In the exclusive world of mistresses and their lords, ahem, I use that word with tongue in cheek, there is an unwritten code that all that happens in the presence of other mistresses and their, ahem, ahem!!!:) Lords, remains there. So, as a perfect little one, I have witnessed many, many a lord, with their mistresses. And for me, I was lucky enough to last a little longer to witness mistress number 120, 121, 122… of certain lords.
I know I have breathes held, and pulses rising for those who want to know who is doing who in the nasty world of politicians, lawyers and so on and so forth. But I have heart. These men haven hurt me, and do not, therefore deserve to be mentioned. Secondly, there is this thing called a waiting I anticipation for the photo release midway my chapter blog, to make you all pant ant huff… in anticipation.
Anyway, in that exclusive but ugly world, I came across many ways that men treat their women. Most tolerate them, just so they can get by, however, I had a different kind of relationship. I was buddies with a lot of these guys, their mistresses… and wives and that is because, we were friends with WG. Now, you may wonder then, how friends can hurt each other and go to the internet with the dirty linen, but hear me out. We became friends, because, I ma a nice person. I took my position, forced or not with candor and my known resilience and fit in. I am also an actress, and a damn good one, being a woman, I can fake my way into many things including orgasms!!!
Talking of orgasms, there weren’t that many to fake, what, with the four, five times a week meetings? I think this was just a power trip for Mr. Gatonye. Unable to accept the cruel fate of age, he must have been well amused to have a girl, younger than his daughter at his beck and call, for sex and company.
And we had plenty of company. Business trips to Mombasa, especially those unending KRA, Tanda cases that had to be tried in Mombasa, ensured that I got a flight, whenever he was going, to go there. We almost always stayed at the Nyali Beach, in some specific rooms, but, who cares where you sty, when you are at five star hotels, all expenses paid…. I hope this was not our taxpayers’ money!!!! So, the man went to court all day, and I tanned by African behind, had soup of the day, and almost always, went shopping!!! This is everything and more anyone could ever ask for.
As a companion, I enjoyed he unreserved hospitality of the coastal people, from the cab drivers to the Malindi landowners who sold us great pieces of land at great prices, and I could walk I the virgin beach at Chi shale in wild abandon, forget all my troubles and drive back to Mombasa, singing and happy that I am happy, and of course, for the coastal breeze.
A companion, whether real or forced, tends to have expectations from their other person, and I am no different. I got, as any woman, would be proud to get, VIP access to the best of the best.
As an investment marketer, I long to get high-end clients on a daily, monthly basis. O, I would sit in the car as he told me whom he knew literally everywhere… and I would bask in the false hope that he would introduce me, get me in. but not once did I ever get a client. Not once.
So the bastard got to get his company, and I gave him great conversation and unbridled, fake orgasms… and a life without a boyfriend…. And got nothing in return, nada. . Little did I know that none of those promises would ever come through! It was a way to shut me up, give me false hope and make me hope that this was a two way relationship. But what two ways is there when I still lived at my parents’ house, unable to afford rent, and this man, sleeping with me, cannot help me help myself make more cash?
I wasn’t asking for his money, because, trust you me, he only gave me three thousand after every fuck… and I had to dress the part and take cabs at 2am… and like I said, these were once-every-one-and-a-half-week’s-fuck. Nothing you can bank.
So, my plans flew off the wall, with no big clients, no sexual satisfaction (surely, how much would a two minute copulation last, where the man has to pray about it….), all my friends gone, and a man so vain he would never recognize the long-term effects of taking a young budding woman and draining her soul, her beliefs and dreams…
I was left to what my shrink calls, disillusion, loneliness and psychopathic tendencies to lie.
Well, this is her way of making sure I get out all the anger, the pain and the bitterness I may have. It may hurt him, but it surely is giving me a thrill I haven’t felt since, well, like never before.
So, these are the therapeutic scribbling of a hurt woman. Whose best years of her life were taken and snatched from right under her, so that a man, could enjoy his life, having little or no regard for her welfare, her life, her dreams, and worst, the emotional, psychological and social scars it would have on her.
It was a long weekend, ladies and gentlemen, even longer for me who was encased in a brainstorming gear, wondering what we would do, not just with the information in our possession, but also, that of another gentle lady… now, if you have ever gone head-to-head against a force stronger than yourself, you always have to come to terms with the fact that these forces are one day going to crush you and leave you maimed, dead or vanquished into the ghouls of hell, with no help.
That was pre-internet days. Today, there are all sorts of prime justice. Like when a man has the power to buy his way into any media house. Just look at the four likely places where one can take gutter information, and you will realize, that in two of them, he send a trusted emissary, a certain Mr. Musindi to look into the matter that we were going to publish the information we had. But we are not that stupid. And the Kenyan readers are too loyal to their daily reading paper to e swayed into reading something that they don’t. Even if the front page was splashed with all those pictures we have of myself and Mr. Gatonye, doing the Nasty!!! (The other two media he approached later will be mentioned in chapter 24… since then be in quiet anticipation)
so, coming forward with her confessions, to the wife accorded her a form of respite from the guilt she had borne, but ask anyone who has ever participate din a farce that deep and dark, and they will tell you that the guilt never goes. It just hibernates for a short while, and then rears its ugly head, yet again, like last week, when the call came, and she could only nod her assent to being beheaded, not because she wanted, but because the freedom accorded by death as such would offer her some solace, that a confession wouldn’t.
But it was too late, in terms of damage inflicted, trust broken and indeed, the pain of the previous three weeks of blackmail, threats and more threats, we too much for her to take, so she refused to bear the burden alone, and left him for good.
