Men will rant and grouch about women eating fare, but they will still send again. However, there is a new species amongst us. A species that don’t eat fare. These ones are worse – they chat you all those naughty texts, tell you the things they will do to you when they come over and make you yearn for more. And when they finally come over, they spray the atmosphere with tension and awkwardness of all kinds.
I met Sherry on Tinder. I honestly can’t remember swiping right but ooh well, that was a good one. Our conversation picked up so well. The vibe was evident. She is the only lady that I sent a dry “hey” and replied with “hey” accompanied by a love emoji. All the other girls that I hit with “hey” ended up reading the text and never replied. That’s how life is in these streets – tough.
Sherry’s profile was entrancing. She had like 5 photos and a bio that read, “last time I was someone’s type I was donating blood.”
2-days into intermittent chatting, we graduated to WhatsApp. Here, we used to chat daily – every second of the day. She was a good texter (if that’s a word, really). She’d reply fast and send long texts. I fell in love with everything. Late night calls got me raising my legs high and tuning my voice into some bass-like sound. People who know me will tell you I don’t have a bass, don’t listen to those lies though.
3 weeks into online chatting and video calls, we decided that we should meet and gauge whether we are fit for a relationship. The love tension between us was strong, stronger than this Kenyan government. I wanted to date her as much as she wanted to date me. But one thing stood in between us; we were still strangers. We only knew each other virtually.
That night before the meeting day, she got wild. She flooded my inbox with torrent of naughty sexts, I mean texts. At first, I was uncomfortable with such conversations. Hallelujah! But when it vehemently got to me, I moved with the wave. The conversation turned more wild, extremely is the word. You know that wild that I’m talking about, don’t you?
We eventually came to a consensus – enough of theory, we now should have practicals. And that was that. Signed.
Date: That day
Venue: My crib
Time: At around 4PM so that I slip it into a sleep over.
I woke up quite earlier than normal the next day. Nothing makes a man to be more clean than knowing that a girl is visiting. I cleaned every corner of the crib. Every corner. By 2pm, I had finished everything, cooking included.
At 4PM, I called to inquire if she was still coming. She assured that in 30 minutes she’d be here. I enrolled in a school of patience.
I called again at 5PM, she didn’t pick. I called about 4 times, incessantly, no answer. What? If I had sent her fare, I would have counted that as eaten. But then I thought, ‘or maybe she doesn’t have the fare to get here?’
6PM, Sherry hadn’t called back, neither had she sent a text on WhatsApp. She wasn’t even online, something very peculiar. I accepted defeat. I served the chicken and rice that I had prepared and ate to ease the disappointment. Someone somewhere said, “No matter how sad you are, make sure you eat first.” Well, that was something.
At around 7:30PM, a text popped up on my phone, “ulisema nishukie wapi?” It wass her, sherry.
A grin flashed across my face as I replied, “Ambia conda akueke Uthiru, then uchukue bike hadi Jayson’s Apartments.”
After some minutes, she was at my door, looking all exquisite. She looked more cute in person, and quite shorter than in photos. Her braids made her look young, like 16/17 there – she would definitely be mistaken for a minor. Her face glowed with bliss – lips well shaped to bring out those cute smiles. Her black dress hugged her accordingly- like it was being paid to expose her curves.
She tucked me in her arms, a hug that felt like home. I still couldn’t believe she was here. Yaaani, she came, after throwing me into abyss of doubts. This gender though.
I offered her a drink, later food and then engaged into those conversations that strangers, rather acquaintances dive in – like, so what were you doing on tinder? So you are the last born? My ideal date would be something set outdoors. Okay, I love Octopizzo too but Khaligraph has content. Well, my fetish is thighs and cleavage… And all those ilk of deep talks that lead to clothes finding themselves on the floor.
I tried to bring up the talks she had smeared in my inbox but all she did was smile and throw in, “kwani hujui jokes.”
“Imagine we are not doing anything. We can’t do it on our first date. I want this to last.” Came her reply, as I tried to slide my hands down her curves.
‘But why did you give so much hopes through the texts?’ I wished I could have asked her that but instead I said, “Okay.” A man knows better how that feels.
“Yes, not in a bad way. I feel like I will lose you once I give myself to you this early. Let’s bond better first.” She said. She made sense, just a little bit.
She was sending unfathomable signals – one time she is sliding her hands from my chest to my abs, the next minute she is pushing away my hands when I try to reciprocate.
At some point, she moved closer, too close that I could feel her heartbeat then landed her soft lips on mine. After like a 30-second smooch, she whispered, “Imagine, God is watching us?”
“Never mind, let’s sleep. I will wake up to make you breakfast.” She said, turned to face the wall and slept.
I turned the other side and slept too lest it gets more weird. What else was a man to do?