Saturday, May 12, 2007

Cold feet or plain b__itchiness?

Long ago, I had just finished standard eight, looking to go to form one. I manned up, stood before my old man and declared that I wanted to get circumcised. He looked at my tiny frame, then my midsection and laughed out loud. He must have been wondering if there was anything to cut at all. So I proceeded to Form one, a full "kihii" as guys would refer to fellows who had a more complete anatomy than the rest. What followed was a traumatic one year of taunts, showering very early in the morning and feeling very tiny among the rest of the humanity.
After stoically feeding on weevil infested beans (doused with paraffin and whatever other chemical agents they put there), I had added about an inch to my length (vertical, not horizontal)....but this time I was really going to get the cut.
The event has a bitter-sweet feeling about it: On one hand you will leave the domain of small boys and become what they call a man, someone who is free to roam about at night, talking to the girls and not get lip for checking into the house after 7pm. On the other hand, there was the prospect of a guy with a knife around your member. Not a good thing. Your imagination runs riot. What if he trembles and shaves the thing off to the floor?
The day arrives and I was ferried, via a bicycle, to the shopping center doctor. Getting jittery. There are other boys milling about. The doctor, is a miserable excuse for a human being. He is sharpening a long, sharp and mean-looking knife, grinning. He suddenly lunges for one of the fellows, heaves him to the inner chamber, collects the knife and enters the chamber like one whose mission is to dispatch lives to the next dimension. That leaves us terribly scared, bowel movement, gagging and bladders that are about to lose control. Still the urge to flee is suppressed by sheer force of will.

I digress. The purpose of this post is nothing as dramatic as that. Actually its something meant to be pleasurable, save for the eventual turn-out. Kamikaze and myself are having a pint, having already broken the bank. The broke beer is delicious. It has reached a point where we are almost counting coins and thus the huge red flag "go home! go home!" is blinking in my head. I am looking at the last two sips in my glass with a longing, intending to draw them out as long as possible, when suddenly, there is a welcome distraction. Wednesday is smiling and waving gleefully from 10 meters. Kamikaze draws a sharp breath. It is time.
Hi guys, how have you been doing?
Fine and you?
I am with my pal can you join us?

We move over. Drinks have to be bought. The emergency 1000 bob for a rainy day makes a regrettable and hesitant exit from my wallet, but I am looking at the lady in front of me and things like reason, not having money simply do not register. But the charade can't last because last time I checked, 1000 bob was not that much, and in one quick round or two (ladies take expensive - and tiny - things like redbull and heineken) there would be no 1000. Kamikaze gets a brilliant idea.
Hey, why don't we move this party somewhere else. Got drinks and food at the house. I don't have food nor drinks, so it is not my place we shall be going, if we ever go. Wednesday is hesitant. She consults Kamikaze. Apparently she won't go without her friend, lets call her Wednesday-Buddy. She can come, there is lot of space, many beds .....that is Kamikaze now, unbelievable excitement and optimism in his voice. I pull Kamikaze aside and ask him if he has the equipment. Would not want a repeat of what happened with Kebbs (a story for another time)

We are good to go. Kamikaze swallows a full glass of beer in one mighty gulp. We move along, chatting happily and making jokes. Hey taxi! Ngapi mpaka ___? After bried negotiations we are speeding. 10 minutes flat we are there. It was just as was promised. Two beds. Each for a boy and a girl. Perfect. There is the usual smalltalk like civilized people do before big event; how do you like this place? not bad..blah this ...blah that. Cds deftly change hands. Like James Bond tradecraft. Kamikaze moves to the next room with Wednesday and I am left with I Wednesday friend.


The action, or lack thereof, starts with the time honoured sequence (for me, can't speak for all other jamaas out there) by fondling hair, ear and the neck. Then down to the hooter and kissing here and there. She stiffens up. "STOP. I can't".
So the other procedure is engaged. The sweet talk. It is supposed to help the undecided ones get rid of their panties quicker. It does not always work. Today was such a day.
"I have my P's".
Uh-huh. Tired old line. She did not have periods. She was wearing a thong, in total agreement that she didn't have them with a litmus test devised by one of my colleagues who says "kama amevaa suruali kubwa kubwa ujue si kupoa". She rolls into a tight ball and moves to the other side of the bed. I have been suckered. I have been here before and I roll to the other side, trying to cool my sizzling anger and catch some sleep.


This is some stupid bulls**t that a guy should not endure. Its a one night stand. I don't recall holding a gun or a dangerous object to her head, forcing her to come with me. What was she thinking? We were going to Kamikaze's to draw with crayons while singing the National Anthem? Only a moron would not recognize the scenario when a strange guy asks a strange chic; Lets go to my place. These were not morons; They spoke in flawless English. The moment a guy asks a strange chic in a pub to join him to wherever he is going, she should see Morpheus in her mind..."This is your last chance. After this there is no turning back. You take the blue pill, the story ends, and you go home and sleep alone (or with your cat or whatever else). You take the red pill, and know that this stranger in front of you, grinning evilly, wants to f**k you. Let him see how deep your rabbit hole goes." ...

If a chic is going to get cold feet, she should get them at the table. She can have three pairs, even turn her stomach and intestines into molten lead. Say no at exactly that point when he asks. Then he can decide with a clear head whether to continue wasting time talking to her, or wasting money buying drinks.

Otherwise, if she enters the bed, she should put out. One foot is in (in fact her whole body is in - in bed!), why freeze now? I do not mean that chics lose their rights when they enter a jamaas bed or house, what I mean is that less conniving and mean mugging would be nice.


The doctor actually cut with a scalpel, not the long knife.


Blogger QueMo said...

Awwwwwwwwww been there done dat!! ME n me Bwoys call them THICK gyals!!!
I had one such....when u shika the boobs she ok, when u about to reap dem trousers outta she like Nahh nah..ah ah!!! Bull crap!

Saturday, May 12, 2007 7:38:00 PM  
Anonymous KELS said...

LOL!! Pole 0.5. these things happen.

You could have convinced her that you can just make-out naked and you promise upon your head that you are not going to dip into the pool- and if you dare try, you are going to go sleep on the couch.
Trust me after a serious hot and heavy session, she will be begging...

Sunday, May 13, 2007 4:34:00 AM  
Blogger Milonare said...

I feel your pain my guy, I feel your pain...
I usually do the making out in the sitting room so that I can leave her on the couch if manenos aint looking mzuri ROTFL

Monday, May 14, 2007 2:50:00 PM  
Blogger Samborera said...

Was Wednesday the same Wednesday of a couple of months back, or a more recent Wednesday. A guy needs to start hanging out on Wednesday.

Monday, May 14, 2007 4:51:00 PM  
Blogger 0.5 said...

The same Wednesday of a few months ago.

Hanging out on Wednesday is not advised,.....thats when the ladies are in bloom..tempting...makes for late and hungover Thursday. Angry bosses and loss of focus.

@milo: Definitely right. Things are so much harder when she is less than a meter away!

Monday, May 14, 2007 6:04:00 PM  
Blogger Princess said...

Pole!!! That sucks!!

Thursday, May 17, 2007 7:58:00 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Have always liked this blog and 0.5 but this one-a bit distasteful; its not written anywhere that a chic following you means she wants to have sex. Surprise, but there are still chics out there who are not down for one night stands.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007 5:13:00 PM  

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