Cocktails and Charm from Nairobi with Love

o-WEDDING-TOAST-TIPS-facebookFOREWORD: So we’ve got our first write-up from a Kitodiariesian who’s not Nigerian. He’s from Kenya, and below is his offering. It’s fiction. Read and enjoy.

*

Max hurriedly bundled the computer on his desk into his duffle bag and picked up the pen that lay on the shared desk in front of him, together with a notepad and the directional print-out he’d sneaked from the printer in the adjacent room, from the open plan work area of FundiCorp, an edgy, new Tech Hub to the West of Nairobi.

He was (almost) late for an interview he had across the city, and this being his very last chance at leaving FundiCorp, the company that had frustrated him for three years, he wasn’t about to let the chance just slip away.

“You seem in an awful hurry… where’s the fire?” Ciku, the boss’ friendly Personal Assistant chimed, as she happened by on her way to the conference room. She had a prim figure, tiny hands, a beautiful mono-print dress on that moulded perfectly her body, and pumps that always seemed to gleam. Despite her varnished looks, she was way older than Max was.

“Oh, hey, Ciku. I didn’t see you there,” Max managed, after zipping up my bag, placing it on my shoulder and straightening his tie. “I’m just very late for a meeting. I don’t know where the time went.”

“That’s nothing new,” she said with a cheeky smile, obviously referring to how often Max had been in to the office a few minutes past the hour. “But you’ll still deliver, I’m certain. All the best, and with the traffic…” She tsk-tsked as she moved on.

Max was already out the door. He hurried across the company compound, intent on getting to the bus stop to get to an available matatu.

“Mkubwa, where to at this time of day?” barked the askari at the entrance to FundiCorp. “We have become used to seeing you leave the office at ungodly hours.”

Not that Max owed him an explanation, but he felt obliged to make an excuse, seeing as there was a peculiarity to the hour he was leaving work. “Just a few meetings I’m late for, Julius. A busy afternoon ahead!”

“Okay, come back with some chai o.”

What was it with watchmen and chai, Max wondered. He however didn’t have time to process that further.

Max was an attractive bloke, twenty-six years old and in good shape, as he regularly took a fifteen-minute run to the Emerald Suites and back to his Kilimani apartment. An apartment that he’d worked hard to keep snazzy and elegant, but one which he frequently hosted his cousins, an aunt or parents in, whenever they were in the city. And they happened to come in unannounced on quite the many occasions.

A matatu rumbled by within five minutes, and he boarded it, clutching on to his beige duffle bag, as he stretched out his thighs onto the knee-high bar at the front of the Public Service Vehicle. As the driver joined the traffic, Max took out his phone, going straight to Whatsapp to chat for what was meant to be a twenty-minute journey. He hadn’t activated his internet all morning, and just then did. Sure enough, the messages streamed in one after the other.

As the messages came in, he put on his earphones and opened his Music Gallery, heading straight for some Beyoncé remixes he’d been given by a cute DJ, Imani. The guy, with an amazing smile, a perfect rangi ya pesa (light complexion; he didn’t know what attracted him so much to light skinned guys, he just was), a hint of abs on his torso and a perfectly moulded frame that spoke of a dedication to swimming.

Max remembered how he met Imani; it had been at the then Tacos Club in the city.

*

He happened to be on an evening drink-up after work with his close friend, Lucy, and she mentioned how she had a roommate who was coming over to give her the keys on his way for his night shift at another bar in Westlands. What she hadn’t mentioned was how cute this roommate was.

Imani sauntered into the balcony of the downtown club clad in nothing more than fitting jeans that held on to his thighs rather seductively, and a tight-fitting white tee that hugged his broad chest and triceps in a hypnotic way. Hypnotic to Max, of course. Even though he didn’t want to be caught staring at the Adonis approaching where he sat drinking with Lucy, he couldn’t help his gaze being caught and kept on the guy by his sheer magnetism, and he gently licked his lips.

“Here’s the keys, Lucy,” the newcomer said in such a husky voice, that Max felt himself melting further inside. He plopped the bunch into her hand and went on, “Jane is away at Patrick’s tonight, so there’s no one home.”

Jane was Lucy’s cousin, and Patrick was her boyfriend.

