Broken Birds

Suzy knew that the woman down the street got abused. Hell, it was becoming difficult to ignore the fact. She didn’t know how much more makeup the poor woman could put on to disguise the bruises and what more lies she’d come up with in explanation. She would not have been involved had Andrea been a snotty stuck-up wrench like the other women in the neighborhood who thought and made it very clear that she did not belong there. No, Andrea was a genuinely sweet woman whose only mistake had been settling for an insecure narcissistic dipshit. Suzy had grown around the worst of manipulative narcissists and could see through any pretense; which was why she never bought the happily-in-love soon-to-be-married couple that Andrea and her fiancé fronted to the world.

Suzy had tried to stay away and not get involved but she couldn’t anymore. The dipshit had ramped up the wedding date and Andrea seemed like a walking zombie day by day. The poor woman was probably realizing that this was forever and that there was no way out. That, plus the fact that Andrea had approached her, told her her woes, and asked Suzy to help. Apparently, Andrea had wanted out a long time ago but Matt had not only beaten her up but had also told her that the day she ran away, he would look for her and kill her. The diphead was rich and well connected so it would not be surprising if he actually got away with the heinous act.

Andrea would never be free from Matt and even if she ran away, she’d always have to look over her shoulder in fear that he’d find her and keep his promise. Reporting him to the authorities would be futile too because the sucker would probably be out before Andrea got home from the station. Suzy knew what had to be done only that it was not easy. Plus, she could only go ahead with it if Andrea agreed to it. She had called Andrea over, talked to her about her plan, and was pleasantly surprised when she accepted it without batting her eyelids. The poor lass was probably tired and wanted out of it all. Well, it was time to stalk her prey and learn his entire routine. What a treat!

Suzy sat by her window sill, staring outside, cigar in hand and deep in thought. It had been more than five years since the incident but the memories still seemed like it was yesterday. She could remember Andrea’s response that day, “Suzy, it’s either he kills me or he dies. Either way, I’m not dying in his pathetic hands. I want out and I want out alive, dammit!” Andrea had been so brave, Suzy remembered. As for Matt, a thorough stalk revealed that his vice was dingy brothels where he could be sadistic without reproach. The girls there all but whimpered by the crunch of his boots as he walked by. He would wield whips, paddles, belts, canes, and the likes to the unlucky girl of the day. The girls could not do anything or they would get kicked out of the establishment if you could call the dingy hole that. On days that Matt would visit the establishment, he would also decorate his shirts with brooches customized with the tiniest of drawings of the respective ‘weapon’ he’d be using that day. The bastard probably spent the entire day looking down at his pin and fantasizing about what he would do in the evening to the girls. Talk about a warped sense of foreplay!

Suzy hoped Andrea was doing well wherever she was. That she had gotten help and was thriving emotionally too. Getting Matt out of the way was not as difficult as she had first thought. He was so predictable, that Suzy could have predicted his entire day with no effort whatsoever. He usually had a couple of whiskey shots before requesting for his victim of the day at the brothel. He tended to be heavy-handed and out of it on Wednesdays and Fridays. Mostly because of work but the added pressure of the upcoming wedding made him grumpy on Fridays. After all that data collection, Suzy knew that Matt had to go. He was unfit for human ‘consumption’ so to speak. Natural, or rather, man-made selection needed to occur.

An important detail that Suzy had uncovered in her reconnaissance was that Matt had a congenital heart defect. He had developed cardiomyopathy as a child and had been managing it since then. Well, if you could call the piss poor job he did as management. You’d think someone with such a life-threatening condition would make concessions in his lifestyle, but no! Not Matt, he lived life large. His diet and exercise regimen were not as recommended by his doctor and let’s not talk about his stress management techniques. I don’t think ‘cardio’ in the form of whipping excursions was what the good ol’ doctor had in mind when he told him to keep fit but in moderation.

The first thing Suzy did was use her connections to get a supply of adrenaline. She then asked Andrea to administer a dose of the drug every other day. Of course, Suzy had her bases covered and had documentation of a consenting Andrea in case she had a change of heart. After a substantial amount of time of the dosage administration, Suzy had waited for Matt at the brothel one evening and as usual, he walked in at 7pm and ordered his usual whiskey shots. Suzy had strutted towards the lounge at the bar where Matt had sat down with drinks in her hand. He never spared a second glance at her as he downed his drinks, why would he when she was a mere server who was beneath him. Suzy had to stop herself from smirking at him when he finished a double dose of epinephrine, got up, and went to his reserved room for his usual shenanigans.

