COCKTAILS OF INFIDELITY

Cocktails of infidelity (Part 1)

She is my girlfriend. A whore that I barely have any idea whether she has a home. Or is it in my arms that she finds solace in? She makes me livid with such ideas of having to pet her to bed. How about she tries the cathedral, the most merciful God will find it adorable to house a prodigal daughter. As for me, I never do. I can’t. I do not trust her. But, there is something unscrupulously mind blowing in the way she moves. That’s got my glances glued at her like a tick on a cow. She slithers like a python on a bark of a tree. The way it swindles. It meanders its way up the apple tree, holds it gleefully. Down, I stare above waiting for a revelation of a sin like eve, except I’m Adam.

After smoking from my own stench, dawns that it’s her line of duty. There are codes of conduct to be adhered to. She got to suffice everything to make it through this life. At times, she spreads her body like a woman in labor pain, beneath I observe like a midwife except she is not giving birth. Its I penetrating through. Some other time she bends like an old woman tilling soil for produce. But no! She is not digging. Its I standing erect behind, working on her back like it’s the only tender I dwell upon.

I tend not to misjudge these waves of energy that flow within me. One moment she is my prey. A gazelle. Beneath long reeds, I hide counting steps; Salivating lasciviously at my uncooked meal. Breathing slowly, swaying my tail like a fevered puppy. When it’s time I pounce on it. The next she is a predator to my money. It’s a food chain of a kind. Evasively she hollas with snares. But whence I clump her throat in my grip, she not only suffocates. I grab her hair. Pull her hard. Waste no time. Thrust in some more. The sweat. The screams. I care less for the rubber protects I.

But I loathe the exchange of fluids. One moment feels like salvation. The next it tastes like disdain. Whence pollen grains sprout out within me, into her they aim. Always missed the shot. Today I hit bulls eye. I feel contemptuous about all these. This time I never wore a rubber. Was I naively stupid? 

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Finally, the evening downpour comes to a halt. It rests its arms on the emblem of the sofa, as it tunes to the television displayed on the big wall. It sends spies of shivering cold peeping through the panes of the window as waves hit my tummy, reminding me it’s time to leave.

Meanwhile, on the bed she hides her nudity in bedsheets that engulf the stench of lust in its creases. Her nipples, sharp and hard stands out like Egyptian pyramids. From where I stood, at the edge of the bed, my eyes caressed her like a camera of an archeologist, photographing each feature, leaving no covertures unchartered. Her thighs still wet and soft. She stares at me sympathizingly as I button my shirt. She doesn’t want me gone. Her eyes are dovish in nature, bright and sharp. I never tell her this. Lest she mistake my words for being in love with her. Thoughts of making love to her once again, quickly evades my mind.

Tom should be arriving any moment from now. I wouldn’t want him to find me compromised.

“I’m leaving. I’ll come back. Don’t call or text me”

These are the words that often slice her womb. They shackle her limbs, drags her through a barricade. Spikes cut through her veins. The further she goes the deeper the cut. Blood spurts. The inside walls of her stomach wails. Somehow, she has found a way to be numb to the pain, or she has become used to it. Once in a while it overwhelms her, tears tend to dance and yearn for freedom in her dovish eyes, but she doesn’t set them free. I ought to wheedle her. Tell her cherubic words that possibly I wouldn’t have meant. I don’t. So, she finds comfort on the cold walls that house her bed; stares at me, hoping that I would walk across the room, kneel beside the bed and peck her a goodbye kiss. That’s just a dream. She is a woman. She needs a man and not love. That’s what I provide.

“Beep! Beep!”

That must be Tom.

I reach inside the wandles of my billfold, from which I flash out 5,000 Kenyan shillings which I place on the bed next to her toes.

“I’ll wire you more cash tomorrow!”

She doesn’t respond. She lays mute on the bed defenselessly like a wounded dog. Except it’s its master who has wounded it.

“goodbye Trina”

Tom is my driver. In his mid-thirties, he looks younger than his age. He is the most loyal son of the land I’ve ever seen. At times, he reminds me of who I never became. In his soft tone, he greets me.

“Evening sir! You done here?”

Before responding, hands tucked into my coat, I remove a cigar and a lighter, which I lace between my lips. As smoke fevers above.

“Evening Tom. I presume I’m quite done here for the night.”

“Okay sir, where would you want me to take you”

“Anywhere Tom. Anywhere far from home”

“But sir…...”

“I know Tom, its late, just take me home.”

I don’t know what he thinks of me. His saintly silence doesn’t speak much for himself. His is the most peaceful mind. He has no wife yet, no kids yet. That’s the life I couldn’t have. To be in solitary. To have no one to think or care for.

Tom has a priestly stare that often glare upon my soul trying to figure where my humanity lies. What kind of man I am. It’s simple, I am his boss. As such his discretion is highly called for.

“Sir I need to talk to you about something.” Finally, he breaks the monotony of silence in the car.

“Sure thing. Go ahead”

“Tomorrow I won’t be coming to work”

“It’s okay. Any emergency you need to take care of, you can always have a leave, is there a way that I can help?”

“No sir. I will be fine by myself.”

“Then I expect a day after tomorrow to see you”

Tom knows one thing about me. I neither have the time nor the patience to give a damn about other people’s businesses; whether good or bad. He knows that, as long as whatever he does doesn’t hurt me in a way. Certainly, he doesn’t expect me to ask what his emergency is all about. I give him his space. I respect him.

He looks discomforted as if there is a wrecking ball shoved in his throat and he is struggling to take it out. Stammering….

“Sir, that’s the thing. I won’t be coming back. A day after tomorrow or a day after that or weeks later. I’m sorry.”

“And why is that?”

“my wife is sick. And in her last moment it’s prudent to spend the moment with her”

I take a deep breath. Before I ask the question that he already anticipated that I would ask.

“why did you not tell me you had a sickly wife? For 3 years, you’ve worked for me, you never told me… why is that? You didn’t trust me enough?”

“I wasn’t aware that you cared sir, and you are quite a business man to even spend time with your wife...”

“just drive me home tom.”

A thing about people is that you know them till you really don’t. They wear a mask that hides their identities and intentions. Even if you look Neath the mask, you will see different layers of mask. And whence they are done delving into you, whence they’ve plucked their need from you. They remove the mask and let you see their true face.