The right wingman- Part 2

Asenath was sitting on my laps, sweating slightly, and breathing with difficulty having recently returned from the dance floor. The club is so packed you can’t even sneak in a fart. She was tipsy and I was sobering up to the fact that we had to do something expediently. We were running out of time. And out of money to keep up with their taste in pricey alcohol.

She was so peaceful but wore this distant look on her face. I wondered what was going on her mind. Had she made up her mind that we were going to bed? What was this that kept bothering her? What do women think moments before they are about to be chips-funguad. Paul and Veronica were still on the dance floor, dancing tiredly, and singing to some lines and making those silly faces that guys who have telepathically decided that they were going to sleep together make.

Asenath on the other hand had this troubled look. That look you dare not ask her what was the problem. I was still awed by her beauty. Now her breasts came up and down in erotic fashion, erect and pointing away from me. Her thighs were so soft and tender on me, I could carry her for the rest of my life.

It was nearing 4 a.m. That time in the club that if you are slightly sober you start examining the futility of human existence. Why can’t guys just go home and sleep? And why are women so happy in this cold night. Also, it is the time that guys start doing funny stuff in the corners of the club and kissing and the liberal use of fingers is acceptable. Waiters just look away in disgust, wondering why adults have to behave like animals.

Asenath had taken wine, so kissing her was out of question. Ever kissed a woman who has taken wine and you were taking a gross beer such as Guinness in the wee hours of the morning? Even Beyoncé’s kiss after a glass of wine will be gross. Especially, if you had fish for dinner and you have mixed all types of alcohol in the course of the night.

Paul wrote me a text on if we had decided what we wanted to do with our lives. He was getting impatient by my lack of initiative. I can be slow, but very calculating. I had let the question of what was next burn in Asenath’s head. Besides, ladies in Nairobi nowadays have no qualms on being sexed on the first encounter. I texted Paul back that we should be heading to his place. I then told Asenath that time had come for us to go home. She looked genuinely startled. Paul apparently told Veronica that we had reached an agreement and she was all too willing. The two girls went to the washroom to consult with each other and hopefully with their conscience.

“Umeingiza huyu manzi box?” Paul asked in his authoritative bass.

“Easy does it. We good to go.” I said confidently. Saying it in any other way would have earned me ridicule.

“But, I haven’t seen you guys talk?” Paul asked, skeptically.

“Usijali,” I told him dismissively as the ladies emerged from the loos.

Paul quickly whispered, if we are going to my place-his one bedroom house-I will sleep in the sitting room with Vero and you take the bedroom.” We had to be decisive. See how Paul was willing to risk good sleep for his boy. Three more beers for him I made a mental promise.

We left the club and walked to where the taxis were parked. The girls had no objection absolutely and we were about to take them to Ngong. When did girls become this careless? What if we were serial killers? When drunk I look like an escaped convict. My deep eye socket and beard always scare kids. And should scare women as well. Or maybe they had spiked our drinks; it was just a matter of time, before we wake up in Kinoo, with nothing but boxers on.

Paul sat in the front. I sat with the girls. Veronica sat on the left seat, myself on the right and my queen in the middle. As soon as the vehicle ran up Kenyatta Avenue, Asenath slept in my laps with such a familiarity, I was flattered. If she was innocent or tired, I read it as something else. We did some small talk but Paul, who is a heavy sleeper, relapsed into sleep and I was left catching up with Vero.
We get to Ngong, I wake up Paul. We pull up at his apartment. We walk into his well-furnished house and the ladies are instantly impressed. Especially Vero, who instantly gets comfortable in the monster sofa that Paul has never explained why anyone would need such a big sofa. But tonight, the answer had come. The two would actually suit there and even make babies on top of it. Paul went to the bedroom, did a couple of things before texting me where to pick a clean T-shirt or two for us and few other things we might need for the night.

I beckoned Asenath we go, and she rose up with some level of hesitancy. We went into bedroom, she shutting the door behind. I sat on the bed, undressed, and was left with just my boxers. I picked a T-shirt and put it on. She stood there, battling several things in her mind. She asked for a T-shirt as well. I gave her one, written YWCA and belonged to some State University in America. I noted the irony.