After a while, he had come out and left for his car. He did not look great, seemed to be clutching his heart and was having difficulty breathing. Suzy knew his pride would not let him call for his doctor at such a sleazy place and that he would want to drive home first. She had followed him to his car and as he drove off, stalked him at a distance with her own car. Matt’s car had swerved dangerously on the highway and eventually hit an oncoming truck. Suzy stayed back as the other pedestrians called for medical help and even watched as the medical team confirmed that he had died on impact. His family had not wanted his death probed into as his GPS recorded his various brothel visits and did not want that information getting out. They had issued a statement that he had died of a heart attack on his way home from working late. The 1% and their cutthroat prioritization system were what Suzy had counted on to avoid rousing any suspicion about Matt’s death. They had then cut off Andrea with a fat bank cheque and a signed NDA never to disclose about his abuse or his nightly rendezvous.

Present-day Suzy downed her shot of gin as the doorbell to her house rang. She calmly walked to the door and was shocked to see Tina, her neighbor, at the door. She ushered her in and served her drink of choice. After some small talk, Suzy asked her, “What do you want Tina?” “Help me, Suzy. My husband is a monster and I want out. I can’t take it anymore. Please.” “Why me? We are not even that close,” Suzy probed further. “The other women are not any better. How can they help me when they cannot help themselves. You, on the other hand, are not trapped in the nightmare that is an abusive marriage. Help me, Suzy, I’m begging you.” After the talk, Suzy had ushered a teary-eyed Tina out and had told her she would think about it. As Suzy mulled over the new information, she thought to herself “What is it about me that attracts broken birds?”

xxx
Nonnie

Orders

I was relaxing in the heated jacuzzi when I first saw him. I think he was taking an order to one of the rooms. A tall, dark, good-looking man. My heart raced a little when he glanced at me and smiled. It was the most perfect smile I had ever seen. His snowy white teeth complimented his full lips so well. I lusted over him as he disappeared around the corner, balancing the tray full of drinks on his fingertips with so much ease.

It wasn’t long before he reappeared with an empty tray and passed just in front of where the jacuzzi was, giving me a generous view of himself. The sleeves of his shirt were folded to his elbows, accentuating his biceps. I slowly bit my lower lip, imagining how sexy I would feel wrapped in his arms. “Excuse me,” I blurted out. He stopped in his tracks and turned to give me that beautiful smile he had earlier given me. “Yes, miss?” My heart started racing again. I didn’t know what to say. Normally, I would just tell a man, “You’re handsome” and watch him blush and throw himself at me and get it on with him if I felt like but this one was different. “Miss?” he repeated. “Oh, sorry.” I traced my eyes to his chest, where his name tag was. It was a red name tag. That boosted my confidence a little, knowing that there was little to no chance of my plan going south.

“What time does your shift end?” I asked him. He looked at his watch and smiled, again. I think he had noticed the effect his smile had on me because it felt like he was doing it intentionally. “That was actually my last order of the day. I’ll be clocking out in less than 30.” He said. “Would you mind taking one last order, Zeke?” I asked him sweetly as I got out of the jacuzzi. The cool night breeze stung my skin, sending goosebumps all over my body. My nipples weren’t spared either. They became hard instantly. He tried, but couldn’t help staring at my boobs that fit so perfectly in my bikini. The moonlight cast shimmers on my wet skin. How I wished I got those goosebumps from his touch instead…

“What’s your order?” He asked, taking out his pen and a small notebook from his pocket. “It’s a service,” I replied, playfully nudging at his name tag, making sure he got the message. He returned his pen and notebook into his pocket, smiling. My coochie jumped a lil at that devilish smile. “Room 69. Don’t keep me waiting.” I told him as I walked away, being sure to exaggerate the movements of my hips a little. I felt on top of the world imagining what the night had in store for me.

In exactly 27 minutes, there was a knock on my door. Yes, I was counting. I opened it to find Zeke, this time dressed in a body-hugging t-shirt and a pair of jeans, smiling at me. I blushed as I let him inside my room. This wasn’t my first time here so I knew how everything worked. I turned to find the hottest well-toned back muscles staring at me as he took off his t-shirt.

He turned and moved closer to me. I was too stunned to do anything. He placed his finger on my chin and tilted my head upwards, “You still haven’t given me your order, miss.” His voice was low, causing me to feel my wetness dripping from my pussy. My heart beat even faster from the gaze he gave me. “Make love to me.” That’s all I could say before I felt his warm soft lips on mine. I kissed him back as I wrapped my hands around his neck.

I felt light-headed from all the sensations that coursed through my body. I couldn’t remember the last time a man turned me on by barely touching me. I loved his touch and wanted more of him with every passing second. He loosened my silk robe and turned me around just as it fell softly on the floor. When he started showering my neck with kisses, my knees almost gave way. He carried me to the window. The view of the city was even better at night. “I wanna make love to you here as you enjoy this view. How’s that?” I could only manage a subtle moan as I felt his hard dick pressed against my butt cheeks. He cupped my boob in his hand as he continued to leave a trail of kisses on my back. I wanted him so bad but I knew better than to tell him how to do his job. He slipped a finger inside my vagina, stimulating my bean both from inside and outside. I hated that it took me less than a minute to climax.

