Short Stories

When she met him.

 

She hugged her feet closer feeling her bum go numb from all the sitting. He was talking about something, something she was supposed to be listening to. It could have been him bragging about how good he was, even though she knew she had felt nothing. Or it could have been his big ideas, which she greatly supported though she never heard him include her in his future.

She definitely wasn’t listening.

She didn’t even know why she was still here.

But he spoke anyway.

A misery she had to bear just as she did in bed. One he would never notice until he met his next muse who wouldn’t be as timid as she was in being blunt about his ‘shortcomings’. It was quite unfortunate he had tools he knew not how to use.

She let her mind wonder at the marvel of golden hour, he would probably rumble for another hour before freeing her, so why not create some joy of her own?

***

When she met him he was everything a millennial wanted and needed. One who had women fall at his feet with nothing more than the raving of is car engine.

She didn’t need to try and get him. There were way better suitors in the village. Women who had faces the Lord curved on a Sunday afternoon when His angels were singing glorious hymns, their behinds shaped from childbirth giving nothing but a magnificent posterior and their tummies existed only in the afterlife.

She couldn’t measure up. She never even tried. With her father in the council of elders and her mother a respected woman in the chama she had no business seeing men. Her business was in between the pages of voluminous books. Doing everything she could to leave the dead village and move to the city if only to get some life in her.

She was always indoors travelling the world in books and movies. She loved stories and had begged her parents to install WiFi to make her life more bearable. Her grades this past year did her a decent amount of bargaining. Not forgetting the pride her father would have owning a car and a wireless connection so rare on this side of the country. She may have fed him the idea.

He had parked his old Toyota next to the mini mart chatting up a few ladies who wouldn’t stop giggling at his jokes. She was on the 5th item of her to-do-list and was running behind schedule. There was; overseeing the cows vaccination, paying the groundsmen, checking the food levels in the stores and the dreaded chief visit that needed to be done before 4:00 pm when the new episode of her favorite series aired.

Earphones plugged on and a book stashed under her arm she hurriedly walked past him after shopping heading for the local veterinary office. Only to feel half a dozen women sneer at her for God knows what. Weren’t they more beautiful compared to her? She had matutas pinned on her head, with hair kinky enough to scrub her mother’s chungu. Her breasts were nothing more than apple sized and her behind was alright, but in the village standards nothing to speak of. Her tummy had a bit of flab probably an inch from flat but no man would have anything less of perfection. So why were these women sneering at her anyway?

“Excuse me miss, you dropped your money.” Came the voice that could only be the most melodious one she’d ever  heard. An African Bruce Willis, a tad bit firmer than Trevor Noah.

It would be fantastic if time could stop for her to savour the moment but her brain cells needed to act fast.

“Pardon me, but my change adds up,” she said fidgeting with her wallet. “You must be mistaken,” she said looking up to meet the brownest eyes, the kind Beyonce sang about.

For a split second she felt her ovaries flip in her womb as if wanting his seed, his smile didn’t help and her fingers began to tremble. He was no stranger but never had she been this close to a man, to any man actually. She finally understood why women did the darnedest things in romantic novels when they met beautiful creatures. How hypnotized they were. She always judged them but it was happening to her.

‘Come on, think!’ She rattled to herself.

“Is something wrong,” he asked after a lifetime of awkward silence. It seemed like a normal day at the shopping center but the longer she stood there the more rumors would spread by nightfall that she talked to a boy. She, the first daughter of the most respected couple in the village talked to a man who flirted with everything that had a posterior? It would take weeks for this village to distill this information.

“Everything is fine,” she blurted leaving his presence hurriedly crossing the road. Her feet were wobbly and she felt dizzy.  

‘What the hell was that!’

She finished up her errands in half the time. Even the chief’s visit to discuss the minutes of the council meeting was not as treacherous as it usually was. Whenever he spoke she heard his voice instead, asking if everything was alright. His masculine African voice from a masculine voice box in a perfect tribal accent. He sounded educated, or it was just her wanting him to sound educated. His voice was tough and still felt velvet. She needed to look up to see his brown eyes, meaning he was slightly shy of  6 feet.

His arms strained in his blazer and his shoes shone a tad bit brighter than her father’s, which was nothing short of phenomenal. His manhood was endearing fighting to stay still in his crotch and the thought of it made her squirm. His lips glistened as if he religiously applied arimis, something only the ladies did.

***

“Do you think your father will help me?”

The only line that would bring her back to reality.

“Will you talk to him?” He asked sweetly.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said helplessly dreading the thought that her father would even engage in a conversation with her about a man, other than his son.

“I need to go, I’ll text you later.”

“Don’t you need me to drop you?”

“Are you trying to get on my father’s bad side?”

“Well I am screwing his daughter that ought to cheer him up!”

There was the bastard she couldn’t stand. But she always went back, every darn time!

 

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