I was heading to the shop to buy a loaf of bread one morning (a delicacy these days) It had rained the previous night so I was partaking in this weird duck walk everybody was doing so as to avoid slipping on the muddy ground. The walk was tricky because some parts of the ground were not as muddy as other parts due to the risen sun that was cooking up the earth and sucking out its moisture in the same manner your ex sucked the moisture out of your life, leaving you a dry husk of regrets .. Lol.

The problem with the duck walk was not knowing whether where you’re going to step is dry or muddy because for some reason the less muddy parts resembled the muddy parts. So far nobody had slipped and the whole lot of us morning mud treckers had this aura of extreme pride and concentration as each of us made sure not to be the first to tumble.. A point will come when people would eventually start falling, I was confident I wasn’t going to be the first, there was a guy walking three paces ahead of me who definitely looked the most likely to fall due to his drunk stagger, if I were a betting man I’d have bet my left testicle on him.

And I’d have apparently lost my left testicle because the first person to hit the ground wasn’t the staggering morning drunk, or the elderly lady on the other side of the road, or the man with a briefcase clutched awkwardly as he struggled to find his footing.. Nope.. The first person to drop was me. I am clumsy as hell but I can’t border on that excuse for eating the mud that morning.. The thing that made me fall was a puddle of water.

You’re probably asking yourself ‘There is obviously always a puddle of water after a night of rain. Did he slide into one?’ The answer is no. The puddle of water was far from where I was duck walking but it was key in my downfall because of…well.. Beauty . See, the sun was up and its rays rippled upon the surface of the murky brown puddle causing it to sparkle…It was a totally natural occurrence that can be explained through physics or witchcraft (Depending on where you’re from) but my mind couldn’t fathom any explanation for it because to me it was simply beautiful. Beauty doesn’t need an explanation, the moment my eyes watched the light dance upon the brown I felt like I was witnessing something that required my full attention… My feet apparently didn’t receive the memo that my brain had sent and continued walking unaware hence my downfall.

My bum hit the ground and I could feel that soft splat that indicated that the fresh trouser I’d put on that morning had concluded its work for the day. Normally, I would have gotten up quickly to avoid more embarrassment and cursed aloud for dramatic effect but this time I just sat there. The beauty of the sparkling puddle was something that had passed with my fall but I wanted to capture it, capture the whole thing and put it on a wall so I can stare at it each morning with my morning wood… But how could I capture it? If I took out my phone and took a photo of the puddle, would it really be the same? Of course it wouldn’t! It can’t compare! It’d be like watching porn on a Kabambe instead of having actual sex!

When I was in primary school I used to be extremely into art, it was my thing. If a teacher asked for a student who could draw I’d be the one brought up to do the task. However, I quit art after a classmate said to me while going through my sketch book “Dude these are really good, you’ll be painting meat on butcheries and ABCs on schools in no time, oh! Or the word ‘duka’ on shops!”..

The dude meant it as a compliment(I think) he was just naming places he commonly saw artists do their thing. I corrected him, telling him of my dream to be the next Picasso and have my art auctioned for millions in art gallaries..The guy interrupted my narration of MY dream, he claimed it to be a fantasy and that reality prevents fantasy from ever occurring hence chasing fantasies being a waste of time, he also pointed out that self portraits were only popular in the past because photography didn’t exist and now there’s no need to spend hours posing to be drawn when you can just take a picture of yourself.

“You’re in Kenya, stop having foreign dreams.” He concluded.. Those words stuck to me and as I later on launched into researching famous Kenyan artists who’ve sold their art for millions in art gallaries, the words ended up being backed by hard facts and doing more than just stick, they caused me to abandon the art. But as I sat there in the mud, I realized that the only way I could have captured the essence of the beauty I’d witnessed from the puddle and its rippling light, wasn’t through photography but art. What I had witnessed could only be visually recreated from my point of view through my ability to manually construct it back on canvas.. It’s the only way I could have portrayed what I’d witnessed in a way that others could see it too… But it’s too late, I can’t even sketch a cat let alone nature’s beauty in motion right now, I’m out of practice.