The rustling sound of the condom wrapper being torn made me crave him even more. My eyes rolled back with pleasure as I took him in. I felt my walls tighten around his girth and in no time, we had found our rhythm. I whined my waist to meet his thrusts that hardly missed my spot. I heard him let out a moan before slowing down in an attempt to stop himself from ejaculating. Fuck. That moan was the sexiest sound I’d heard that night. He kept on caressing every inch of my body, acknowledging my beauty and hotness in the process. He sure did know how to keep the engine running. I hardly realized it when he turned me around because he did it in such a swift motion. For the first time in the night, I saw his handsome face as we shared that intimate moment. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he slid inside of me. Our moans filled the room as we both experienced our orgasms.

Both my hands and legs unclenched, releasing the grip that I had on him. “You are so damn beautiful.” He told me just after catching his breath and left me another one of his smiles. The smile didn’t do much to me this time, but it was still cute nonetheless. I smiled back in response, content with one of the most expensive cheques I’d have to write that night.

Mandem a Wicked but Women Wickeder Dan Dem

I stand at the door looking at the nurse fixing another drip beside my husband’s hospital bed. His sunken eyes have dark circles around them. He hasn’t been sleeping well since I brought him here six weeks ago. I make my way to his side just as the nurse leaves the ward and then apply some balm on his lips to prevent them from cracking further. “How are you feeling today?” I ask him. “Worse than yesterday.” He says in a frail voice. I can tell the dry throat he’s been complaining of since yesterday has gotten worse from how hoarse his voice sounds. Slowly, I fill up a glass with water and give it to him. After barely taking two sips, he hands the glass back to me and struggles to make himself a little bit more comfortable. I help him by placing an extra pillow at his side as he tries to sit up. “I don’t understand how quickly things have changed. I wake up every day hoping that all this is a bad dream.” The desperation in his tone is noticeable. I stretch my hand to hold his in comfort. His hands are pale and dry too. I notice the ring on his finger is quite loose. Instinctively, I fidget with it, moving it round in clockwise and anticlockwise motions. “Six years since we officiated our union. Who would have thought we would get this far? Do you remember our wedding vows?” I ask him, softly.

“I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband…”

“To have and to hold…” he joins in,

“For better, for worse…”

“For richer, for poorer…”

“In sickness and in health…”

He lets out a cough. I give him more water and softly pat his back, making circular motions with my palm, hoping that it’ll help to soothe his throat. I had made a vow to always stick by his side and that was what kept me going, ensuring I never missed any hospital visit, and even spent most, if not all nights by his hospital bed. Sometimes, all you can offer someone is your presence. I had already gotten used to the doctor’s “We are doing all we can to ensure your husband goes back home with you in good health.” But at this point, both my husband and I knew the chances of him leaving that hospital bed were close to none since his organs had already started failing. A few minutes elapse in silence before he chooses to break it.

“I pledge with all faith and fidelity…”

“I pledge with all faith and fidelity,” I murmur back. “It’s not that easy, is it?” His face contorts in confusion. “He’ll be turning four next week,” I say. This seems to throw him off before he gathers the energy to ask, “Who?” I smile at him, the kind of smile those sweet aunties give you when you go for an extra plate of food at family functions. “Your son. Zack is his name, I believe?” He starts sweating and I can tell he’s feeling quite uneasy. Like the caring wife that I am, I wipe his forehead with a wet towel to help him feel a little comfortable. “How… did you… know?” He stammers. Of course, his first reaction is to try and find out how I found out about his infidelity. I don’t blame him. Most of us use the same defense mechanism when caught in sticky situations. “Does it matter?” It’s a rhetorical question. Every word that comes out of my mouth only seems to be worsening his condition. He tries to utter something but coughs instead. The cough sounds rough, dry, and painful. “For five years, you’ve been coming home to me and lying to my face. You have a whole ass family on the side?” My voice breaks at the pain I’m feeling at this moment. With the little strength he has left, he apologizes, “I never meant to hurt you, I’m so–”

“Quit lying to yourself. You knew exactly what you were doing, and so did I when I chose to continue sticking by you even after finding out about your unfaithfulness. I only found out recently by the way – it’s been two months trying to deal with the betrayal.” I don’t know what kind of response he was expecting, but I’m almost certain it wasn’t what I had just said. Slowly, he registers what I mean by that statement and suddenly starts coughing uncontrollably. “What did—you do?” He asks in a shocked tone.

