Saturday night, at 2 am in the night, i was having a small rendezvous with the wolves somewhere inside Ngong forest. There were three of them, huge and majestic, one of whom wasn’t all too happy to have a homo sapien interrupt their midnight orgies. This particular wolf, white in hue, of strong build and with huge fangs that could intimidate a polar bear, dismounted his bitch and glared at me. Not to be cowed, i disembarked my car, folded my sleeves and with absolute cool walked over to challenge this alpha. The night turned silent as we sized each other as the other wolves moved inches behind to watch what potentially seemed like the match of the century. Human versus beast, warrior versus creature, mortal versus demon; a battle of such likely viciousness as to spread an eerie silence over the whole forest. Just as the suspense reached peak almost to orgasmic proportions, i unzipped my trouser and pissed on the damn beast. I don’t know whether its the surprise of my act or the size of the weapon but the wolves stood down and paid homage to their master. Needless to say i peed in new found security with the protection of sharply fanged bodyguards and after a pat on their backs proceeded with my journey.
Most people are curious, at this juncture, of how I ended up peeing deep in the jungle in the wee hours of the morning. It all began on Saturday morning when I attended the wedding of my Mum’s youngest sister. The wedding was being officiated in an Anglican church at the outskirts of Rwaka with the luncheon being held in Parklands. I found the church ceremony too long and boring and the only other aspect more odious that the ceremony was the ugly wedding gown so proudly adorned by the bride. Even lacking the affinity for flare and hyperbole of one particular Mwende, I have to point out that the dress looked like the work of a cunning river road bloke who used pins to stick different white table clothes together and without wincing declare it a bridal dress. But the highlight of the wedding was the food and I stuffed myself until my very trim tummy threatened to fool my buttons and escape to the dismay of bewildered public. It was only fair that after that kind of gluttonous indulgence, one should seek liquor to complement the witnessing of such sad day events. Luckily for me, my friends kept letting me know, grudgingly from my side, that they were in Rongai and the place had more alcohol than the stores of Kenya breweries.
After dropping my granny and dad home, I sped off to town and headed to the sprawling town that is Rongai with the single intent of getting super intoxicated and having a carefree blast. Needless to point out that the place, once I was able to trace the house, was literally on fire and the hype and drunk energy in that house was electrifying. After tentatively saying hi to most patrons, I was welcomed with a fat glass (fat because it contained humongous quantities of scotch whiskey) which I proceeded to gulp down without much ado or ceremony. I don’t quite know who the host was but I do remember the host’s girl, fine lass she was. The said lady was parched on top of the sofa, white printed dress which hugged her voluptuous figure like the embrace of two re united lovers and sparked lust in the groins of many lads. ooh how she moved, her big hips swaying to the rhythm of the night, her ass enslaved by the beautiful beats, her body a beautiful silhouette in the midst of unruly humanity. Her facial expression as she danced was orgasmic, her lips parted in uncontrolled bliss; her eyes shining in drunken wonder.In that kind of a surreal moment, one gets transported, aided by the alcohol, to another place where such divinity can be possessed by a mere mortal and celebration of such perfection would yield untold pleasures.
PS; The story continues tomorrow.