I recently kissed a notable local female celebrity. Not that I kiss and tell, it is immature, impish, petulant, childish, stupid, silly but for the sake of this prose, I will narrate. For starters it was not the most electrifying or arousing kiss I have had in the longest time. I am not the best kisser in town but it helps for bragging sake when I am out with the boys and her voice comes through the radio. More like a watchman making out with a minister’s daughter, or worse the wife. These are some of the things that make us equal other than beer. Let us talk about house parties.
I loathe house parties. Very few house parties I have attended where alcohol supply was enough. Guys of my age invariably turn up with hard liquor that I no longer drink. Spirits have a way of unleashing the beast in me. After many years of soul searching in search for a brand, I have settled for good old Tusker. I tried Guinness but that stuff can fuel a vitz. I still drink it when I am broke, though. I have tried Pilsner but never quite liked the taste. I had a brief affair with Tusker Malt but it didn’t last for long.
I then tried Heineken but my buddy Paulo told me that I lack the software to decode the crispness advertised…I skipped. Either way it was expensive. So I went back and apologized to good old Tusker and we have had a formidable relationship. If I have to cheat on Tusker, a bottle of Gilbeys’ and some Lime Juice have proved worthwhile companions in doors. I digress.
I loathe house parties. Almost always, the loo will be messed up after a while and I normally have a sacred relationship with washrooms. I can’t stand a dirty Johnies. Water has a way of running out or proving insufficient given the number of guests and the gatecrashers. I hate house parties because individuals get drunk faster on the alcohol mostly they have not contributed. At worst I look at house parties as inevitable extortion form our hedonistic friends. Someone thinks of some fancy idea (a birthday, housewarming or anything); calls on friends to arrive with a Mzinga and the rest as they say will be on the house.
If a man, he will promise that there will be ladies in full supply and our randy selves will always show up, only to find average chicks with attitudes(how I hate them), beautiful ones but taken and pretty ones who seem to be supplying kisses to just about everyone willing. I recall one house party where one chick kissed three different guys , caressed by the fourth, and still stumbled upon her with yet another of my friends in the bathroom fondling and almost on their way there…The boyfriend collected her two hours later to take her out. She was not very drunk.
House parties. They are so common everywhere I am looking. Two months after finishing campus, my nigger Bon-I has held no less than six of them. I am yet to warm my crib, but it is gonna happen inevitably soon enough. I have attended at least ten such but the result has always been the same. So much for middle-class wannabeism. House parties. While I hate them, my company lauds them so much that every weekend, there is always an invitation to one.
A few days ago I stumbled upon my old high school buddie Michael. We have always called him Michael, never Mike. My classmate in high school is the quiet type of person but can get loquacious when talking about something he is familiar with; IT stuff, soccer and general world affairs. Mike has been dating a really beautiful woman in the mould of Genevive Nnaji-whatever her name is- the hot Nollywood actress. I have silently admired the chick and it looks ominously they are marrying.
Michael is doing well. He used to be that quiet dude in class who commands respect. Not that he was brilliant but he did conduct himself professionally. Although short, there is a silent pedigree about him that makes him command some following and respect.
So I am outside Nation Centre and when Michael and his girlfriend, Michele see me and they both wear the broadest and loudest smiles, quite exaggerated and they moves towards me. We did the men shoulder to shoulder thing before his chick who is suitably tall gave me the hug of the year. I feigned some talk to elongate the hug but neither she nor Michael know of my little dirty intentions of milking that hug for all its worth. We strike some brief conversation on ‘how’s the going?’, ‘how have you been?’, ‘when is the wedding’ (from me) and then the ever embarrassing ‘where is your mama Sila?’ from Michele that puts an end to that conversation.
By the way when a chick calls me Sila with a mellifluous voice it lifts my soul. But it seems no sooner someone meets me than they pick their own rendition of the name…Sila, Silas, Silasiae, Cyrus(common with Kyuk chicks) et al.
Michele probes me further, “You still hating on women?”
“I have never hated on women at any given time,” I quip.
“But it is all over your Facebook updates, Twitter and your indecent blog…”She was telling me in every bit sarcastic, but Mike came to my defense…
“Silas is no chauvinist, just tells it like it is and you chicks just take offense…”offered Mike.
“He is. He even admits it himself…”Michele stretched the argument. Telepathically, we discovered that she is a woman and only she can win the argument, we dropped the matter altogether and she was quite dissatisfied. There was something she was dying to accuse me off, but I got away with it.
“So what are you up for the weekend?” asked Mike concernedly.
“Nothing much… Just my beer, glad the EPL is back though Arsenal looks shaky…( Michele laughed…imagine young as she is, she has already committed the fatal and lethal blunder of supporting Manchester United. Many women have made that decidedly blonde move to support Manchester).”
