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It’s been a while since I’ve tried something new. Mostly because I’ve realized Kenyan men are generally scared of change, especially when it sexual in nature. It’s always disheartening when you tell a guy you want to be handcuffed to a bed and he messes up or disappears soon after. I decided to try an aphrodisiac. Where I live, the coast, the aphrodisiac they swear their lives on is kukumanga (the name says it all eh?) aka nutmeg. My friend put it in our tea with ginger and warned me to make plans to get some or I’d go nuts. I didn’t believe her. Biiiig mistake. 30 minutes later I was in a car headed to a distinctly none sexual destination and all I could thing about was sex (not so abnormal) and worse, I couldn’t stop thinking about giving the guy driving a handjob. The thought of  touching him consumed me. I needed to feel him, to turn him on, to make him want me! He sat there oblivious to how wet I was and it only made  me hornier! Every time he changed gear I pressed my thighs together with anticipation. Would that he’d move those supple fingers from that stick onto my knee, up my thigh into my knickers! “Touch me!” I silently begged! “Turn your car into one of these bushes and fuck me! Please!” Then he’d talk and all I could see were his lips moving and I would imagine how soft and pliant they’d be against mine. The sweet saliva coating my lips as his tongue probed mine. I wondered, would he? Would he kiss me and relieve me of this deafening tension? He didn’t and I died, many deaths, over and over again,until the only death was one induced by him, and I was satisfied. It was only later that I remembered…hmmm, kukumanga.

Last year there was a review of our workplace CCTV camera footage. What was discovered was astonishing! Apparently in an empty office, when they thought no one was watching, two of my colleagues decided to disrobe and bump uglies on the newly laid carpet. The fiends! I was hoping they would put the footage up for sale but HR wasn’t having any of that. Fascists!

A few days later three condom wrappers were discovered in the janitors closet! Three! Who has sex threes times in a cramped space? This man is an athlete, a national hero. We should’ve been allowed to vote him colleague of the year!

The office has turned into our own personal brothel. The skirts are skimpy, the trouser suits are tight and the men’s crotches as a result are tighter. This is the face of the new age workplace. Administrators are forced to hold training sessions with dress codes the subject matter. When grown ups are being trained on how to dress, it means the office is in dire straits. But all the training in the world can’t account for human behaviour.

I have seen a male colleague finger the boss’s secretary! They weren’t even hiding! My work friends stick their tongues down each others throats on a whim, but please remember they are just friends. I must be the only one who hasn’t slept with anyone at work (I’m a saint!). Groping and spanking have replaced handshakes. People say hello with their lips, touching! If Ebola was introduced into our premises at 6pm we would all be dead in time for the evening news to cover it.

What is it about staplers and emails that makes us so damn horny that we cant keep our faces out of each others crotches? Well, it must have something to do with the fact that we spend most of our time there, also that we aren’t really committed to any of our colleagues so we don’t get to see their ugly sides. All that is left is pure animal magnetism and carnal adventure.

So how do you want it? On the photocopier, as the copy guy fingers your G-spot, on your boss’s chair with your legs in the air, or sit on the Auditor’s lap as he suckles on your erect nipples. I will leave that decision up to your nether regions, but first, lets have some lunch.