“They better get married already,” Lucy sallied. “It’s been, what, two years? If it were me, let’s just say we’d have a kid and be co-habiting by now.”

The men chuckled in response to her sally. And arching his brows, Imani said as he turned with his hand stretched out, “And who might this be?”

“M-M-Max,” Max managed rather weakly, and cleared his throat hurriedly before adding in what he hoped was a stronger voice, “Nice to meet you.” He wasn’t going to act all gay around someone he barely knew, but – Damn! – this guy had his insides liquefying.

Are we still holding hands, he asked himself. What’s happening?

Max’s gaydar may have been rocketing off the charts, but the look on Lucy’s face was one that severely discouraged any such lewd thoughts and notions from his mind.

“Don’t make me bring a mop for all that saliva, Max,” she teased as he watched Imani head away from theme.

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me you have such a hot roomie?” he gushed. “When am I visiting you again by the way?”

The two friends both laughed at that. Lucy then straightened up and said, “Seriously though, what’s the matter with you? You realize you’ve been single for years now. Is there something I’m missing? Is something not functioning?” She jerked her head in the direction of Max’s crotch and giggled.

“No o, nothing wrong there!” he protested laughingly, before adding in a more somber tone, “I honestly don’t know, my dear. All I know is that it will happen at its own time.”

*

“Shopping Centre, shukisha!” the conductor hollered, jolting Max from his slight reverie.

He alighted and hurried down the grove that was bracketed by a canopy of jacaranda trees. Nairobi this time of year was simply beautiful, with the trees and flowers brimming with colour and gentle aroma.

With Drunk in Love booming from his earphones as he walked down the pathway, a text message came in from Placcard Advertising, from the Admin, asking where he was as he was already ten minutes late.

His heart leapt. Please hold on for a few minutes, he thought urgently. He chose to ignore the text and get to his destination as fast as he could.

When he got there, he had a brief impression of the place. The facade of the premises was nothing like the artistic and somewhat urbane one he was used to at FundiCorp. A short driveway led up to a Bungalow of a house-cum-office block that had a swooping roofline and faded white walls. A huge banner that boasted the corporate colours and livery of the organization lined the edge of the house. The askari ushered Max into a waiting area at the front of the premises as he disappeared into the building.

Fifteen minutes later, Max found himself in front of a panel of three company directors, who’d introduced themselves as Mrs. Karanja, Mr. Mellow and Mr. Abdul. There was also a clerk, Agnes, and the HR Administrator, named Jim Waceke.

Max was pleased that he resonated well with the directors, and he seemed to have a good rapport with the Admin, so he felt confident after a while that he had made the best impression he could. Of course they mentioned his lateness, but he feigned having misread the timing of 3.00pm for 2.30pm, and that was that. He could be forgiven for one little white lie, couldn’t he?

It was 4.30pm when the interview, which happened to be more of an insightful conversation, was done, and Max knew there was no way he was heading back to the office on a Friday evening, with the horrendous traffic in Nairobi.

Thank God home is in the opposite direction, he thought. What are the guys up to this evening? Exiting the gate of Placcard Advertising, where he’d applied for and just been interviewed for the role of a Digital Communications and Public Relations Specialist, Max took out his phone again and Whatsapped the friends group that had Mercy, Jeremy, Chema and Mwendo. These were his four closest friends at the moment, and his partners in crime.

Max: Where the Party @ tonight, peeps? We better be doing it big.

Mercy: Yeah, I’m totally feeling this evening.

This was a surprising response from Mercy, considering she was always lethargic and such a homebody.

Jeremy: You know me, I’m always down for whatever! But we’ve definitely got to try out this new joint near West that’s got some sizzling strippers yo!

Max: You know I’ve never been to a strip joint! No way…

Jeremy: Loosen up Max. Not that ratchet. It’s just a chill place that has dancers on poles and stuff. Plus I hear the waiters are really hot!

Mwendo: I’m in. Sounds like fun. Besides, if it’s not, we’ve definitely got a load of options.

Mercy: See you guys at 7pm then?

Max lived near Mercy, so definitely they’d meet up sometime before.

Max: Okay. See you guys at 7pm.

