. Either the gay label or cross-dresser would have stuck on my forehead. In addition to the underwear, there was something else on my thigh that made me uneasy even while sitting. I couldn't help touch it from time to time. I could not cheat, because Sarah made sure I did not carry any extra garment in the morning when I left for work. I knew, it was gonna be a long day!

Sarah and I had gone out two times prior to Yesterday. It was our third date and I was excited because it was “the night.” although I had a job, I was still living with my parents in that year. And once in a while sleeping out made me feel wild with temporary wings. After dinner at the Mombasa sports club, she drove to her apartment in Ganjoni and invited me in for coffee. I made myself comfortable on the sofa watching a late night movie featured on the local TV station. She came to join me after freshening up and at that time in the movie, the starring and the beautiful actress lover were playing Truth or dare game. I was amused, Sarah too. When it was over, Sarah said she is waiting for me in the bedroom. So I jumped in the shower to get rid of the summer night sweat that climbed and lingered on my skin during the dinner.

The bed was big and had ten pillows on top of the white sheets. Extravagant, I think two pillows are enough on a bed but hey! I am a man. I thought it would be a good idea to play the Truth or dare game, just like in the movie. There was something itchy, and out of curiosity I thought this would be the perfect chance to find out. She agreed after we changed the rules a bit. If one does not want to tell the truth, then the dare becomes obligatory on them. You can all guess, my first question was how many men have you been with in your life? I had asked for trouble. After a minute, the ballpark figure she gave out was unbelievable. It bothered me so much that she had slept with men seventeen times more than me. I was not a sleeping around kind of a guy. And when she asked me the same question, I felt shy giving out the tiny number. The penalty, I was dared to hold my feelings and expectations in cage for tonight. No one would be getting laid here tonight.

Sarah worked at Barclay's bank, that's where I met her on the help desk. The bank uniforms enhance their looks to make them more attractive. They are tight and colors picked carefully by the designer. Sarah didn't need enhancement, she had pouty lips, an hourglass figure like Congolese dancers and beautiful eyes. She was also nice, above the customer care nice. I made sure I visited her desk each time I went to deposit some money even if I didn't need help. After four times she agreed to go out with me if I promised let her do her job in peace. She had a colleague at the desk who always smiled when I was there. Her name was May and she was also her roommate. I was friendly to her too and always made some jokes for her benefit. She was amused by my style of pursuit on romance. And she sent me a friend request on Facebook the same night I met them for the first time.

The next question on truth or dare was somehow brutal. Would you tell me if its real or you faked it tomorrow night? I know I'm not getting any tonight. Her pouty lips and frown sent a clear message. This was supposed to be fun, not a fact finding mission. She chose dare, though I knew she could easily answer this. I had to tone down the dare, I dared her to withdraw big money from her account and foot all bills tomorrow after work for our Valentine getaway to Wasini island Marine park. Well, it felt good to get something out of her that the other guys couldn't think of. She would also have fun. Lucky her for I didn't suggest going to a nudist colony. Its something I have thought about, but they are not common in Africa. It was her turn now, I tried to be strong because I knew she was about to seek a bomb size truth. She said: The truth, tell me about your insecurities. About the fears in your heart, if its fear of love, intimacy or whatever. Tell me your secrets, about your preferences on love and love making. That's too much, I objected. And it will take a lot of time to talk about those issues. She replied that she had all night. The truth is, I didn't want to touch on those matters. Especially to someone I have gone out with for less than two months. So I finally retreated to a dare.

She led me to her walk in closet. On the top left, there were her under-wears hanging on hooks. The line up revealed she was on to style and fashion deeply. There were some that were made from small material and some enough. I could see G-strings, see through laces and a variety of lingerie. The dare was to wear her underwear tomorrow for the whole day. She was kind enough to choose the pink lace for me. At least it had enough material to hold me. She smiled while touching her pink bra but my face clearly conveyed to her I would never go for that. She picked out a pink scrunchy and said “this will be enough, it goes up from your foot to thigh. I will put it up myself on you tomorrow morning.”