She placed her handbag on the bed and went to the loo. Came back and sat on the bed. I was already inside the duvet. I could note she was shy. Or feigning to be shy. I had not said any word. It is a game I do all the time to people. You suddenly withdraw and keep quiet. People panic and take off. Only that we were in Ngong and there was nowhere, she was going. She unzipped the floral dress that tightly caressed her body. She stood to get it off. She undressed, letting the dress drop to the ground. She had a cream, loose bra. Her breasts, although tight and sensuous were giving slightly to gravity but still very much intact. She was wearing cream panties. Flat tummy. Smooth body all the way. She put on the T-shirt. And asked for shorts to sleep in.

“Why?” I asked, almost rudely.

“OK. never mind.” She said as she climbed onto the bed.


I woke up at 11 a.m. I reached for my phone to see if it was there. It was there. I then checked to see if she was there. She was there. Relieved, I watched her as she slept and opened her eyes on sensing that I was watching her.

“Do you have a Samsung charger?” she asked, in a slight husky voice, obviously from the hard and cold liquor.

“Samsung is a universal phone in Kenya. It is like Nokia in the 2000s, every household must have a charger. I said, in my first attempt at humour in the morning. She did not laugh. Or it was not funny. Or she had a higher sense of humour. But she looked even more awesome with the natural light.

I went to the sitting room to get her the charger. But her friend was already charging with it. In the meantime, Veronica was in the kitchen, making eggs, bread, fruits, tea and everything that would translate to an American breakfast or a brunch by Kenyan standards. I watched her preparing the omelet with such a panache that makes one a good wife. She must be Luhyia, going by her culinary ability. Paul sat his ass in the sitting room, newspaper in hand, and remote on the other watching the previous day’s highlight on SuperSports. Of course you all know the first question he was going to ask me.

He raised his thump to ask me if I had succeeded. I nodded. In the mean time I was looking for clues if he had got it on with Veronica. He was unusually calm for a Sunday morning. In the kitchen, I had observed that Veronica, in spite her somehow average face; she had a great body, almost comparable to Asenath. Asenath, like the light-skin, beautiful lady she was, was still in bed.

Breakfast was served. Paul like all bachelors does not have a table, so it was served on the carpet. And we all sat on the carpet. Four adults having breakfast on a Sunday morning after a night out that culminated in strangers in sharing a bed. It was Veronica who suggested that Paul go and get them a movie. I saw Paul frowning. Such a familiarity can be scary. Veronica was so much at home, you will think she was hosting us. After breakfast, she actually cleared the table, eh sorry the carpet as Asenath, unplugged Vero’s phone and put hers to charge. She was rather tired, and casually detached.

Paul brought the movies, he had been sent. And suddenly, the two women were engrossed, as we were left with Paul not knowing what to do. We excused ourselves and went out to the balcony to compare notes and discuss stuff, mainly Fidel Odinga’s funeral.

Lunch came, and Veronica again offered to prepare some fried rice and sent for liver and some tomatoes and accoutrements for Kachumbari. She was determined to leave Paul broke in the January brokenness. By 4, it was ready. As we ate, we were all worried when were the ladies going to leave. By 4.59 p.m they were still watching. We needed a strategy. Paul worked one.

Paul picked a call, feigned a conversation like he was talking to a woman, who was on her way, probably his girlfriend. As if on cue, the ladies said that they will shower and we take them to the stage. By 6.07 pm, we were at the bus stage and were boarding an M.O.A, headed to town and to Donholm afterwards.


I still owe Paul’s his three beers. Paul is having some sort of arrangement with Veronica and twice they have been thrown into panic when the question ‘where did the two of you meet?’ has popped up. I have seen them grimace looking for a more believable and credible tale. I haven’t seen Asenath since. We have only spoken once. But she seems not to be the clinging type. Wonder what she does with her life. How many men’s houses she has been to ever since. Or where she will be this Valentine. Hope she does not call.


14 thoughts on “The right wingman- Part 2

  1. In love with this story,just like my best books of John Kiriamiti which i can read over and over. same to this i have read this thrice i.e part 1&2

  2. I was sent here by one of your former classmates at UON….very well written, I loved this particular piece….and Asenath….exemplifies the good girl from Ocha who is thrust smack in the middle of nairobi madness.

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