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FacialKnight, Fiction
image The pelting rain diluted his steady stream of tears. The crowd dispersed after the casket was lowered. He was left standing there alone. His were a concoction of emotions. He was devastated after the loss of his Father, a man he’d idolized his whole life, the one who had taught him how to ride a bike, how to make a woman smile and most importantly, how to be a man. His admiration was threatened by the news that had emerged soon after his father’s passing. An unknown woman had showed up at their home, alleging to be his wife. He’d always found such situations hilarious! Kenyan funerals were littered with such occurrences but to have it at your doorstep was to rub salt in an already festering wound. it wasn’t funny at all. The proof was in plenty. Joint bank account statements, holiday photos, most painfully, some items of clothing that the deceased’s wife had bought him on many of his birthdays. ‘The times he was away at a company retreat in Nyali must have been spent with her,’ Mason thought to himself. His sister took it hardest of all, the perfect picture of her hero, tainted. He was human after all. His mother, sort of always knew. At a certain age that intrinsic female intuition became as good as a forensic report. But she loved the man he was, a husband, a provider, a monument to his kin. His shortcomings were of little consequence to her. He was the star-crossed love of her life. Mason stood there in the rain, wishing it would wash away the smut, and the leave that loving memory, that he was desperately trying to hold on to. As the last of the cars exited the cemetery, Mason willed himself to walk away from his father’s grave. He didn’t want to accompany the family back home. He wanted, he needed to be by himself and gather his already wandering thoughts. He walked to his car and got in. The one place he thought of heading to first was Mo’s, a small lounge in the Business District. A double shot of a 12 year old Macallan would do him good. He also remembered that it was Saturday, Jazz night. Leonard and his band, did a wonderful rendition of “Over the Rainbow”. Eager to balm his injured soul with drink and song, Mason turned on the ignition. The vintage Mercedes 190 series roared to life, his tail lights disappearing into the now torrential rain. He was understandably a million miles away in thought as he entered the lounge, because he didn’t see Kamau, the bouncer nod at the bartender. He sat at the counter. The music from Leonard’s Sax wafted through the dimly-lit ambience of Mo’s lounge. He was jolted from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find the tall figure of the lounge’s proprietor, Mo stretching out his hand to greet him. He shook his hand. “I was saddened to learn of your father’s demise Mason. I lost my father two years ago, so I know how you feel. Pole sana. ” “Thank you Mo” Mo motioned the bartender over. “Kasee, tonight Mason’s drinks are on the house, sawa!? ” ” Sawa boss”, Kasee replied, at once reaching for the top shelf where all the premium stuff sat. Mason nodded in gratitude at Mo. Grief had a twisted way of bringing the best out of people, as Mo had never exchanged two words with Mason, but had empathized with him as though they were inseparable from the same womb. Mason sipped his whiskey, the oak notes caressing his taste buds as the warmth trickled down his throat. The evening crowd wasn’t a large one. Jazz had a distinct audience, the unassuming patron who came for the art, not the noise. The real cool kids. He stared into space, memories of his father reeling in his mind like one of those old silent Hollywood movies. For every tear that teetered at the edge of his eyelids, he took another swig. In his peripheral, he saw the next bar stool move, but he couldn’t be bothered tonight. “Johhny Walker Gold label, neat” image Mason turned to look at the person who had ordered the drink. He’d never heard a lady order such a sophisticated whiskey. Most dames were busy chugging Guarana like there were keys to a Range Vogue at the bottom of the can. The once over he usually gave girls, wouldn’t fly here. She wasn’t one to have a gander at once. The thing that caught you off guard was her eyes. Large, almond shaped eyes, her irises like large brown marbles floating in milk. The pouty lips looked like they were always begging for a kiss, Angelina Jolie would be green with envy at these. Her biker jacket was open, her breasts peaking out of a low cut T-shirt. Even though she was seated, you could make out that her derriere was ample enough to bring tears to a donkey’s eyes. Her hips were thick, raring to rip through the seams of her denim pants. For a fleeting second, his sly dog instincts took over. The growing bulge in his pants reminded him that even in times like these, the comfort of pussy was a welcome distraction. “Gold Label huh? The only gold most women know, they wear around their necks,” Mason spoke whilst staring into space. She looked at him and smiled. “I’m not surprised you said that. You look like the kind of man who thinks he knows women.” Mason chuckled. Feisty girl! He now shifted in his seat to have a clear look at this sassy lady, who he now put squarely in his cross hairs. “My name is Mason”, he stated, offering her his hand. She looked him dead in the eye for what seemed an eternity, then calmly shook his hand. “My name is Sawyer” And so it begun. image