Jeremy: Max. We know you and your terrible time keeping. You’d better be at my place by 7pm, or else.

Mwendo: Mm-hmm. What Jeremy said.

Everyone in the group dropped lols.

Max took a boda boda bike home to beat the traffic and get sufficient time to freshen up, meet up with Mercy and get across the city within the agreed time. As he alighted from the bike, his phone pinged, and he checked to see who it was. It was a message from his neighbour, Ndung’u.

Are you home, by any chance, the message read.

Weird, just got to my gate, lol, Max typed back.

Nice. Pop by for a visit?

Max smiled to himself, knowing what Ndung’u was actually suggesting.

Sure… but I’ve got like 40 minutes, I’ve got to be off for some work thing, Max lied.

He paid the boda guy 50 bob for his services and made a beeline for his neighbour’s apartment block, just across the street from his abode.

Ndung’u was a slim young bank staff, a few years older than Max, who had the kind of juicy and attractive body that appealed to Max. He used to blame Max teasingly for always seducing him, but they both knew better… they both wanted it. They shared a palpable sex drive that was occasionally satiated by random calls and texts after months of silence. They were each other’s booty call.

Ndung’u’s apartment was actually a bedsitter, with a small couch and tea table facing an old fashioned television set, and a Queen-sized mahogany bed directly opposite, but within the same room. Only the kitchen and the bathroom area were separate from the main room.

Sex between them was too delicate an affair to just commence with right away. It would be awkward for them to simply start ripping their clothes off immediately, even though Max and Ndung’u were both hot for each other. Max plonked himself down onto the sofa next to the other man and pulled his thighs over his own, gently caressing him.

“How’ve you been? What’s new?” he said conversationally.

“You know I’ve always wanted you to be my boyfriend,” Ndung’u said, not answering his question. “But you refused.”

“When was that? All I remember is I’m the one who drops you texts sometimes and you’re always brief and busy.”

“That’s not how I remember it, Max…” He cut off his words with a moan, as Max’s rubbing got bolder. His touch proceeded boldly towards Ndung’u’s crotch as the man adjusted his seating in order to sit between Max’s spread-out thighs, pushing his ass back onto Max and laying his head over his left shoulder.

Max gripped to Ndung’u’s lithe body tight, and started kissing his neck, as his hands explored downward, pulling Ndung’u tighter to him. He tugged at his dick as he pushed Ndung’u’s bottom down harder into his groin area. Both of them vigorously rubbed against each other, as Ndung’u started to whisper into Max’s ears, “Fuck me…fuck me, Maxie…”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice, and he proceeded to yank off Ndung’u’s tiny shorts and blue briefs, swiftly producing a condom thereafter from his wallet and pushed it onto his cock.

“Got any lube? Lotion?” he breathed out.

Ndung’u pointed to the cabinet next to the bed.

Less than a minute later, Max yanked his feet over the sofa and positioned his thick and veiny penis over the susceptible warm moist hole that waited, throbbing, for his penetration. He went in gently but firmly, and Ndung’u gasped at the size of the thing that was probing his tightness. He moved his hips and grasped Max’s arms, as he accommodated the sensation of the beast that filled his depths so completely.

“Yes… Yes… Mmmh…” Ndung’u moaned.

“You like that…?” Max gasped in between thrusts, as he picked up his pace and spread Ndung’u’s legs wider. “Tell me you like the feeling of my cock in your tightness…”

“I love it, baby… please don’t stop!”

Max rammed into Ndung’u harder, while the other man, lying on his back, worked his dick in frantic masturbation. The two made numerous sounds and movements as they ground intermittently and thoroughly against each other with such passion that had the sofa kept sliding back and forth, and sweat dripped from the two. Just as mutual climax approached, there was a loud bang at the door.

Even as someone fiddled with keys to open the closed door, nothing could have stopped the orgasmic wave that overtook Max in that moment.

TO BE CONTINUED

Written by Cornelius Kubwa

49 thoughts on “Cocktails and Charm from Nairobi with Love

  1. Lmao! Is this Cornelius who I think it is? Emm, Pinky, Absalom, we’ve got to have a conversation then. Hahaha. Wonderful writing BTW. Kai, if my guess is right, then that raunchy part was a shocker. I’m used to his poetry, not his ‘sluttriness.’ Hahaha.

