Hers was a yellow head scarf with black polka dots. He liked how it fit her head-so perfect unlike other girls whom seemed to have geometric heads once they donned such. He was on the third bench from the back of St. Lillian Catholic Church. His worn out safari boots perched on a raised pew that had a deep crack on it. He was the epitome of a man struggling with his emotions at the time. He peered into the air but he saw nothing. He leaned on the wooden bench, it creaking under his weight. She was all he saw. He did not see Father Wanjala saunter to the confession box in his faded black cassock and neither did he see Sister Danna walk in and refill the Holy water. All he saw was Makena, knelt and praying on the third pew from the front. He felt the weight of his emotions increase when she had walked in a minute ago without him expecting. He just stared at the lithe frame and bit back the tears of anguish that threatened to flood from the reservoirs that were his eyes.
Why did it have to be like this? Hard? Hard to love when it was unrequited. Hard to love someone who stabbed you with their insensitivity, their lack of care and the fact that they were blind to how you felt and they stabbed you more when the wound was almost healed. That was Makena for him. He had developed a sickness for her and was to the point of adoration were it not for his strong Christian upbringing that prevented him from putting her as a goddess in his life. He was a talented carpenter at the nearby town and was making a decent income considering where they were, in the bowels of rural Kenya somewhere in Machakos. He was of age to get married and had struggled with keeping himself chaste despite the rarity of this status among his friends.
He had wooed her in all the ways possible stretching his mental powers beyond even he knew was possible. He had bought flowers, made exceptional furniture for her family as gifts, written superfluous letters to no avail. “Hosea, I keep on telling you that you are wasting your time. Leave me alone. Go to the other girls who are dying for you. Give me peace,” she said. That day he fell at her knees. They were at the river bed alone and he pleaded with such intensity that it rained that night, the first rain in months.
“Please Makena, take me. I will do anything,”

And she replied coldly but retaining her beautiful serenity.

“You can start by leaving me alone,”
Right now he was a cauldron of emotions, thinking about the future, the past and the present. He was working harder than ever to keep himself from crumbling under the pain of rejection. Kitivi had noticed this and had asked him. The lad was observant and even Hosea could not hide his turmoil from him. “Give it time, maybe she is not the right one,” it was easier said than done.
She rose and sat on the bench. She was done with her prayers. She sat down for a minute or two maybe saying thanksgiving and arose. She was in a brown skirt and a black top. Simple yet they further magnified her already beautiful self. And she approached the door her eyes fixed on the exit. Her feet were fluid on the earthen floor and he stared. In the hope she would look at him and smile or even say hi. That would ease his fragile heart for he had lost his cloak of pride already at the well. She passed him and left. Did she not see him? He questioned his own presence. He did not wake up but stayed on the bench wondering how such a beautiful person could have that much bile, be that cruel. He prayed a silent prayer that God would bless him with a wife, and strength to deal with his heart. He picked his rugged faded Navy Blue cap with a NY insignia in white and walked out after a sign of the cross.
He was so lost in his mind that he did not notice her staring from the concrete tank to his left. She who had waited for moons for Hosea to even throw a glance at her, to even say a greeting. That was her prayer all the time. Mueni her sister was the one who knew how much her heart fluttered for this carpenter, in her fantasies she saw them as the perfect couple. She his Mary and him her Joseph-the carpenter. However, she had been patient for him to notice, and apparently he was just as blind. Kanini’s well of patience was quickly emptying and soon it would be at the same level as many of the riverbeds that lined the beautiful dry land, dried up and cracked. She had to make the iron hot by striking it.
She would make an order of a small wooden cabinet. And use the order to get closer to him and make him see what he was missing. With a resolve carved in stone she followed the figure now descending from the hill. Kanini was not sure this impromptu plan of hers would work let alone if she had the money even to afford the piece of furniture. She envisioned her small Safaricom purse and the few well folded notes that were so dear to her and the abundance of money in coin form.
He was enveloped in avoiding the rocky areas in the dusty road lest the small rocks
infiltrate his worn out safari boot soles. The sun shone relentlessly and small dust
storms came and went. He did not hear the footsteps behind him and became startled when Kanini appeared by his side. He wondered what she could have in mind for the road to his home was two kilometers and that meant sometime together. He had never looked at her actually and was oblivious to how she was a small nice pretty package of flesh. She was a cute short height and had a bronzed skin. Her hair was tied in four knots and was rumored to be the best in the village. How come he had never seen this before? He decided to pay more attention to this girl, for the journey that is. “I see you also pray often these days Mr. Carpenter,” she began with a tease.
Soon it was dusk and they were parting ways after an eternity of conversation. Hosea hadn’t had such an uplifting and engaging conversation with a girl in his life. He found it hard to part ways once the crickets had begun chirping and the crescent moon burgeoned the cold night in.
He held her hand in his as they parted and had held it a little longer. He looked into
her eyes and did not feel the burn that he had felt with Makena but serenity and a
deep nonchalance. She could not. She could not hold that gaze that penetrated her
very self and looked away burning up and withdrawing her delicate but strong hands used to manual work and tending to her little siblings. She left going home an emotional wreck.
In his small mud hut over muthokoi, he stared at the small hurricane lamp flame and reminisced about the day’s happenings. He felt something small grow in him, a small germination of something new but so minute it could only be felt from a distance. She had asked for a small cabinet for keeping her clothes and other things that belonged to womenfolk. He wasn’t sure she could afford for she had not come from a well off family but in her eyes he saw her determination. He felt that she wanted more than the work of his hands and probably wanted to be in them herself. He tried to shrug away the thought of them together but only ended up imagining how it would be like to hold her tenderly and kiss her in the moonlight. Only time would tell. This could be God’s answer to his prayer that day.
And in his creaking bed and unbelievably thin mattress under which was grass and leaves he dreamt of a small cabinet so beautiful and glorious, and when he tried to open all went dark.