The fabric was not bad at all. I think it was a hundred percent cotton. It was cool inside and the fabric was soft against my skin. Most male under-wears have rough texture but its nothing to complain of because we are used to it. But this felt good. So good that it scared me. I wanted to feel secure about my masculinity, that this one day thing would not change me inside. Now and then the why am I doing this question kept popping up on my head. Apart from the shame I was risking, I didn't like this business at all. But then I thought, it was me who started this game. I didn't want to upset Sarah more or break off the relationship. And the more important reason that made me go along with this was: its frowned upon in Men circles to break up from a relationship before getting in the sack.

After a very slow day and a late employees meeting I was finally on my way to Ganjoni. No one at work found out. I have completed the dare, and promised myself never to play that game again. I was so exhausted that after the kiss hello I went straight to the bathroom. After the long shower I realized I hadn't taken my costume from Sarah's closet for change. I called out her name but no response after three times. I put on the pink lace and walked freely not remembering that Sarah had a roommate. After four steps I realized May was standing between the kitchen and the bathroom. Sarah followed her back. Then in a flash, she pressed her cell phone to take a photo. I showed her that I didn't like that but they kept laughing at me. I shared my concern with Sarah as we were preparing for our Wasini trip but she said they were very good friends and that was just for fun. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their friendship.

I was a little relieved but on our way I asked myself, What about after we break-up? My fear was reliving the ordeal if the picture found its way to Facebook time-lines. I am doomed. Wasini was supposed to be a happy trip but here I was buried in ugly possibility thoughts. I would die if my Facebook friends see the picture. Word would go round to my family and relatives by the click of the “share button.” what a valentine!