    • Chizzie,is dis d real u?do u know I missed u like Kilode! I’m glad to have u back…u seem different,but welcome back all d same. *hugs*

      • *double hug* my sista,wetin my eyes see,my mouth no fit talk am. Happy to be back but d sarcastic Chizzie ‘ll be making rare appearances now

      • hang on Chestnut. ..u know I ( the real chizzie) would would never type stuff like “sista”…or type in pidgin English or acknowledge the fact that u missed me or apologize for being sarcastic. this is someone doing a really bad job at impersonating me…You should know..

        pls.lets kick this bitch out of here. ..il sink my pride and come back in full force.

        and as for the impostor. ..il.keep praying for u dt w time ul have a life worth impersonating.

  2. I haff died! That dreaded part when you are doing the do nd someone just barges in! So so scary!
    Nice write up Cornelius! I have a Kenyan friend on Facebook whose stories r always on point! His name is Sammy nd he writes exactly like this!

  3. Sex and love in the City (Nairobi edition) where Max (aka Declan) is our darling slut and makes no bones about it…. The other Declan is still undecided if he’s “asexual” or slutty or romantic *looks at pinky with one kain eye*

    Max hun, so this is what you were doing when you left for Nairobi abi. God is watching you in 3D hehehe

    Chizzie!!! Chizzie!!! Chizzie!!! how many times did i call you? sit ya yansh down before I pack jos pepper and plaster it all over. Kenya ko Kilimanjaro ni hehe

    • hehe, well there was some inspiration from Love & Sex in the City, but I can assure you Max isn’t a slut, let’s just say he’s ‘open’ 🙂 I love Declan though; that one, maybe just a little

  4. Really hafta brush up on my Kenyan slangs tho. Nice write but was a bit difficult trying to catch up with all those names. If this is gonna be a series, u can chip em as it progresses.
    Very explicit content. I always love those

  5. #speedoflight. That day that I was slaming and dunking and heard the my roommate using the keys.
    Trust me roommates are not the business. never ever get a straight guy for a roommate
    Am gonna stop there.

  6. Thank you very much for the opportunity to, and the feature Pink Panther. Much appreciated. And thanks for the feedback everyone, I hope you enjoyed the escape and the delving

  7. Hiiii Cornelius, nice to have a Kenyan brother on here, plz bring more of your friends from Kenya and anywhere else … we’d love to have tea with you guys, get our nails did together and share the latest gossip from the lagoons of lagos, the glitter of abuja and all the past the kilimanjaro and onto Nairobi! Great, raunchy story – loved it! But please next time add english translations of the Kenyan slang so its easier for us Naija to understand. And now that we have non-naija here, let’s all also try to put translations in (…), i know a matatu is a ‘danfo’… but i honestly wasnt sure what the rest meant, i could only guess ..
    once again, a warm welcome to our gaybourhood ****pushes back long silky hair and leaps high in the air with joy like a maasai warrior***

    • Hehehe! The great mother of Dragons won’t kill me with laughter! Khaleesi *eyeing u slyly*, r u sure its just tea you want? Anyways, I don’t mind doing some cleaning too with them oh! D cobwebs in my house *wink* is just too much.

      • Haba Kryss you said you were ASEXUAL now…that’s why the cobwebs are there….abeg shift jo and shout out what you want…..in fact cum ova d FCT let’s “triad” u bo

      • @King… Hmmn! King oh! Stop attacking me with this asexual thingy nd spoiling my Kenyan market oh! Lol!
        By the way, I stay in the FCT too. Maybe we could have a hear to heart over tea or fura de nunu nd just dat!
        @Khaleesi…. Don’t let ur Khal hear u oh! U know Draago is quite mean! My hand no dey *raises hand to show clean, shaved armpit*!

    • See thirsty hoes looking to have tea with Kenyan sausages. What happened to tea and biscuits? I am pretty sure they don’t produce sausages in Kenya.

    • *leaps like a Maasai Warrior*? lol. Thank you Mother of Dragons 🙂 If there’s a follow up, I’ll definitely include English translations. You’ve also raised a great point as I often have to fill in the blanks I read with what’s implied

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