T H E F L O R I S T.



He stared at her from behind the massive glass window; she could hopefully not see
him due to the sun’s glare. Not that it mattered. He loved what he saw. She was
emerging from the twenty-five metres long lapis lazuli coloured swimming pool, her
lithe body wet. Oh, it was nice. A Cushitic build with lovely curves and undulations.
She was a rare skin tone, something even beauty commercials would itch for, a shade of chocolate and two shades down the so-called light skin. Furthermore, it was even. With a mane of hair only fairy tales princesses could afford. That was Faizul. He ogled on at the half Ethiopian counting her, among his long list of ex-beauties, a diamond among gems. She was having her midday swim, essential for the trim figure which he adored and which was essential for her existence in his life.

Underneath all the propaganda, their relationship was akin to symbiosis; for his bodily gain, she would enjoy financial gain and the perks of hard-earned money.
He wasn’t always like this, him, Matthew Croft. He had a nice family back in the days
but he was widowed and the children had left the nest and were scattered in a myriad of countries. A brief stint at courtship never really worked and he now lived like this; with arrangements and not relationships. They were four of them. Elsie was a National Geographic documenter on polar bears and other icy things he could not
even dare to care of. But she was happy, visited him last year August when he was at
the Mara watching the Migration. Bloody exciting it was for her and they had such a
memorable time together. He loved it despite watching it every year since he came to the country-14 years back. The other two, Conrad and Pierce were bankers at
different banks in the world and making enough money not to care much about an
old greyed geezer like him weathering in the bowels of Sub Saharan Africa. Sons they were, at least he had been smart enough to divide his estate in England just in time to prevent the muddy waters of family inheritance from drowning him later in life. He loved the country. It was simple and with much potential. Its people kind and highly accommodative. Its girls tasty and a refreshing, break from the drugged and colourless ones he had feasted on when his hair was still a vivid auburn.

It was at a social dinner they met. At the launch of some major beer brand at
Radisson Blu. Hennessy? Her conversation was lively and had the spark that he needed in his sunset years. He was seventy but looked more of sixty and still worked out and went for judo classes. He ate her fruits delightfully and passionately, covered in satin sheets and overlooking the weekend Upper hill night scene that day. Magical.

She was just the tigress he wanted. The orgasms were drenching and were with such intensity incomparable. He did not mind her around him for the time being. Her upkeep was in the hundreds of thousands, well so what? He thought. All this money was going to be used anyway.

In a pink G-string and topless she came in, her hands coiled around his neck and she
kissed him gently while sitting on his lap. She let him fondle with her breasts, her
lovely breasts. His hands held the enormity that was her behind. Boys. It was
playtime. He loved these sessions. His carnal desires were still at an all-time high and
he was happiest when those legs were parted, inviting him in like a long-lost hero back to his village. However, he loved the times when they dined in his backyard or at the gazebo too. When Petro, his manservant, arranged a lovely set of two littered with cuisines from all corners of the earth and heartwarming drinks. Tonight was
Glennfidich and he couldn’t wait to get her talking. He loved her mind.