Kobokobox

Second consecutive weekend, the noisy neighbors were back at it again. These were not common noises of couples arguing or from a loud music system. It was a voice from a lady as a product of their lovemaking. I thought it would just be last week but it seems the weekend visitor of Mwanajuma is planning on giving us sound shows every weekend. The groan, the breath, the complaining Mwanajuma lets out while they are at it is distinct and could be heard from every room in the house. I'm sure the tenant on the room opposite in the adjacent house could hear her too. Words like “more”, “come on baby”, “yeah” and “right there” were frequently used in their private activities. At one time she was complaining so much with a tone of voice that made me think he was killing her. I found the other tenants complaining next day and we decided to call the landlord, hold a meeting and ask Mwanajuma to remedy their behavior or move out.
A bright Sunday afternoon it was. Though sunny, the weather was moderate. Not so hot as is usual in this Coastal city. Wooden chairs were arranged in a round style facing the center. Concerned parties were present, ready for the meeting. The landlord called before noon to inform us that he is stuck in personal matters and would not be able to attend. There was Johnson Kahindi and his wife who rented the first rooms. On the right for him and his wife, the left one for his two daughters aged thirteen and seven. He is a teacher in a local primary school. Mwanajuma stays in the second room to the right, he was here with the man he is seeing, Wafula. She sells cooked garden peas in the morning and fried potatoes in the late afternoon. Second room to the left belonged to Kache, my sweetheart. Third room to the right belonged to a bachelor, Mwadime who was a freelance mason. Third room to the left was taken by a married couple who had no child yet, The Williams.
The area was Bamburi, in Mombasa. It is densely populated because it is a slum, according to world standards. To our standards, it was not. We call areas like Kisumo ndogo, Dunga unuse or Kibera in Nairobi slums. There is a Swahili architectural design that is so common in houses here. It usually is about six to ten single rooms, a shared kitchen, shared bathrooms and a shared open space between rooms. The house was five minutes walking distance from the road. Rent of a room per month is usually not more than two thousand shillings in these areas.
The meeting started when everyone present was seated. Mr. Kahindi asked Mwanajuma if she could keep it low. His concern was much for his kids, that he didn't want them to know about these things at their early age. Although I wasn't a tenant here, I added that it was courtesy to not let our voices disturb others. Mr. Kimani William just said it wasn't good. His wife was not pleased with her husband's contribution and he added that the noises really bothered her. She asked Mwanajuma to find a husband because now she wont feel safe leaving her husband behind when she goes on office trips or seminars. Mwadime startled us. He said the noises don't bother him and he did not wish to poke his nose into other people's affairs. We thought that was weird, and he always seemed a weird kind of a guy.
Mwanajuma started by asking us if we had no better things to do than listen to what comes out from other rooms? We told her we don't even have to be attentive, we will hear her even if we put on ear plugs. She said that was her pleasure and her business. No one is paying a rent that is more or less, she continued. I have a right to do whatever i want in my room. Wafula was silent all this time, he did not contribute. At last she said, the ones who are uncomfortable should move out, not her. She stood up, called his man, and they disappeared into their room.
That afternoon, we had to turn the volume high on our television set to escape the sounds of devil coming from the opposite room. This time it was done intentionally. No matter how my eyes were glued to the telly, I could not concentrate on what it was showing. Dirty talk broke in through the wall and the sex whimpers made more distinct.
That was not my main problem. My concern, though I didn't say it, was my Kache hearing those noises. My fear was that she would feel I am inadequate in lovemaking, and that Wafula knows how and what to do with women and he was a better lover than me. I remember asking Kache before in one of our conversations if size matters and she replied that it doesn't. She said whats important is the love at heart. But the weekend events at this house made me question if she really believed that. I asked myself why cant I make Kache cry in Passion just like Wafula does to Mwanajuma? Should I find books to read about how to Excite and satisfy a woman to heavenly levels? Should I go to Pharmacies and search for Viagra? My mind was troubled. I had many questions that I didn't know how to get their right answers.
Time passed and another weekend was here. I was not looking forward to go to Bamburi but I had to. When you have a steady girlfriend, it is implied that weekends will be spent together. On entering the house, I saw many were out of their rooms standing outside Mwadimes's door. Mrs. Williams was talking at the top of her voice and other tenants were booing. They had found out Mwadime touches himself using Mwanajuma's sex voices. A picture of Mwanajuma was also found on his night stand. That confirmed my suspicion on his seeming weird. So, he was not opposed on any action against Mwanajuma because it would take away his tools for giving himself a treat. So, disgusting, and embarrassing to him.
Half an hour later a truck pulled up and The Kahindis started packing. They had been looking for a place to move since it wasn't healthy remaining here, for their children' Psychological and social well being. I floated the idea of moving out too but Kache denied. It was her room, not mine. And she said I shouldn't be much bothered if I'm only around during weekends. She could see that this was a big problem for me and she kept complaining about it. At one time she asked if I wanted a free pass with Mwanajuma while her eyes looked sternly at me. We fought a lot. Mrs Williams asked Mwanajuma if she was happy with the turn of events in the house but she gave a quick reply that silenced her. “Ask your husband that question, is he happy coming early on weekdays spanking my behind while I go to the bathroom? Winking at me and inviting me to your room knowing well my man is not around till weekends?”
Men sometimes wish for everything manly. Unfortunately we cant have it all. The passion squeaks are not a big deal but we love it if we are the cause. Are my wants too much? Because the orgasm sounds weren't enough. The common oohs and aah don't do it for me anymore. I wanted to make Kache moan in a unique way. A way that would make eavesdroppers think “he must be an animal.” A cry that makes her release heavy breath when on heights of ecstasy. I wanted her to think I'm the man. A man like no other in this world. But Kache didn't understand this.
This house was surely a hell. I heard rumors that even Wafula was married and has kids living in Likoni. A complex love triangle it was. And instead of being an entertainment, I only saw it as a mockery show to my skills in bed. I could not see myself as the Hero on Kache's eyes, as how they used to. She must have developed a liking to Wafula though she didn't admit it. Why else didn't she want to move? Maybe she dreams about him when I'm not around. What reason do I have for coming here? My woman thinks less of me. I don't have little boys and girls to protect. I'm not drawn to Mwanajuma, and i'm definitely not getting myself off using her sexy cries. I decided not to come here next weekend, and that was the beginning of my slow break up with Kache.