Your address will show here +12 34 56 78
Keys. Where were her keys? Her hand searched deep into her 10kg handbag. She remembered how he never let her call these big bags ‘cute’ and giggled a little. He was coming back tomorrow. Oh how she’d missed him! His laugh, his scent, his arm wrapped around her as they walked home from work, how it would snake under her blouse in the matatu when no one was looking and she’d have to keep talking, pretend nothing was happening when in fact she was dying from the feeling of his fingers on her flesh. Oh dear! She was wet and she hadn’t even found her keys yet! She finally had them, they’d been hiding in one of those holes that form in every bag, nkt! She reached out, unlocked the door and let herself in. Lord was she tired! All she needed was a bath and a glass of wine and she’d be fine. Her shoes came off first. Then her blouse and bra (moan) which she threw onto her sofa and as she went into her bathroom, her skirt and panties fell onto the floor. She spent a little time after scrubbing herself clean, thinking of him and his big…dreams. How he’d talk about saving the planet. How had she found someone so good? She missed him. So much. She was still lost in her memories of him when she got into her bedroom, rubbing herself down with her soft towel, fantasizing about what she’d do to him once he got here. After the first chaste kiss at the airport it’d be all nastiness. After 6 months of dryspell, it was the only way. Maybe she’d blow him in the cab in the jam on Mombasa Road on their way back home. Give the passengers in buses around them a spectacle…entertain Nairobi. She never saw it coming. The hand that grabbed her her braids, and half carried, half dragged her to her bed. Her scream was cut off by a sock that had been stuffed into her mouth just before he begun to move her. He was big. Huge in fact! And dressed from head to toe in black. Take anything! Everything! She pleaded with her eyes. She’d struggled at first then realized her towel wasn’t struggle-proof and her bits were beginning to show. She shouldn’t encourage him. Or tempt him beyond…oh! She hadn’t found him in her living room. He wasn’t a thief. He’d been in here, waiting. For her. Fear reverberated through her. Penetrating her to her very core. He wouldn’t, would he? Her question was answered when he took climbed onto her bed, took her arms roughly and handcuffed them to the posts on her bed. Next was the legs. Spread wide on her 6×6, she lay spreadeagled, exposed, naked but for the towel that barely covered her. She shivered. He leaned in, pulled up his mask to nose level and sniffed her. What? Why was he smelling her? Animal!!! His nose traveled the length of her, taking down the towel as it went. He smelled her everywhere! Under her breasts, in her armpits, the crease at her elbow, her navel, lower. He lingered there, breathing her in, absorbing her musk. Was he enjoying it? He must be! Why else would he do it? The beast! Her heart was beating a mile an hour. It was all fear! It had to be. It could be nothing else! She couldn’t possibly be reacting to this intruder in any other way…could she? She’d fight! To prove that it was just fear. Adrenaline and not testosterone. She begun to thrash around. Fighting the cuffs that held her captive, one with the bed. This bed, hers, she loved it! Didn’t she struggle to get up from it everyday? Reluctant to relinquish it’s warmth and protection? Why did it hold her now? Why was it obeying this man now? Holding her prisoner in her own home? She vowed to burn it into charcoal once she was free. No wood left unburnt. Traitor. He placed an arm on her stomach, holding her down onto her mattress. He wasn’t done. One finger was all it took to calm her down. One finger trailing along her swollen outer lips. One finger caressing her slippery, sensitive button. One finger and she moaned!   To be continued….

We all know Chris Brown, he of the ‘beat the fuck out of Rihanna’ fame (yes I said it FIDA! Sue me). Well Chris has a new hit single ruling the airwaves entitled Loyal. In this song he stresses that “these hoes ain’t loyal” meaning that no man should trust any female and all that all these “hoes” are after is money “when a rich nigga want ya and your man can’t do nothing for ya”. What is that girls? All of you are appalled? You say Chris is misogynistic? That this song should be taken off the airwaves because it perpetuates negative patriarchal stereotypes about women? Well according to a certain Dr. Helen Fisher, y’all should just shut the fuck up, because Chris Breezy is right! Dr. Fisher is a biological anthropologist at Rutgers University (meaning she knows more about you than you do) and her study had led to her believe that women are genetically designed to search for a man with resources. We are all animals, and what is the most basic of animal instincts? Survival. Because mother nature is one bored b**** she made it the ultimate ‘Amazing Race’ competition. Survival here is for the fittest and no one but. Before, in the age of cromagnon, it meant being a fast runner that was able to tear off the head of a mammoth and feed it’s roasted entrails to his family on a fire he’d made after carrying molten magma with his bare arms from the top of the nearest volcano. These men did this willingly as we can tell from the fact that they got pussy and we’re here, their descendants. Today, a man with money is insurance for any female that plans on bringing forth offspring, for they shall be well catered for, they will survive. Food, water, health, education. Not only will these children survive, with money, they will thrive! So will their children. Her gold digging ways will ensure her genetic line survives several hundred years. That is why women love rich men. It’s instinctive of them to want the best for their children. The best comes with money. The conflict of interest arising from this is that men are hot wired to bust a nut and be on their way in most cases. They have a need to sow their wild oats in cunts far and wide. It’s natures way of ensuring variation, a throwback to the days when our animalistic nature couldn’t distinguish mother and sister from ‘pussy that needs boning’ during the mating season. Children from different fathers mating, would greatly lessen the chances of weak offspring. Men just do not want to settle. The more the money, the more likely we are to stray, because in the words of the great Dave Chappelle, “Bitches be throwing it at you like frisbees”. Settling? It’s against our very nature! In contrast, if a woman can find a way to tie down Mr. Money bags, she will. And women are crazy competitive. None of that money will go to any offspring of his that didn’t come from her womb. Explains the many instances of rich men with countless children out there, but only willing to account for the ones they have with a recognized spouse.Too many single mothers out there because women won’t share. It’s not so hopeless though, women tend to view a child as a means to tie down a man, and nowadays the courts agree with them. With the current Family laws, this has become quite the tether. So what does this mean for the not so well to do brothers among us? Does this mean you will never get laid? That you will never have your scrotum licked because you don’t own a yacht? Lucky for you, that’s not likely. The numbers are in our favour. Too few rich men out there for all the gold diggers among us. However, you will have to be restless in the knowledge that any rich man will probably take his pick of any girl you want, should he so feel like it. Use her and throw her back to you as he pleases. I can see ladies’ mouths open, aghast at that last statement! Simmer down! I’m not saying anything that’s not already happening. Y’all are rachet and you know it! Yes, all of you. Don’t worry though, it’s just instinct. Like Chris said “when a rich nigga wants ya, and your man he can’t do nothing for ya… Oooh, these hoes aint loyal” Admit, that is some catchy shit!