Though young, she was brilliant and her thoughts on contemporary issues such as gender balance and the future of Computers was remarkably engaging. Though his
background knowledge of her was sketchy he guessed that she had probably studied
out of the country. She veiled herself well and he delighted in the mystery. He could
not predict her next move and her surprises in and out of the bedroom kept him on
the edge tantamount to a comic fan in a cinema displaying a DC movie.

It was late afternoon by the time he was satisfied with her. He was slow this time, with more deliberate thrusts watching her fragile face as he penetrated her. Feeling his ego stroked when she orgasmed the second time. Loving her moans when he mouthed her breasts and teased her thighs with his fingers leaving her enflamed in bodily need. It was Thursday and the next day he was due for a board meeting in Switzerland for a Biotech company he had invested in. This was him, an investor. He had it in his blood and did it for the passion of seeing companies with worthwhile ideas flourish. He would probably go with her, his diamond. Yeah, get her a few Chanel and Gucci accessories along the way. He abruptly wondered how she would look in a mink coat…he loved the image that came to him. She had gone to prepare herself for dinner. She always took her time so it was best to start early. She would always come out looking like a siren, with a dreamlike aura around her screaming paradise and bliss.

He was almost always devoid of what to say. She was a blue moon indeed. He
sat in the bamboo-rope seat next to the window. Muthaiga. He loved it. Just warm
enough and enclosed in a forest of trees away from the prying eyes of whatever
wanted to look. Not to mention the abundance of his rich friends around, white or
black. He had never got the racist flaw in him.

Then he got an idea for the night. Why not call Rogers over? They had been friends
for a long time often even investing in similar start-ups. Rogers was German and he
too had got bitten by the love bug for the country known for exquisite safaris and
crisp white beaches. Just one thing, he thought. Rogers would come with May, his
wife of 30. While he had bedded her some time back it was a one-time fling. It was
one of his blemishes he actually did not like. Bitch. She had seduced him when Rogers was out in America for two weeks. He was home when she came that day reading the quarterly profits of a tech company based in Arizona. He knew she had won when she closed the bathroom door and it was the just the two of them in the shower, nude, with two glasses and a bottle of champagne. It was more of “Toast to our sins” than “If I lick yours you eat mine”.

But he would fight it this evening. May just had to contend with him having a new
catch. He called Petro for the night’s plans then he felt a pain in his chest come with a suddenness even he did not fathom. In the three seconds or so he was still conscious many questions came up. “Stroke? Cardiac Arrest? No Dr Munga had told him his heart was good,” not a good way to end. No, it was too soon. Was he was mouthing a prayer?

He saw Petro running to him as his vision went hazy. He was falling and the late
afternoon sun was being swallowed by the looming darkness, where was she now?

Matthew Croft’s head fell into the hands of his swift manservant.

T H E F L O R I S T.



You had just had quite enough of this needless ranting. You had just shifted from the back right of the bus and onto the middle seats next to Malcolm-with-the-running-nose. “Look at him go. Nothing but a sissy,” a solitary voice cut through the haze of sounds at the back. That was Eddie. Then followed a shower of insults all vulgar and in Swahili, so that they would burn even more, from the rest of the herd of goats. It
was the second trip from Bunny House school (yes even you know, it was a no-no name).

It all started when the boys at the back started talking about what they’ve been talking about since the invention of men—girls.

You weren’t a fan of such degrading talk. You found it shallow. You’re more of a comics person and tech stuff. You and Barry were on the same frequency—nerds. So when they started talking about how Yvonne has such a nice behind or how Wairimu’s breasts are getting ‘juicier’ by the day, you naturally tuned out. You were just eleven-you are justified to have more priorities than the opposite gender right? Then you heard,“What are you saying you helmet?? Colette?! Pretty? I knew you were sick! That girl has teeth larger than her head just look at her! And those goggles she wears, she Harry Potter? She’s is a weirdo from front to back!” That was it. They had just hit a ventricle in your heart. Colette was the closest thing you had to the perfect girl. Her hair was mostly almost always in neat cornrows, she had nice rounded glasses (oh you loved the effect it gave you) and she was just slim—as you liked them. So when Eddie and his ship of eggheads started on Colette you went all volcanic.
It was a fight, not of fists, of words. You gave them one that was tantamount to a meteor shower. You were in your element and were only shaken when they resorted to violence. So you left. Hands curled up in small fireballs and you frothing in a cauldron of rage—shaken not stirred. Your turn to alight finally came.” Goodbye monkey,” Some tenor voice shouted, you did not turn back to look. That was enough
for a day.

