How easy is it for a man to run away from sex? Let me rephrase, how easy is it for a married man to run away from illicit sex? Here’s some perspective; if there was a race and sex was a crawling toddler and you were Usain Bolt, you would not win that competition. So how do the men who run away from sex do it? They don’t show up for the race. Why show up if you know you’re gonna loose? Then again there are daredevils among us who like a good challenge. All the best with that.
It’s fun being married though. The attention is amazing. Some of my pals call it joining the Lord of the Rings. You’re like Frodo Baggins, and everyone is trying to get a piece of you. And all you’re trying to do is get through this married life. It’s an adventure. Very much like the J.R.R Tolkein tale. (Some people think it’s just a movie. Sigh)
I know many who have fallen in the course of this adventure. Most have come out alive, some haven’t made it. But that’s just life I guess. I and my Frodo-ness have not been left behind in this adventure.
On this adventure there’s sex everywhere. Especially on Instagram. That devilish invention. Just the other day I was scrolling through my timeline, looking at short clips of wonderful rugby world cup tries, obnoxious selfies and hilarious memes when I come across a picture of a girl. Ok, not a girl, mainly her perfectly rounded behind. It looked like it was sculpted by a kamba soapstone carver. And they were symmetrical spheres too. One not any bigger than the other. They protruded gently from her small back and without bias to any geometric degree they curved outwards with confidence. As if to say, we are here. Two halves of the same whole. We are ass. And a beautiful ass it was. The bearer clothing it in black faux leather pants. The caption though, through me off. This ass bearer had quoted a bible verse right at the bottom. At the bottom of the picture of her bottom.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me #OOTD #HatersgonHate #WhatMyMamaGaveMe #AmBlessed #BlessedDay
At this point I was confused. My mind was conflicted. My thighs hurt too because quite frankly I had been sitting on the toilet seat for too long. I got up feebly, completed my final rites and exited the bathroom. I hobbled into the sitting room and the missus gave me a look that said ‘He’s probably walking weird because he had to hover over the toilet bowl since he hasn’t fixed the toilet seat yet. Serves him right.’
I interpreted that look to mean that I couldn’t stay in the house doing my Dedan Kimathi thing and lie on the couch arms across chest. That despite the hangover gnawing at my head. I had come in late the previous night after hanging with work colleagues. Silent treatment had followed me and staying in the house was untenable. I quickly put on my takkies, and mumbled something about meeting the boys to discuss that plot in Isinya. She waved me off like a fly at a meal table.
I did meet up with the boys. But not to talk about that plot in Isinya. It was about last night. Debriefing they called it. Of course the loudest of the boys started before I could take a seat.
Ehe. You guy. How did it go with that mama? She had thighs for world cup you guy.
I could barely keep my head intact as I ordered a Fanta blackcurrant. Why is there always that one guy who can drink like sponge and be perfectly active and energetic the next day?
You guy. Nothing happened. I even deleted the number. I replied
Aii. Ati nothing. The way she was all over you like a scandal on a politician.
Haha. They all laughed.
I didn’t . My head hurt. But it remembered the previous night and how it went down.
This beauty had sat across us at the opposite end of the square shaped bar. Peering into her phone like it gave her life. The glare from her handset illuminating her face like a spotlight at a theater. She was the main act. I was the audience. Once in a while she would glance away from her phone to twirl her hair between two manicured fingers, sip her mojito and look at me from the corner of her eye. I’d look back and she’d shift her gaze back to her phone as she chewed gum like a masticating goat. We played this game as the club grew fuller and the music louder.
My pals all said she was looking at me. Even the barman agreed. I thought they were drunk.
As the night wore on, it just so happened they were right. Or I started to believe them. I’m not sure which. Her friend joined her. After girly giggles and pointing they came to our end of the bar.
Heeey. You guys look cool. Can we join you?
Of course. I mumbled. Subconsciously straightening my shirt.
Soon we were having a jolly good time. Swaying to the music and telling bad jokes. She was swaying, I was telling the bad jokes. She’d slap my arm playfully and say how funny I was.She wasn’t staring into her phone any more. I had her attention. We talked. We danced. Some dances a tad too naughty.
Her pal asks her, what’s going on. We look too cosy together. Then she utters those words in response.
Aiii. Si, we’re just having fun. Besides, he’s married.
And just like that I sobered up briefly. She had flirted with me, and danced like that in that short white dress and now she throws that phrase out. She must have thought it was safe to mess around with me. She didn’t have to worry about me following her home. About me asking for her number and inundating her with countless Whatsapp messages asking for her nudes.
I looked within me and knew I was not going to win that race.
And so as we left the club, each seeking their Uber driver as we parted ways.A lingering hug at the entrance of the club and a whisper of ‘We should do this again some time’
I got into my uber taxi and closed the door.
Get me home driver. I said this as I deleted the number of the white dressed seductress. Against the wishes of the ‘man’ in me and my now blue balls.