Part One: The Office

The Americans.

August 24, 2018;

For all of the five minutes of what felt like the Amerucan version of The Americans, she spied from behind dusty office blinds on the third floor of McKenna & Co. Complex.

Her subject of observation was now walking towards the gate, being the last of the employees to leave for lunch. He was tall and as thin as a mature sugarcane plant, with an oblong-shaped head resting on his frail shoulders, an unusual bump atop (probably the reason behind his headstrong persona). His skin, thick and as dark as sin, shone in the glinting sun as he moseyed his way down the stairs into the windy afternoon.

His sense of fashion seemed inclined purely to checkered shirts that came in a size smaller and faded pipe trousers that outlined every inch of his scrawny frame – unwanted parts (his equally scrawny pipe) and all – stopping right above the ankles to reveal his collection of happy socks. Today, Mutua wore them in a weird shade of brown – the kind that was previously white or cream – spotted with yellow and orange nuts.

Nyongesa on the other hand was a heavy man. Round too, like a barrel. He sat right outside the stall which he’d branded the sechurity department, headed by him, of course. Mimi ndio mkupwa wa hii sechurity dipardmennd, he’d often insist, swinging his rungu about with a false sense of authority. Today however, his mighty rungu was set across his laps and at his feet was an even mightier flask of what she guessed was tea.

A wide smile cut across his well padded face lifting his plump, shiny cheeks over a pair of deep-set eyes and was quickly succeeded by a gay rumble that rocked and floated aimlessly in the afternoon air as hands clapped and clasped mid-air, shaking in what was most definitely a routine handshake. When he laughed, Nyongesa sounded much like one with an endless ravine inside his rounded stomach lined with fatty tissue, tea and all of that office bavardage that Mutua was unfailingly feeding him. Mutua who laughed with his entire build, shaking like a withered twig.

Kaari wondered just what kind of magic was at play that the three-legged stool withstood all of Nyongesa’s 286lbs or so, daily, without any break, without a single squeak or complaint. Or accident. A smile surfaced to her face, a stifled laugh caught in her throat, her psyche tickled by the memory of him claiming to be the ‘tiniest’ member of his family.

As the two chit chatted the afternoon away, Nyongesa still wearing his heavy coat and worn scarf over his khaki uniform, occasionally adjusting his cap to wipe the sweat off his face as he took his tea, she pulled back and retrieved a small make up pouch and office keys from her bottom drawer, her mind set on securing the main door.


In the deserted lobby of Trustin Realtors, her shoes clicked and clacked against the grey laminate floor. Sell outs! She cursed, picking up on her tippy-toes. That morning when she’d picked out her outfit she hadn’t considered the implications, or even formulated her underway plan. Of course she cognized how at the moment, that was an insignificant piece of information that neither added nor reduced value to her scheme. All that had mattered that and every other morning was her comfort, especially as she chased after the six-forty-five bus considering punctuality was something she’d never mastered – the true definition of an African timer – and that they completed the casual Friday look she’d been aiming for.

It was important that she position herself where the light caught her perfectly as she reset her amber locs in the full bathroom mirror. She lightly powdered her shiny face, touching up her make up. When she was done, she pursed and smacked her full lips, pleased with the flawless application – it took a certain level of artistry to wear lipstick without messing it up.

‘Ma’Damn Kay,’ she hissed, impressed by the hot, freaky mess she’d created with a few quick touches.  Make-up equals magic; lipstick, the ultimate magic wand. 

Not that her bank account could support Fenty products or an expensive lifestyle or any of the lavish shit. No, far from it. It couldn’t even support her current lifestyle. It had taken three days, nearly six hundred likes, a couple of witty comments and a string of hashtags on Instagram to win her the five-step competition. Every bob she’d painfully spent on a data plan that cost four times her daily plan had paid off.

In that lipstick, she felt like a bag of money. I am the bag,  she affirmed. The velvety shade got her feeling lethal, and suddenly the urge inside grew stronger. Every bone inside her body rattled, her senses heightened, her flesh aching to dive in head first into something wildly dangerous, scandalous. Something messy,  yet beautiful.

Ignoring the pungent mixture of air freshener and bleach, she executed a simple ritual designed to summon her inner goddess – inhaling and exhaling, focusing on her core. Deep within her, a ripple caused and stirred amidst the sound of her halo buzzing off and her freak coming on. A salient shift of energy occurred, a gravitation from the nice, refined office girl to a wild, bitch boss, with wild, racing thoughts. The case of a good girl gone bad.

For the final touch she adjusted her black, with gold shimmer halter top, lifting and squeezing her breasts in their 38C cups to enhance her cleavage. She struck a perfect side-pose, her bum photogenic as ever, adding the snap to her Insta stories with a quick caption: That’s what the right lipstick does. It makes a woman all-powerful and unpredictable.

The Agenda

When no response followed, she let herself into the big, empty, executive office, pushing the door shut behind her with her self-sufficient bum, that could clap,  push doors and pay some of her bills.

