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  • Writer's pictureCynthia Asumpta Ouma

When you are mine

Updated: Apr 11, 2021

‘Does she smoke weed too?’ I ask him as I smoke in the marijuana and puff it out to the wind. It is just the two of us here on the rooftop of his 7 floor apartment, except for the water tanks on the floor and the cloth lines that have recently been unburdened. He chuckles just a little and I smile at him innocently, careful not to make him upset by bringing his wife into our conversation. The wind blows in silent hums as it lifts open the slit of my dress to the highest point of my thighs. He stands and moves closer, and I puff the smoke on his face. He beams this time and replies, ‘yes she does, ile tu ya psyche’. The conversation ends there. It always does with one statement answers on questions I ask about his wife.

We all know it’s for best for this situationship to last.

The wind continues to blow and the sun sinks lower in the sky, light of day draining away, giving way to the velvety dark of night. He tries to light the third blunt. He looks so handsome. That’s always a sign that the drug effects are starting to kick in. We smoke the blunt in silence, half aware of each other’s presence and for a moment am taken back to when I became the mistress.

It was just one of those nights when I was out clubbing with friends from work after a long week of working an 8-5 job. Most of my friends would agree that this is not the lifestyle they had hoped for when they graduated from the university. We had always been an artistic bunch and we always thought that our daily bread would come from displaying art at an expensive French art galore in Paris and negotiating with French billionaires to buy, while seductively wooing them with our French accents, dark glowing skin and perfect African curves. To cut the long story short, life happened and we ended up being like any other citizen. Waking up early, every 5 days of the week to earn a decent living.

He was there at the club with his colleagues too. He must have loved the fact that I was quiet yet wild in nature. It must have been the simple make up on my face or the fact that I had four bottles of Tusker laid up in front of me as opposed to my friends who drunk fancy drinks, the ones women are allowed by society to order and drink. These portrayed the kind of woman not to bend to rules, a goon, who made her goddamned rules and broke them to make life interesting.

He approached me on the dance floor, just like a normal guy would and we danced the night away. Dancing to reggae, then to rnbs, then to soft rock, then to the 90s blues. I swore that I had never had that much fun in my life. That is what happens when you mix an attraction that strong with liquor, music and the night. Dancing with an attractive stranger, with a full beard and beautiful strong hands. I had noticed the wedding band at first sight and cursed a bit because…why are they always taken?

We talked about life that night. I told him about my dreams and aspirations. I told him about my current job and how my boss wasn’t making things easy for me at work. He talked about his family, his little angles and his wife, the love of his life. I ended up in his house at the end of the night, with his grey t-shirt on with only my white lace panties, in his warm embrace, intoxicated and high on this thing that felt like a merely strong attraction. Funny how two strangers can make such a beautiful memory. And I ended up coming for another and another. I was caught in his nest like spiders do to flies.

I shift back to reality when he holds my hands and hugs me from behind. ‘Do you want to go out and dance tonight?’ I look at him and gently smile, that smile that gently stretches the corners of the mouth, ‘sure’. He pecks my cheeks and we head down stairs to his apartment, a lot of questions still lingering in my head. If he had the love of his life as his wife, why was he cheating on her in the first place. For sure, he really did have the love of his life at home but I was the girl of his dreams, he needed a rebel who frequently refused to follow the path of the normal Kenyan woman, whose life is pretty linear from childhood straight into adulthood. He needed someone to smoke these blunts with and to bring him that adrenaline rush. ‘It is good for the heart’ he always joked whenever we cuddled after those intimate wild love making. He needed someone different.

We would go downstairs to his apartment and I would put on some makeup and a beautiful dress, we would go dance the night away, just like the very first time and we would head back to his apartment at the end of the night, like we always did and at least for that time he would be my man.

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