Anger boiled in my veins, I find it very annoying whenever you come up with a solid argument point for an argument you had years ago.. I stood up and turned around, I wasn’t hungry for bread anymore. I started heading back to my place. I took out my phone and did what I always do whenever I’m annoyed. I called my acquaintance with benefits specifically for the beneficial part of our acquaintance . She told me she’d be at my place within an hour and indeed she was, before I cut the call I told her to come with bread to which she replied “Fuck you”.

Lemme just describe what an acquaintance with benefits is so you’d stop scratching your scalp… It’s similar to friends with benefits only that you and the person aren’t friends and have no intention to be. Y’all just happened to have a one night stand from a party and realized both of y’all can fuck each other to a degree that’s really amazing and unique but after the fucking is done you absolutely can’t stand the person sweating next to you. That’s how I am with my acquaintance with benefits..

I don’t like her, I don’t like the way she’s turned our sexual contract into something that works for her.. Like, she allows me to call her only twice in three months for a bang yet she in turn has no restrictions on the number of times she can call! I also don’t like that she moans another guy’s name during sex.. (And the guy’s name is ‘Thomas’ ffs! Who moans Thomas?!!).. But I’m not that bothered by it to be honest, she can moan whatever the hell she wants.. Damn I really don’t like her.

She doesn’t like me either, she says she finds the fact that I moan whenever I cum ‘extremely weird’ .. Like what the fuck does that even mean!!? I’m a man! I obviously nut once per round! Am I not allowed to fully endulge in my four second orgasmic wage for the fifteen minute humping that I do? I will moan.. Fuck it, and if we go another round I will moan again. When else am I allowed to do so? That’s the only moment I’m truly happy!

She one day also told me that the only reason she has my number in her phone is because she’s still sexually attracted to an ex of hers who fucks like I do (His name is probably Thomas ) , and she’s using me to stop herself from going back to him..See, the problem with that isn’t the fact that she just openly admitted to using me, degrading me, summarizing my entirety to just being a piece of meat…No, that’s not the only problem with her statement.. She’s also just compared my sexual custom fucking tactics to those of another man! .. I mean, HOW DARE SHE! I have slaved myself fornicating for years in order to perfect it and you’re here comparing my efforts to someone else’s? The audacity.. She also told me that once she gets over her ex, I’ll never hear from her.. Hah! Jokes on her, I have her number saved with a poop emoji .

She came over (Without bread) and as usual we indulged in our dance that has nothing graceful about it.. We burned rubber and ravaged in the heat of friction..
Our dance was often filled with raw intensity, hatred and anger.. Not to forget sweat. Watching the beneficial part of out acquaintance is the equivalent of watching two clowns dance naked to Hard Rock in a house while pouring gasoline on themselves and the house before lighting a match. It’s so heated and by the time we’re done (or you can say by the time I’ve let out my proud moan that I’m NOT ASHAMED OF) none of us can move.

I’m always in awe of just how powerful our sexual synch is.. I mean, I lift my hip a certain angle and she complies with tilting a leg at just the right time! Plus the tempo never drops, if it starts off violently it’ll end violently.. I told her that the reason we match each other’s sexual energy might be because we’re both half kamba and we’re actually stereotyped to be sexual extremists, she replied “You’re so tribalistic urgh, I can never date you!”… Daaaamn man.. The fuck! ..it was a joke man.. A freaking joke, people are so salty these days. I don’t like this girl.

I gently pushed her off me after I regained the ability to move.. Okay, it was more like ‘Shove’ than push.. She asked why I was so feisty and I proceeded to tell her about the whole puddle thing that had happened to me in the morning, describing to her in detail everything including the artistic part of it that irked me so much, she replied “Damn, you shoulda just painted cows on butcheries instead of waste my time with primary school stories.” and laughed.. god I hate her.. She then realized I wasn’t laughing along and stopped. She spoke after a short silence, that’s what I realized about her, she can’t handle long moments of silence “Or maybe you can write about the puddle of dirty water being that you scribble instead of doodle these days, write about me too because I’ve given you the idea my moan-a-Lisa” She followed the last part with laughter.. “I will.” I replied coldly, damn I do not like her.