Two strides in and her click-clack shoes sunk into the carpeted floor. On the  dark mahogany desk, parallel to the monitor and a color coded planner, was an empty white cup with a brown ring at the base, on a white saucer, a used tea bag and tea-spoon. Next to the cup, a vintage sugar dish and some evidence of Mama Winnie’s fresh kaimatis, which sold like hot cakes all the way to the seventh floor and the adjacent complex.

The plan was to wait.

She ran her finger tips along the smooth edge of the desk, slumping back on the black rolling chair, swiveling two-three times, the first time a bit too fast and unattractive. Her breasts bounced as she did so, causing her nipples to stiffen under the soft fabric of her flirty black bra. Her body did that at times, she thought, now spinning in slow motion, mimicking sultry actresses, spiralling seamlessly into the art of seduction. Her body attacked her with random sexual urges while doing odd things. She could be standing at the counter next to the old, impatient man in his late sixties – who parked his car on the street and was worried that city council officers would clamp him – waiting to pick her laundry and then bam! Hard nipples and tingly sensations all over as her mind raged, undressing the fine attendant – whom she’d often imagined had smooth, hairless balls, for some reason. Probably because of his perpetually beardless, spotless face,  bald head and a weird obsession with cleanliness.

The left-hand wall of the office was lined with an exquisite, classic bookcase that matched the desk, with spotless glass doors. Inside, an extravagant exhibition of models of houses, colourful brochures, books on property law, investment and related faculties and a Bible. On the right hand wall, stood an ancient,metallic file cabinet with huge, black ring binders resembling those found in hospitals and government institutions peeking out of the partly open compartments on the lower level.

On the far wall, near the entrance hang framed credentials, a round, loud company clock – the long arm stuck between 4 and 5 on the agency’s emblem – and a dusty portrait of the Head of State and Commander-in-Chief, more like Commander-of-Cheats.

While her fellow countrymen camped at polling stations in the name of patriotism and inclusivity, eager to vote in their person, she’d lost not a single wink. Her friends and family had thought her ignorant. Kwani, mnafunswa nini huko kwa univaasite? Mimi sijafika ata standa 4 rakini najua kukosa kupiga kura si usalendo, an aunt had rebuked her. They’d all trusted those smiling, watery, tomato eyes, ashen presidential lips and browning teeth – a side effect of kula pesa za umma.

September 6, 2018


‘So if you’re married, and happily so, why opt out of wearing your wedding band? What does your wife think about it?’

The serene environment at the restaurant which Dr. Oliver had picked particularly for the A1 privacy they provided, and excellent cuisine, was exactly what she needed after the long week she’d just had.

‘I don’t need a ring to prove my commitment. I love my wife, everything I do is for her. It’s no secret. I show her every day. Moreover, it’s between us two, til death.’

‘Any kids?’ She bit into a saucy piece of baked paprika potatoes.

‘Two girls, eight and five. One boy in his terrible twos.’ He deftly pulled out his phone from his inside pocket, wafting a warm masculine scent her way as he showed her his screen saver – simba showing off his pride. Lovely kids, but no sign of the wifey.

‘So what does she think you’re up to right now?’

‘She doesn’t ask, I don’t tell. No questions, no lies.’ He put it simply. He drank his beer, beholding her face as he swallowed slowly. As it went down his throat, his Adam’s apple twitched. Almost like he could taste her beauty. His small sharp eyes, even behind the thin frame on his intelligent face, glistened at her with a fierce intensity. She couldn’t figure out if he was trying to intimidate her or flirt with her. Whatever the case, she was the least intimidated by him, certainly.

‘Do you ever think she might be doing the same, with your brother, perhaps,  whom I bet is as handsome, filthy rich, with the advantage of youth and vitality?’  Her cynicism surfaced.

A definite ‘No,’ formed around his lips. ‘my Tessa would never dare.’

Smooth, soothing melodies played in the background, taking over the night and elevating the mood, elevating night and ultimately elevating them. A couple swayed their bodies on the dance floor, leaning close but not too close to each other, only enough to keep it fun and subtle, like lighting a match before sparking a flame. Another got cosy in the corner. A sexy waitress, with short strides and a bouncy ass now standing by the bar.

‘Why you’re here, is the million dollar question,’ he expressed his concern. Skepticism. He was right not to trust her. She was ripe venom packed in a ripe twenty-two year old body. ‘Surely Karen, there are men far much younger and handsome,’ he hesitated, ‘energetic and vigorous than I am. Take Nate, for example… Yet here I am, graced by your presence,’ he stopped abruptly, staring at her like she’d inspired a new thesis. ‘My God Karen, you are so beautiful!’ He was one of the few people whom she’d allowed to call her by her first name – mainly because his accent betrayed him at every attempt to pronounce Kaari. He’d used it twice in under sixty seconds and even the way he said it, rolling it out his smooth tongue, was courtly,  decorous. The way he wrapped his sonorous voice around her name like it was something shiny and precious,  like she was a gem.