“The necessary.” I let out a brief sigh. “I pledged with all faith and fidelity, to love and to cherish you until death do us part. Aren’t you lucky to have a woman who stands by you even on your deathbed?” The electrocardiograph on his bedside starts beeping irregularly as he struggles to catch his breath. I can’t hide the disgust on my face before I bend to whisper in his ear, “In your next life, never mess with the person who handles your food.” What follows is a soft kiss on his forehead as he breathes his last. “Rest in peace, my love. It was nice while it lasted.”

You Don’t Have to Try so Hard When You Mean it

Finally, I’ve got one of my own! It all started with a friend telling me that I’m a writer. To say the least, I’ve never thought of myself as one, but an unexpected assurance from a friend got me thinking twice. This is how the conversation looked like:

Habiya: …ju you know how to write, there’s a job. You can write articles for people in some sites. Just sign up and follow through.
Me: Wait, do I know how to write?
H: Yeah, you’re one of those writers whose writing just flows… You don’t have to try so hard when you mean it.
M: Are you for real? Sijawahi fikiria kitu ka iyo. I’ve never thought of myself as a writer.
H: Yeahp… Try things out… Like a whole list of new things, before it’s too late (though it’s never too late).
M: Wah, okay… Thanks for that eye-opener. I’ll try.

So here I am, trying.

Dear interested reader, I’m hoping to ride along with you in every story I’ll be sharing in this blog. Cheers to many interesting articles to come!

With love,
Archie ❤

Of Weaknesses and Misdirections

Is there that one thing that comes easily to everyone but you? Like, you have given it your best but nothing hits home for you, no light bulb moment. Yeah, I can relate to that🤫. For me that monstrosity is direction. When I tell you that I am directionally challenged, you best believe me. What I mean is the physical sense of direction (not that I have the metaphorical sense of direction, yet, but that’s a story for another day😬). What I’m talking about is things like reading Google Maps, knowing street, road, or avenue names, or worst of all, giving directions to others. I have really tried, Lord knows I have, but my efforts never seem to culminate in anything fruitful. You know those people who say, “Mimi ukiniweka [insert city name] hakuna mahali siwezi enda”. Could never be me 😭

I remember we once had an assignment in high school about giving directions. The instructions were that we were to pick any two locations from the given map and then go ahead and imagine that we were directing a tourist on how to get from point A to B. Obviously, I picked up the two locations that were nearest to each other and put my big brains to work. Not going to lie, I was really satisfied with the answer I gave, and not once did I question it 🤡. What a clown I was because when I got the marked book back, it had the teacher’s remarks to redo the assignment as the directions were ambiguous😑.

Let’s bring out the big guns, shall we? A bit of a background story is that I have lived in Mombasa for most of my life but went to the outskirts of Nairobi for Uni. Something else to note is that I best navigate my way around by mentally noting memorable buildings and landmarks (Think Afya Center or Archives for Nairobi and Nawal Center or Pembe za Ndovu for Mombasa).

On this fateful morning, I had just arrived from Mombasa to report back to school. I believe it was the first or second time doing so on my own and everything was going well until I made one wrong turn and things went downhill from there. Let me paint this canvas for you, no? So I found myself in a street I had never been to before with new buildings and landmarks I had never memorized. And yes, I know, taking one wrong turn is not that bad 🙄. Just turn around Pauline and go back to where you started. Yeah well, spoiler alert, I definitely did NOT do that, instead, I made another wrong turn and another and another in hopes of getting back on track. 5 minutes went by, 10, 15, and before I knew it, I was knee-deep in unfamiliar territory.

At one point I was just feeling exhausted, hungry, and weary. A given seeing as I was walking around with my heavy luggage being too panicked to remember that I had snacks in my carry-on. I got to a point where I remember thinking to myself, “Girl, maybe you need a new strategy because clearly, this is not working great for you.” I stopped to look around and saw Utalii College, a building not once, had I ever seen on my way to school. I decided ‘kama ni mbaya mbaya’ and took out my phone switched on my location and went to Google Maps. My theory was that even though I could not read the map to save humanity, I would put on my earphones and get guided via audio and maybe that would make an iota of sense.

As I was tentatively walking away with this newfound hope, a man dropped something on the ground and I immediately picked it up and started calling out to him but he was not turning back. “That’s strange,” I thought. I then looked at him closely trying to see if he had earphones plugged in but then another man sidled up to me and started telling me, “Huyu ni kama haskii, si tuangalie hiyo ni nini ndio kama ni pesa tugawane”. I know… I know what you’re thinking 🤭. But remember at this point, my mind was muddled up with confusion and anxiety. Luckily though, I had a sliver of clarity and remembered about all the horrific con stories in Nairobbery and I immediately dropped the envelope and walked away as fast as my then rubbery legs could carry me. “Enda haraka kabla aone umeshikanisha akufuate na kitambaa iko na dawa,” was all that was ringing in my head 😅.

