Holiday chronicles #1

Don Benzo

She pressed a blue button immediately below the steering wheel and the gate obsequiously rolled to the side and paved way for the Pajero to pass. She lived 45 minutes from Eldoret town. Calling it an estate will be apt but not quite. It is more like a village seasoned with modernity. The houses were far apart. When I say far I mean far like 4 kilometers apart far. I think every homestead owned a minimum of like 20 to 30 acres of land. As the gate rolled over, I could see the gate man peep through the window and back to his business. No salutes, no pleasantries, nothing. Three other cars were parked outside the mansion. We got off the car, she picked something from her handbag and threw it at the back of the car then locked it. All the while, I was standing their amazed by how beautiful the compound was. The bushes in front of the house were neatly trimmed to the shape of a heart. The grass was green and flowed to the world yonder effortlessly. The facade of the house was decorated with shiny marbles that trickled down to the porch with such grace it broke you’re your heart. I followed her into the house. It was unlocked so we just entered. Her living room was beautiful, with leather sofas, an oval shaped glass table with books under it mostly Shakespeare’s.

“Make yourself at home, let me go change into something casual” she said. “You can help yourself with anything in the fridge’.

Her voice seemed to have changed since we last spoke. Which was 45min ago when she asked me if I had waited for long. We drove in an ominous silence for the whole 45 minutes. No small talk or chit chat of any kind. A few minutes later she came down the stairs wearing a white t-shirt and a blue silk short. She had washed off all the make up on her face and unhooked her hair. I caught myself staring just in time to save myself from drooling. I was seating on an accent chair. She came straight to where I was, bent down and whispered to my ear, “not even thirsty?” I felt the whisper in my pants.

“I’m famished, I’ll go make us something to eat” she said. “Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen” she added sashaying off to the kitchen without waiting for my response. Everything about this woman was mysterious. Which kinda gave me the creeps. I had not seen anybody in the compound apart from the watchman with some serious work ethics. The place didn’t clean itself. The bushes didn’t trim themselves. And from how she looked, she did not seem like a person who will pick up the sheers and start trimming her own front yard. So after a few minutes in the kitchen I decided to break the ice.

“Your place is quite neat, do you do all this all by yourself” I asked.

“No, I have help” she answered.

“Where are they?” I inquired.

“Gave them the day off, don’t want any witnesses when I chop you into pieces and cook you for dinner” she said, stone faced while spinning the knife holders.

I stared at her mouth open. I’m sure I wanted to say something but words didn’t come out. If I were to guess what I wanted to say it was probably some weak plea for my life. You know, plead with her humanity by telling her how my siblings depended on me. But I just stood there, unable to do anything. Suddenly I heard a burst of laughter. She was laughing so hysterically her eyes watered.

“Relax” she said, “they all leave at 4 p.m.”

I love a dark sense of humor but this is the first time I have been a victim to one. I have to say this. I didn’t like it one bit. Was it not that my bladder was strong and the timely laugh this could have been a story of how a grown ass man pissed himself. She started beating the eggs.

“How do you like your eggs” she asked.

“Unbeaten and in my pants” I answered tongue in cheek. She chuckled.

“Is it hot in here or what?” she asked after a few minutes of awkward silence. Looking at me, she took off her t-shirt and remained in her bra. (The story is going to get a little risqué from here on, so all those prudes you can call it a day). She moved close to me and kissed me. I didn’t balk. I have to say, for a woman her age, she had a flat tummy, perky tits and her kissing game was on fire. Oh!! Did I forget to tell you that her name is Beryl, 36 years old and I’m not yet sure about this but I think I just got myself a sponsor or is it “sponsor-ress”

The rest of what happened and how we met to be continued next time.

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