Dr.  Oliver was a charismatic forty-three year old, with a freakingly sexy goatee and an enduring body which he adorned with expensive custom suits and glinting Rolexes. He was a total nerd, smelled insanely good, looked like a bag of oreos and when he addressed her, his gaze kept falling to her lips, dancing to the tune of her voice,  falling in love with her enigmatic laughter. Shyness was a quality that particularly made him all the more interesting. Her ego grew bigger every time men – older, mature guys especially – got intimidated and tongue-tied around her. With that mouth she could get her way around anything she wanted.


‘I want the same thing you do,’ she responded, serving him the same craftiness he’d employed against her.

‘Which is?’ He queried, his thick brow raised over his thin frame. Again, an open exhibition of suspicion.

‘Company. There are men far much younger than you are, that’s true. They’re all around. But they just want to fuck and have some silly fun. I am a woman who’s particularly picky with my men as I am with my lipstick.’ His eyes drifted to her lips for the umpteen time that evening. ‘I want more. To pick your mind…mind fuck, if I may,’ she reached out and touched his thigh. He was hot and tense. ‘We all get lonely. I bet even Nate gets lonely, but he’s my boss. It would be unethical and honestly, a distraction and a mistake that would derail my career. I am here because you fascinate me. You’re  really good for my brain,’ she half lied as she flashed him a sensual smile. ‘I’d rather be nowhere else but here. With you, Oliver.’

‘Mmmh, I see,’ came a terse response. ‘So you don’t want my money?’

She laughed. ‘If all I wanted was your money,  I’d be minting it off you. To be clear. I  always get what I want, when I want it.’  Her eyes burnt with cockiness,  a sly edge playing on her smiling lips. Her pink tongue played with the tip of the straw. ‘So you don’t want to just have sex with your student?’

‘It’s not all I want,’ he replied candidly. ‘I’d be crazy to not want to fuck you Karen.  I can assure you every man in here has stolen a quick glance over here,  eyes glazing over your magnificence, wishing they were me. But I’m also a patient man. I am not in a rush.  I’d love to keep it slow and steady, especially if we’re going to make something serious out of us.’

And just like that, she had him wrapped around her little finger and he was soon talking about a chauffeur and an apartment, fully furnished with a year’s rent on the posh side of town, near her office for both their convenience. He didn’t want her chasing after buses or engaged with lewd makangas. Access was his main motivation – getting her a house so he could live in her.

She sipped her cocktail, her long, thick fake lashes cast an alluring shadow over her lovely face. He has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, Kaari thought,  flashing him another one of her I-want-to-fuck-you smiles. I have to act fast before doubt comes knocking at his door.

When she’d called, he’d been with his wife. He’d muttered a quick, ‘I will call you back please.’ Two weeks after he’d returned her call, he’d agreed to mentor her college project, followed by three intense weeks of unadulterated enlightenment. That was a year ago. He’d bedazzled her with his eloquence, his accuracy and his vast knowledge in different fields. Following his deep voice, they’d often reeled into endless conversations with free-flowing laughter that they always lost track of time. Their connection had been instant. Genuine.  His impact, unforgettable. He’d always leave her feeling hungry for more, eager, curious, challenged and aroused. She’d also introduced him to pot and when it was time to part ways he’d held her hand, briefly. He’d wanted to say something.  Instead he’d kissed her cold fingers and squeezed her in a long hug. So long that she’d still smelled like him hours later.

During their brief encounter, she’d  connected with him intellectually, watching him first hand as his pupil. Every time he’d slipped his fingers betwix the pages of her weekly notes, her heart had fluttered. As he ran a finger over her writing, biting his lip as he got lost between the lines, goosebumps had marched on her skin…

The Challenge

He’d reached out when he heard she was back in town, with Trustin Realtors.

Tonight,  a pulse thrummed between her legs, with his money on her mind. Dr. Oliver stimulated her in ways that transcended the physical. She was wet for his brilliance, with a huge, hard, hard,  hard crush on his mind.

She’d tried to conjure what kind of lover he’d make. Their kiss six weeks later confirmed he’d make a lousy one, and that he most definitely didn’t (know how to) eat pussy. Or do any of the freaky shit Nate was riding her into.

Nate had finger fucked her in continued. she thought, crossing her legs as she laughed Dr. Oliver deeper in love with her. He had also eaten her out in the wild. Teased her to an orgasm in the middle of traffic. Sent her perfect shots of his magnificent dick and tight balls during the board meeting, all while he demonstrated a slide show of the new project, then fucked her on that same table afterwards – the mating after the meeting. They’d fucked so hard that he gave her the rest of the day off to cool from the multiple orgasms.

She still wanted Oliver’s genius babies in her womb, as she had back when they met. But now she wanted his money more.

And she certainly wasn’t trying to fuck.

His skeptic nature had made him merely a challenge. He’d offered himself a quest and she was never one to shy away…

* * * * * To be continued

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