Long story short, I finally got to my destination. Up to now, how I understood Ms. Google Maps is beyond me but you know what, who am I to question such matters. In conclusion, you know how people jokingly say, “Ile Afya Centre ama Archives ikiondelewa ama ipakwe rangi ingine, watu wengi watapotea hii Nairobi,” and we all laugh. Deep down, deep deep down, I get mini panic attacks knowing that it’s me, I am the watu they are talking about 🤡.

xxx
Miss(Direction) Nonnie

Nostalgia

Remember your first crush? And no, I am not talking about the soap opera crushes (think Nicholas, Alejandro, Marimar, and/or Catalina) you had 🤭. I’m talking about real life, in your face crush. Who was it? Let me guess, your classmate, neighbour, or did you keep it halal and went for your churchmate? 😅

That being said, have you ever had a crush on a stranger? Someone you have never met before and will probably never meet again. Well, I had one of those while in high school and so that you can understand what I am talking about, I am going to give you a back story of how I met X (not for privacy reasons, I never got his name 🤷🏻‍♀️).

Our school was to participate in the cross-county pre-qualification games and I had been selected to run the 5000m race (aaahh, to think that I was kinda athletic back in the day 😁). Of course, other students from our school had also been selected but were participating in other activities. We were to go out for two days for the pre-qualifications. On day one, we went to a nearby sports club, but I found out that I would not be running on that day but the next. So I was just chilling with the others who were also not doing anything on that day.

Everything just seemed to be slow-paced and for a while, nothing caught my interest until I realized that there was a football club practicing nearby. It was not necessarily because I fancied football but rather that I had gotten an opportunity to people watch 😉. As I was scanning around the teammates, one particular one caught my eye and I immediately zeroed in on him to inspect more. The more I looked at him, the more I whispered under my breath, “What a fine human specimen.” I remember thinking that he was tall, had that athletic lean body, a nice dark chocolate skin tone (think dairy milk and not fudge chocolate🤫), curly dark hair, and based on my limited football skills, he was pretty decent at the game. I won’t lie, I found him attractive, very attractive for my then high school taste.

Needless to say, I was blatantly staring at him for a while and I knew that I had to keep it together and stop ogling at the poor oblivious guy. “What if your fellow schoolmates figure out that you are checking him out or worse the footballers notice the same?” I chastised myself. I then glazed over the rest of the team members to affirm that all I was doing was checking out their skills and not at all eyeing one particular person. I don’t know who said it, but one of my schoolmates suddenly blurted out, “We are all staring at No. 15, right?” I then immediately zeroed in on X and lo and behold, he wore jersey No. 15. Before I could process that, I heard a chorus of ‘Yes, Duh, Anha’. I couldn’t hold it anymore and burst out laughing thinking, “Aaah, so I AM normal 😂.” Listen, at the time, there was nothing worse than voicing out that you found someone attractive and then everybody staring crazily at you whilst asking the 5 W’s; Who, What, When, Where, and most importantly Why? 🤔

Nevertheless, I never saw jersey No. 15 ever again and if I was to walk past him right now, I would not even recognize him. It’s humorous how the human brain works, like here is a memory of what you thought at the time but no clear image for you 😌. Ooh! As for the race, I won 2nd place but did not proceed to the cross-county games as they only picked 1st place to represent each county.

I hope this gets you to reminisce about that crush you had a long time ago. 😅

xxx

Nonnie

In Love with The Devil

Outspoken. Fearless. Free. Three words that perfectly describe the man believed to be the root of all evil – the dark fallen angel – Lucifer Morningstar. “What is your deepest desire?” is his favourite question. His red fiery eyes appear to be searching your soul whenever he asks you that; a question that will seamlessly lead you into getting in touch with your deepest truest self – oftentimes a disturbing realization. You start to question what you have always known, and a journey towards a new self-discovery begins.

I have had the privilege of being brought up in a democratic household and even as kids, our parents took it upon themselves to make us feel heard. Our thoughts and opinions around the household mattered and we were always encouraged to speak our minds. As a result, I grew up being outspoken and would frequently get in trouble for ‘challenging the instructions’ of my teachers in school. I often found myself asking questions that no one would have the courage to ask; questions that would make people uncomfortable but those that were necessary in guiding me to understand the ‘Whys’ of situations. Little did I know that this was going to be my founding block of how I would grow up navigating through life. Knowing and understanding why things are done the way they are goes a long way in determining whether I will follow the same path or find a different one that my conscious resonates with more. This has formed an integral part of who I am. Just like Lucifer Morningstar in the Netflix hit series, Lucifer, I am free-spirited. I dislike having to follow a particular set of standards and rules just for the sake of doing so because it only continues to put our minds in cages. It prevents us from fulfilling our deepest desires and getting to know ourselves better in a naked truthful way. I always encourage the people around me to normalize asking themselves the question “Why?” while making decisions so that they can get to the depth of their truest resonations.