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Cheating, Humor, Mofeas, Real Life Story, Secrets
It is said the road to perdition is paved with good intentions. I’m afraid i’m about to become a poster boy for this saying very soon. My end is nigh but if I’m to serve as a cautionary tale I’d rather it be in my own words for the sake accuracy. You see I’m not a relationship expert, I don’t do counseling. That’s the sphere of shrinks. However, my magnanimity disposes me to offer my assistance in whatever way possible when it is sought. My efforts towards that end are not always appreciated and the circumstances that led to me being a marked a man are a testament to the unthankful nature of homo sapiens. A lady colleague turned to me recently with her marital woes. To my credit I did warn her that I’m no guru in matters marriage having yet to encounter a lass crazy enough to gaol my ass for the rest of her existence. She insisted though, saying another colleague who has graced my coital abboitre had spoken highly of my slaughter skills. This perked my interest, I do indeed know a thing or two about inducing multiple orgasms. Now we were in Mofeas zone, I was all ears. Apparently her hubby of a few years was stale and monotonous in bed. He was a one trick ninja solely versed in the kendo technique of stab, stab, stab, collapse. She wanted to take charge but her inexperience in the coital arts prior to marriage meant she had no idea how to spice things up. She was also not about to ask for help from her girlfriends since that would be akin to issuing a press release on her deficiencies – her words, not mine. She needed discretion and had decided she could only confide in and find succor from yours truly. I couldn’t help but oblige after such a passionate plea, at last my porn stash was going to be an educational aid apart from serving its higher purpose of as a fap aid. I took sweet little missy to class ardently. I was determined to make make a bedroom warrior princess out of her. I took her through literature studies ranging from 50 Shades of Grey and Cosmo to the Kamasutra. We had marathon sessions on premium Pornhub and old school role play porn, you have to know how to instigate a rough pounding from mundane activities like doing the dishes. I had her doing pilates, kegels and gag reflex control routines till she was doing things to a banana that would amount to criminal abuse of flora. Boy was she a good student! In a fortnight’s time she could comfortably accommodate my king sized kong down her throat and look sexy as fuck as she swallowed every drop of jizz she’d coaxed out my grapes with her skillful tongue. After running the gamut of all her orifices, I felt my work was done. I was such a proud tutor. I issued my seal of approval with a good rimming and reluctantly with a tear in my eye and a throb in my gonads gave her power to practice all that pertains to her new prowess on her husband, the lucky bastard! I felt good about myself, no one would ever say I have never done a selfless act after that. Next morning, I’m in the office bright and early eagerly awaiting feedback. Madam walks in looking disheveled and out of sorts. I take that as a good sign, she must have rocked ninja’s world a good one yester night. Then the saga unfolds. So ninja had come prepared for his usual swordplay but he had another thing coming. Madam had taken over and unleashed her new found kata moves, this wasn’t going to be the usual one man show. Ninja was surprised at first but soon seemed to take it in his stride, after all no one can resist the linguini executed with a touch of reverse cow girl. In fact ninja was putting up a decent fight for once. His sword was miraculously transformed from a weak alloy to one made of valayrian steel. It endured bravely for four rounds only finally honorably bowing out when madam sheathed it in her posterior outpost, hemispheres it had hitherto never experienced. Ninja was thoroughly worn out but spotting a stupefied grin by the end of that pelvic combat. As they lay there panting, he sat up all of a sudden and grabbed madam. She was pleasantly surprised still revelling in her afterglow thinking another round was forthcoming, but woe unto her. She was served three abrupt kumanyoko slaps. Apparently, it had just occurred to ninja that her transformation from expert in kifo cha mende to Nefertiti come to life could not be a miracle. He went ape shit cray on her demanding to know where she had learnt the extreme stingos she had just pulled on him and self preservation led her to blurt out that I was responsible complete with my address. She was walloped a good one and last she had seen ninja he was assembling an arsenal of crude weapons while singing war songs and chanting the various varieties of heinous acts he was going to perpetrate on my person before dispatching me to my maker. I’ve been forced into hiding hoping reason will eventually prevail and he’ll understand that I was actually doing him a pro bono service. In the meantime, I can’t go back to my day job so I’m offering coitus improvement classes for y’all lasses stuck in missionary land. All you have to do is feed me and hide me. A man’s got to eat and if i’m to die then i’ll have done my bit for society. Holla. Posted from WordPress for Android
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