The bartender placed his drink on the counter. The vodka rippled,he took a sip. The bartender took the consequent wink from his customer that, the drink was up to his usual high standards, he nodded in reply. He placed the bartender’s customary tip on the counter and took the drink in his hand and started to survey the club. Hans was on the cello again tonight, seemed Aurier was still nursing that stomach flu. “How deep the Father’s Love” filtered through the room and so did his searching eyes. Few ladies returned his flirtatious glances. He knew some of them. It was weird seeing them again- with their clothes on. Tonight wasn’t about that. No. He needed some time to himself. His excursions to Lebanon had left him a mess of scars and wounds held together only by his strained efforts and state of the art painkillers. He approached the gamblers table. The gaze from a man at a  corner table had not escaped his trained eye. He took another sip of his vodka. Remy was dealing tonight, at the Russian Roulette table. Remy acknowledged him, “Commander, good evening”. He nodded in reply. “£10,000 on 15 black please”. “£10,000 on 15 black,” Remy confirmed. He spun the wheel. The little white ball bounced around, the attention of those at the table undivided. As if adhering to his instruction, it settled on 15 black! There was applause from everyone that was watching . Especially from the brunette in red who was sipping a Mai Tai. The soft lighting danced off her sequined strapless Armani Prive’ evening dress, that clung to her bossom ever so lightly. The waist high slit tempted his eyes to travel from her delicate ankle, up her leg to her succulent thigh.For a moment his mind wandered beyond that hem, onto where her leg ended, and her pussy lips begun. How he would trail his tongue slowly, and draw a map to her wet hole. What would she taste like? His mind wandered so far into his imagination he could almost swear he could smell the heady scent from that apex between her thighs…he shook his head to clear it. He had told himself that tonight was not about that, but his resolve was quickly waning. He’d had enough. He took his winnings, put the chips in his coat pocket and started to walk off. The brunette rose from her chair and followed him. “You’re not going to spin again tonight? ” He smiled back. “There’s nothing worth spinning for” “But there’s money to be won” She countered. “I mean there’s nothing of worth to me” She smiled. “You don’t value money?” “I value other things more” “Like what?” “Like a bottle of Bollinger Tradition RD, and a beautiful lady to drink it with” She giggled. That type of giggle that betrayed her next move. She fumbled for her room key. In all fairness, it was hard to open the door when you had a handsome stranger nibbling on your neck. They almost fell into the room, but he steadied himself and held her waist as his tongue caressed and toyed with hers. She kicked off her heels and immediately dropped six inches in height, to his chest. She begun to open his shirt. She drew her finger along the scar on his sternum. “what happened here “She inquired, her breathe already labored. ” Disagreement, a certain lady who wanted more than I could offer” “What were you offering? ” ” A Truce.” “And what did she want? ” ” My life.” She took a step back, and with one swift motion, her dress fell to the floor and gathered at her feet. Even in the dimly lit room, the sight before him was unbelievable. He’d been wrong. She was more gorgeous than his mind could’ve conceived. There was nothing covering those breathtaking mounds of flesh that had held up her evening gown with gusto, and they were full, nipples erect . Her dress had concealed a lot. Like the small ridge on her abdomen that stretched from between her breasts all the way to her navel. She was lithe, but not lean. The body of a swimmer. Fluid. Lower. A small triangular shaped tuft of hair. He approached her and cupped her there with his right hand. She drew her breath, goosebumps forming on the nape of her neck. He bent to suck on her nipples, while still playing with her thoroughly moist lips. She’d be soaking in a few minutes. Her wetness dripping down to his wrist. With that she dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt. Slowly, she opened the fly on his Tom Ford pants. She massaged his already hardened cock through his briefs and it pulsated, twitching, dancing to her tune. Then she took him in her mouth, and began to serenade his hardness with her tongue. He let out small, shallow, audible breaths that let her know she wasn’t going astray. She let him deeper into her throat. He shuddered. she knew any moment now the motions of her tongue against his shaft would overwhelm him into orgasmic submission. “How long have you been standing there? ” He wasn’t talking to her, rather to the man standing behind him with a gun aimed at his head! She reeled back in astonishment! ” I saw you at the bar downstairs.” “I know. I let you see me”The stranger replied, smiling. “Ok. How may I help you? ” ” Oh no, Commander, I’m here to help you. I have a job for you, straight from the Prime Minister’s office, 10 Downing Street. ” ” You want to offer me a job? You don’t even know me ” ” I know very well you are “The stranger said, as he lowered his Walther PPK hand gun. ” You’re Bond, James Bond”