In the series, Lucifer can’t let go of his anger – specifically, his frustrations surrounding the problem of free will. All he wants is for humanity to be free to embrace all parts that make them; the bright and dark sides that strike the balance of being one. This, however, doesn’t mean that those who hurt humanity go unpunished. In fact, he is a big believer of being just and fair. Since many have been taught to only associate Lucifer with evil and one who was sent on earth to destroy humanity, you will be surprised to learn that one of his missions is to make humans face the consequences of their actions not by burning them in eternal hell fire, but by making them feel the impact of such actions through getting in touch with their most vulnerable parts of being human – a punishment that is only meant to make them better.

A just and fair world is all I dream of; a world where we are all treated equally regardless of our ethnicity, gender, age, sexual orientation, race, social status, you name it. We have raised generations of self-centered individuals who feel and think they can get away with anything. Our lives are surrounded by people who don’t know what it means to be held accountable for their actions; people who always pin their rots and misdeeds on the devil. We have been brought up to believe that it is always the devil who makes us do bad things and this reflects on how easily we turn a blind eye to people who wrong us whenever they throw in that “The devil made me do it” line. In real sense, it is all on us. It has always been us and the devil has completely nothing to do with it. This is intensely felt by Lucifer in one of his therapy sessions with Dr. Linda when he angrily questions, “Why do they blame me for all their little failings as if I’d spent my days sitting on their shoulders forcing them to commit acts that I otherwise find repulsive?” I agree with his sentiments because unless they have a gun pointed to their head, it is utterly unreasonable for someone who clearly knows right from wrong to just blame their lack of proper decision making skills on an imaginary person, otherwise known as the devil.

I believe that life would make more sense to us if we were true to ourselves and embraced every single part of us, whether good or bad. It is through acknowledging our wrongs and the willingness to face and demand for justice that we can strive to be better. When Lucifer says, “What I hate more than anything is a liar, a charlatan, someone who doesn’t believe in what they say,” what he is encouraging us to do is to embrace ourselves with everything that makes us who we are, not by feeling shameful about our negative side, but by acknowledging that side and making intentional decisions to be better humans.

Image source: Google

In the series, Lucifer is portrayed as a character that lives life under his own terms, free from shame and guilt that often come from fulfilling our hearts’ deepest desires. He stands and advocates for just and fairness, one who believes humans should own up to their mistakes and be willing to face the consequences of their actions. He is also a character that solely punishes others with the aim of making them better humans and not to make them feel helpless. With all these traits in a man, would you be shocked if I told you I’m in love with the Devil?

Complain, Not

We all find life unfair at one point or another, don’t we? Incidentally, that is a rhetorical question because saying no is just a lie.

That being said, naturally, we want to complain about it for even a minute to ourselves or to others. I mean look at me writing an article hinting at how life is unfair (how shameless🤭). The real question however is, like me, do you ever stop in the middle of your tantrum and do what I like to call the comparison yardstick? (I just coined this term right now, but let’s pretend I have always been this articulate).

Comparison yardstick, mmh… what is that Nonnie? Well, the comparison yardstick is the slap of reality that hits you when you’re being a whiny bunch. It both validates and shames you for your complaining. For validation, it points out that there are people out there doing better, being better, and living better than you are and how unfair it is that you are missing out😒. As for shaming you, it reminds you that there are people out there doing worse than you and that you should be grateful you little punk 🙄. This reminds me of the old African mom saying from their universal guidebook, “Uko na kwa kulala, kula na kunywa, una nguo na nimekupeleka shule, wataka nini tena?” 😂

“Uko na kwa kulala, kula na kunywa, una nguo na nimekupeleka shule, wataka nini tena?”

So what should we do, huh? Don’t look at me, if I had a solution I would not have been writing this article and baiting y’all to comment about your tips (I really am something, ain’t I? 🤭). Anyway, I just allow myself to throw a tantrum once in a while. I mean, why am I not taking seasonal breaks in my family’s vacation houses all over the world? 🙄 Plus think about how you need to let out the steam off a pressure cooker, and if complaining for a bit is it for you, go for it.

I know, I know, I should be advocating for healthy coping mechanisms. Here it goes; think of it this way, is it something you can solve? Yes or no? No? Keep it moving. If yes, what solutions are available for you, and what’s doable? Break that down into bitable pieces and get into it, yuh 🎶 (if you don’t gerrit, forget abourrit). Remember to always note down your progress, because I am starting to learn that the mind is easily attracted to the unaccomplished rather than the accomplished (such a negative Nelly, apologies to all the Nellie’s out there).