“Right, on Saturday, it is Michele’s 23rd birthday; wouldn’t you just come over to my place for the party? It is gonna be big…”
Ordinarily, I couldn’t have turned up. Mike is a silently competitive chap. He competes with me and measures his strides with mine. Something I silently loathe just like the house parties. While on the surface it was an invitation, I silently read that he wanted to flaunt to me that he stays in a poshier place, has a better job, drives (whether it is a family car) and worst of all in a stable relationship.
I am not insecure at all. I have always been comfortable with myself and my pace. Men are egoistical. If I turned down the offer, I was going to hurt him big time. We all need friends from various places to validate ourselves. To measure ourselves…And don’t we always feel good when they start asking about where we got that aquarium?
So I begrudgingly accepted since he’d even agreed to pick me from my place and without failure he did turn up with two very beautiful ladies who found their nails and hairstyles more interesting than my presence. As we drove back, even with the colourful introductions the chicks had the nerve to forget my name. Anyway we got on well with Mike talking about stuff and the occupational hazards of our jobs (him selling IT stuff and me tarmacking).
We got to his diggs in Kileleshwa and boy! Does Mike lead a tasteful life?
He lives in a two bedroom apartment, tastefully furnished and comfortably housed the 20 or so guests. We arrived and the birthday girl was behaving in every way like a bride. She was jumpy and visibly excited and you could see why. There was food and there were drinks and everything going as planned. And the attendees, save for me, didn’t look in any way freeloaders or gatecrashers. The ladies were fashionable in the skimpy dresses and the perfumes they had on were not from Eastleigh. The men donned leather jacket and seems reasonably older, in their late 20s and I sensed they were eying the lasses. The number of nice rides in the parking explained as much that some high profile affair was in the air in the reasonably quiet evening.
I was doubly nervous. This is not my type of shindig. The guys who come to such places are normally the snobbish types. Guys who think that they own and run Nairobi. Young misguided men with small-time salaries full of themselves. They own sophisticated electronics and constantly fiddling them. No one talks to the other. Guys group themselves into small groupings and have some useless banter. Chicks huddle together comparing their nail colours, weaves and hairstyles and recapping on the various parties they have attended in the recent past. So someone like yours truly has no place to fit.
We entered and Mike offered me some a Tusker can and I asked for a packet of cigarettes. I walked into the balcony and stumbled upon some dude making out with a woman I suspected to be very beautiful but never could see her because of the poor lighting. I walked to the far end and lit one cigarette as I begun to chain smoke to boredom, playing aloof.
The party was getting on well and it was getting noisy with the ladies ever pretentious of enjoying the carefully selected music…No sawasawales, jangu by obsession and such. It was house, trance and good choice of danceable rock. I traveled out of that place emotionally and mentally, minding my own business. I found company in my Tusker can and cigarettes.
I went to the house to get myself another can of Tusker but Mike was not in sight at all. Jeremy’s birthday sex was playing and even though I am quite slow I put one and one together and figured it out. The men were all over the women and there was no lone ranger in sight. The seats, the floor had all been converted into making out zone and the ladies seemed the type trained to moan, rightly. It was getting dirtier even though earlier on I had presumed these lads and lasses seemed decent enough.
I was left wondering what has become of this city. I know it happens morning, noon and night but come on, ladies have not become this loose…or have they?
Cougars and stolen kisses
I have been to a number of parties and what I have consistently observed is that anything goes. You can make out with just about any chick in the house and whoever who plays hard to get, make her feel guilty or jealousy by just doing that with the next willing woman. These house parties are just facades and excuses to get drunk, smashed, make out and have sex for those quick and who know how to grab opportunities right. There is a willing chick or chicks, whether hitched or not, if you push the right buttons they always play by your way.
If you stumble upon women in their 30s in stable employment enjoying the liquor in such parties, they are the most vulnerable. They drive cars at such points of the night and can readily give it to you on spot. They are always looking for young blood to reinvigorate themselves. These are the women you kiss and they melt down. Trust you me. They so much want sexual fulfillment having achieved the basics. I have a list of friends who have taken up such kinds of jobs.
They kiss them in the privacy of their cars and just about everywhere including clubs. There were days when a kiss was something you sought after for the longest times. Nowadays, even a stranger can kiss you. And a notable female celeb if you are lucky…How it became so easy still escapes me…but it seems everyone in this mad city is loosening up…for worse.
As for Mike, I did enjoy the cans of beers, no end and the cigarettes provided some really good company while you guys made mad mad fun in every sense of that word…and you inspired this week’s long post…
Happy 23rd birthday to Michele. Hope you had fun too baby…not every day a girl turns 23…
Best of Luck….