It was four of the clock and it was just the maid home and little Dede. You
clean your face at the faucet and take camp in your room. No homework, weird for a Wednesday. You did not want to think of her. Her, Colette, what was this illness coming over you over mere flesh and bones? You did not like her but she had a
special place in your heart. You had no answer to all this and hoped it would leave on its own. There was only one answer to all this agitation, PlayStation and specifically Call of Duty Advanced Warfare. You’d give those soldiers a pumping. Shit, you Eddie.
“Can I use your bathroom? Ours isn’t heating the water well” said the maid. “You’ll bathe here? And clothes?” you ask absent-mindedly without looking at her. “I have a towel, I’ll be fine. Dede is asleep in her cot so don’t make much noise,” then she got
in. You did not like this. The last time she did a stint like that her towel fell smack at the door. You were doing math so you only saw her legs and before you could increase your field of view she had already covered herself. But her legs were remarkably good looking. So when she comes today with the same story, you were
more sceptical. Dede doesn’t even sleep at this time. You were young, yes but you could smell something more than just a rat.

Your house was a three storey house; one of the largest around and every room was ensuite. How come their bathroom (she slept with Dede in one room for company purposes on Dede’s part) was not heating up today? You have to tell dad about that bathroom when he comes back from Belgium or mom when she comes at ten. Yeah, that was your life. Hardly much parent time but enough toys to cover that. But you miss them deep in your heart. She was done. The shower had gone silent. She had not used the bathtub. You wanted her out immediately, needed the man cave to yourself. You and your games—you loved playing it in high volume especially with those Bose speakers. Then she came out the white towel halfway her breasts. Revealing. You swallowed hard. And felt it rising, the hardness at your groin. Suddenly your hands are sweaty and the pad feels twice as heavy. You’re looking at her and she’s smiling. You haven’t seen such a smile apart from the movies. You instinctively know she wants something from you. But do you?
You were the tallest in your class and always seemed a class ahead considering that you were brilliant bordering on genius hence you looked pretty large for an eleven-year-old
. Your dressing was scarce at the time: a sleeveless grey T-shirt with the Nike tick on the right of your chest. You had a jet black Addidas short that was currently ending at your thighs considering you were in the lotus flower pose. The two of you
hold your gaze for what seems like an eternity before she drops the towel and slithers to you.

In another world, you could have fainted. She was Potiphar’s wife and you were Joseph, you ought to be on your heels like yesterday. Nevertheless, you are just there,
unable to move and she radiates a kind of energy that can only be termed as nuclear considering you are Hiroshima here, being blown to bits. It’s the first time you have
been privileged to observe the full bloom of womanhood. She is an extra dark and it gives her a magical effect.

Like a black pearl, her magic invites you on an enchanted journey along her contours. Now that you look at it, her face is well formed and has
delicate features. Vivacious eyes, a medium mouth with full lips, a nose that is just right and not to high cheekbones that you suddenly itch to hold. And are those breasts?
Goodness. Ripe fruits with perfect balance and erect nipples that were depriving you of oxygen. The posterior end was enormous. She has just climbed onto your bed
wearing the disarming smile and her hand reaches for it, considering it is bulging like a malignant tumor. You can’t move. And when she places your hands on those lovely things that were her breasts you can only oblige, hypnotized, you are defenseless to this black snake. She pulls the short down slowly pushing you into a sleeping position; you face the ceiling waiting for what seems like the execution. She just has to hold it and you feel like your soul is being pulled out of you, only that it is pleasure. You’ve just had your first ejaculation and you feel a mixture of pleasure and distaste. You want her to go, no to stay, you don’t know. “You’ll enjoy just wait” She voiced in a purring voice. Who says that! Then she put it into her mouth!!
You wanted to cry out. You did not like this. It was just too much. But something told you were cornered and it was ages before mom came. But she was not quite done with you. She somehow knew what to do to keep your male member going strong, and when she sat on it and it entered unchartered territory you knew that she had taken something from you, something precious and something irreplaceable. You held on to her, her skin her tits, her kitty, her everything, it was the ride of your life.

Her name was Akinyi and you were always trying to erase her from your memory.


T H E  F L O R I S T



To my dear readers, may these and other stories blossom in you and delight you as the fragrance of luxurious flowers.