I think my work here is done😌. Goodbye my pressure cookers and remember to release the steam once in a while💨.

Yours,
Fellow pressure cooker 🤝
Nonnie xxx

Meet Archie, from the eyes of an 8-year-old

“Are you a boy or a girl?” I turn to see a group of five kids looking at me. I guess that they’re between the ages of 5 and 9 years. Not knowing whom to address because I can’t tell who asked the question, I stand there looking at them in return. As if reading my mind, she repeats her question. It’s a little girl, around eight. She looks adorable and serious as well. Interested in engaging these curious souls further, I toss the question back at them: “What do you think?” What follows is a series of guesses from the little kids.

“You look like a boy.” says one.

“I think you are a girl.” says another.

“She’s a boy.” the youngest in the group, I think five years old, says.

They all giggle at his guess. All this while, the initiator of this conversation is silent. She’s standing right in front of me, with her hands crossed on her chest, choosing to reserve her comment. She looks like she wants to say something but fears she could be wrong. So I ask her, “Do you think I’m a girl or a boy?” She isn’t quick to answer. Instead, she looks at me quizzically. I’m impressed at how she’s already mastered the art of taking her time at such a young age. “Take off your jacket.” Is that a request or an order? I can’t tell. My mind tells me she wants to see if I have boobs and that is the only way she can physically affirm my gender. But that would mean our conversation would end, and wouldn’t have enough content to write for my dearest readers. So I quickly come up with an excuse: “It’s really cold outside. I’ll fall sick if I take off my jacket.” Without wasting another second, she vocalizes her thoughts: “I think you are both a boy and a girl.”

“That’s an interesting guess,” I tell her.

Another kid in the group says, “Maybe that’s true. You kinda look like a boy and you kinda look like a girl.”

This isn’t the first time I’m getting such a question. I’ve been getting it since I was around six years old. I remember being called a ‘tomboy’ so much that I thought it was my nickname. It wasn’t until I was much older that I was able to put meaning to the word.

“So, are you a boy or a girl?” The little girl snaps me out of my short trance with her question. She doesn’t look like she’ll leave without getting her answer. With the sweetest of smiles that I can gather from my ancestors, I give her my answer: “I am a girl.” There’s a brief silence from the kids. I think they’re still confused by my response. I don’t know what they were expecting me to say. The little girl moves closer to her friend’s ear and covers her mouth while speaking. I think she thinks she’s whispering but is loud enough for me to hear what she’s saying: “I think she’s gay. She looks gay.”

Without looking at her and pretending I didn’t hear what she just told her friend, I smile and walk back to the car. The words of Ziziian keep ringing in my mind.

“There is an ineffable freedom in being able to flawlessly flow from femininity to masculinity and back, seemingly so easily and, by the gods, women have cracked the code.” –Ziziian

This is the photo I had just taken when the kids approached me.

Are You Ready for Me?

Written by Nonnie.

Hello guys 🖐,
My name is Muthoni and I shall be co-authoring on this blog with my good friend who has been running this site, Cesylia “Archie”. I am nervous about this journey and you bet that I am having a lot of self-doubt. Will I be interesting enough or have writing material to contribute? Would anyone even be interested in reading the nonsense and sense that goes through my mind?

You see, Archie has always been creative. We went to the same high school by the way, and she was in drama and music classes. What I am trying to say is, she’s more creative or rather, has satiated her need for creativity her entire life. When I suggested helping in writing her blog, I immediately asked myself “What were you thinking 😒?” But guess who did not allow me to back out? You bet your bottom dollar it was Archie. 😁

So I have decided to go along with this madness and here I am writing my first post. So let’s do this again but this time with confidence. We already know my name but you can call me PK or Nonnie, dealer’s choice 🎲. Here are some fun facts about me:
1. I have lived in Mombasa most of my life.
2. I am enthusiastic about skincare.
3. I graduated with a BSc. Degree in Procurement and Logistics Management.
4. Baking over cooking anytime.
5. Weirdly, I am not one of those people who remember their entire childhood. Not that it was bad or anything, I just don’t.
6. I refuse to choose between sweet and salty (give me both cookies and crisps, dammit).
7. I also refuse to choose between TV and books. I want them all, sue me.
8. I prefer flats to heels.
9. I wish I was rich enough to afford my Pinterest fashion board.

There’s more to me but we shall get to know about each other post after post. Hopefully, you all shall be here to witness either my growth or demise (fingers crossed🤞). Jk jk jk, let’s do this! 🤗

Xxx
Nonnie.

Business & Pleasure

“Hey, you up? I need me some of that D.” He read the text through his lock screen. It was 11.18pm. A little smirk spread over his face. He responded with a short “Be there in 15” before reaching for his car keys on his study table. The arrangement was that he was never supposed to reach out to her. She would call/text when she needed to. And so far, it was working great. But for how long could he keep up?

She waited for him patiently, occasionally sipping from her wine glass. She had been drinking for the past 30 minutes, and it was evident that the wine had started making its way to her legs because all she felt like doing was to spread them. She had put her vibrator into good use but there’s something that she still felt she lacked – the meat, and the warmth from cuddling that came after some fire strokes. She traced the rim of the wine glass using her index finger as she thought of what the night had in store for her before she was startled by the ring of the doorbell. Slowly, she sashayed to the door and unlocked it. The two, rooted in their spots, looked at each other, ravished.

“This is the part where you step aside and let me in, I think.” he said. She smiled as he made his way into the house. He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her closer as she locked the door. She turned around and planted a hungry kiss on him. His lips were cold, like he was from sucking ice cubes. Must have been the cool air outside. Before the kiss progressed to something more intense, she pulled back and offered him a drink.

“There’s whiskey on the kitchen counter. You know your way around the house.” she told him.
“Naah, I have something better.” he responded as he pulled out a bag of weed from his back pocket. He then offered her a joint as he proceeded to roll some more. She put the wine glass aside and lit the joint. She admired the effort he put into rolling her the perfect J, and when he licked the gum to seal it, her pussy throbbed. She could only imagine what more that tongue could do. But why imagine when she had it there with him?

Slowly, she walked to where he was seated and signalled him to create space for her on his laps. He obliged. She sat facing him, legs just wide enough for the silk nightdress to reveal more of her meaty thighs. She took a puff then blew the smoke into his mouth, slowly, seductively. He carressed her lower back, then squeezed her ass. She let out a soft moan as she leaned to kiss him. It wasn’t long before she started feeling his hard-on. He slid his hand under her nightdress and traced his fingers between her lips. “Fuck.” he groaned between his teeth. Her wetness made him even harder. This had been going on for months now, but he still hadn’t gotten used to how her touch made him feel. She whined her waist in a way that her clit rubbed against his fingers, occasionally biting her lip at the pleasure she was experiencing. Her waist movements became more rhythmic. He knew she was close, and as her legs tightened around his, he removed his fingers from under her dress. The desperation on her face as her climax was interrupted only turned him on even more. Slowly, he placed her on the couch, and knelt to worship her highness. He slid his finger into her pussy and quickly followed with his tongue to her clit. She almost passed out from the intense pleasure. Desperate to hold onto something as she felt herself getting closer to achieving her orgasm, she grabbed the nape of his neck. Once again, he pulled away and left her hanging. He looked up at her and smirked. She wasn’t liking the games he was playing, but she knew it would be worth it in the end.

“Bruce bana, unanitesa.” her voice had ‘horny’ written all over it. He derived satisfaction from feeling like he had some power over her.
“Tell me what you want.” it was more of an order.
“Fuck me. Hard.”

He carried her to the guest room where he bent her over the edge of the bed, then put on a condom before sliding it in. The warmth in her vagina sucked the life out of him. Soon, the atmosphere in the room was filled with moans and groans and pants. For maximum pleasure, she used her fingers to stimulate her clit as she received the backshots. She felt him fucking her harder and faster and in what felt like only a few minutes, they both climaxed and collapsed beside each other on the bed, panting. What followed was a silent medi-session and some deep sleep.

He woke up the following morning to the aroma of crépes and freshly brewed coffee. She had her sleeping gown loosely thrown over her as she made breakfast. He hugged her from behind, leaving a trail of tiny kisses on the sides of her neck.
“A quickie before that tantalizing breakfast wouldn’t hurt.” he whispered in his raspy morning voice. She arched her back in approval. He fucked her brains out on the kitchen counter.

As they were having breakfast, all he could think of was how close he had grown towards her. He was falling for her. Did she feel the same way? He wondered. The more time he spent with her, the harder he fell, and the realization that he could never have her hit him even hardest.
“Why?” he didn’t realize it when that word escaped his lips. “Why do you do it?”
It wasn’t the first time he was asking her that, and right there, she confirmed what she had initially suspected. His strings had started to attach, and she hated it. She had been through this a number of times. She took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Monogamy is an illusion created to make couples sleep better at night. You can only get much from one person. Know that and know peace. I’ll need you to leave now before my husband lands back into the country. He should be here in the afternoon.”

Image Source: Google

He felt broken but bit his teeth hard to prevent himself from letting out any kind of emotion he felt inside. Slowly, he got up and headed towards the door where she was already waiting. Before he stepped out, she looked into his eyes, emotionless.

“Bruce, I won’t be contacting you anymore.” she told him right before locking her door.