What a mess.
This systematic damage, will take time, many of us may not live long enough to finish the story, but, we have set in place good enough measures that we shall be heard, long after we are gone. But for those who will wonder of my existence, wonder no more. I am somewhere seated at my desktop, today, looking for appropriate search engines, since no man can buy all his way into the web, even if he can control the Kenyan media, there are ways, for the truth, and indeed justice to be achieved.
These are troubled times, with the media facing draconian laws, there is no longer any safety in the ground breaking breakfast shows, that swallow in scandals like fish in water. What we can have in something bigger than that. The world, the story, the characters and the stage to play it out, right into your office, living room, and those email forwards that come to us everyday from faces unknown… it shall be to faces we know.
Dear reader: this thing is long and wide, as it is dark and depressing… as it is just another way for the strong to trample on the hapless poor… and for the freedom that every one of us has by law…and some people should know better, is taken by others, simply because they can. This leads to a case of pain, bitterness… and yes, disillusion in not just oneself, but the media, the government, the %^@%(, and the fucking law!!!
XOXO
Dirrty Mistress.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
The Death of god and I...
The eye tearing stink of death that accompanies any living animal is a clear reminder of the vicious cycle of death that every day lives among us. Some of us die young, others live a whole life. However, the definition of a whole life is relative depending on the quality therein.
Please allow me to post this blog so late in the day, because I have been in the most awkward situation of my life. I am no killer. I do not wish an untimely death on anyone, whoever they may be. However, I came across a certain GM, who seems to be in the same situation. This woman/girl is the perfect easy to kill candidate.
She is vicious.
Now, she is no rabid animal, but she can inspire many attacks in any woman’s life than anyone I know. She is a hero, fearless and always speaks her mind. She is also fearless, which makes men and women who may seek to dominate her have a really hard time liking her, and hence want to kill her or beat her… just to stop her. Well, I am yet to see a first one to try and succeed. So, she called me late last night and congratulated me on my article. Reason… Mr WG was so touched by our article, he could not think of anyone else who would try and oust him… who would take him head on. But I am here. And she wants me to proceed, because he has made threats on her before, that if this time he does kill her, he will have a lot of people… and I mean A LOT to answer to.
Let us say that, that statement cause me to spill hot cocoa on my, ooops! Her former laptop, which as now you all know, is a great source of information. After a little blanching and delayed heart attacks, she told me that Mr. G has threatened to have her killed. Coming from a long trip from Kijabe, she slept immediately. Someone on a private ID called her and assured her that he has been contracted to cut her neck….
So, I know I can write the story, and GM will get killed. If she does, we are hoping Mr.WG, in the need to protect his deviance can go to any length…. Even the wrong person, whose biggest mistake in life was to inspire this story… and I will have contributed. Sorry GM, if you wanted to save your skin, you’d have done as we’d asked as early as Oct.
Please refer to her story later in the blog. Back to my story.
************************************************************************
So, I decided to pursue the legal issue that initially put me in this vicious grip. I spoke to him about it, knowing h would keep his word. I mean, any man who says he keeps his word a thousand times over, must keep his word, alright? As we sip hot beverages from Steers Muindi Mbingu, I remind him kindly that I am in great need to finish up the legal matter. I would like my freedom as well as start planning for the future.
The immediate answers are both disturbing and somewhat expected.
“You know that this is a cruel city?” he asks in a nice, warm fatherly voice. So what? It may b fatherly, but damn… my father is younger.
I know it is a cruel city. I am sitting in a BMW having hot chocolate and talking to the man who at this time holds my life in his hands. If I had a choice, I would be at home resting. I would be resting because I wake up with the cocks, and comes to the office past ten in the morning unless he has an early court case. Yes, I need sleep because in the last few days, he has been keeping me out with his silly friends until the wee hours and I need my rest.
So it is a cruel city. Screw you. You take advantage of an assured girl who came to see your wife, scared and half beaten by her husband and force her to give you sexual pleasure in exchange for her safety and some possible legal help, which she needs to get out of the clutch of the male husband monster and all you can intone is that Nairobi is a cruel city?
Spare me the fatherly talk. If all the fathers in the world were lie this and took advantage of their daughters friends, we would have more shrinks than lawyers……
“The best thing for you to do, is to wait until I am done wit you. Two years. I need two years, whereby I can take care of you, protect you, and make sure that you forget him, and then you can actually, get legal help. If you ever want to get it, you give me two years.”
I can’t believe my ears. I want to spill the chocolate o his lap and burn him, just to hear him scream. But I restrain myself, short of stopping to breathe, I just suck it in.
So, back to the dead vicious circle.
When a woman is assaulted, to the point of ear death, she has two options. She can succumb, forgive the man and resume the relationship in the false hope that he would never ever hurt her, or she can run away, get help and goal.
I took the second option, since I am a fighter. I took the second option. In taking this, I was led to seek help from anon I thought i knew. Somehow, I knew the right people then, or so I thought.
Then the circle resume. Here I am worse off than I begun.
I am here once again.
In the vicious clutches of another man, wielding worse power. More sinister. Evil. Cunning and more painful than a slap to my self.
I am humiliated, degraded, and god, I want t die.
Speaking of god….
My husband, the best thing about him: he was saved. A believer. A man of god.
Until the day he tried to kill me with kicks and slaps and punches to the gut.
But is survived, made it, got out, having some little hope in god.
Then meeting Mr. Gatonye. His wife so religious. She even prayed for me. And he did too. And in the name of god, took me. In my time of desperation and pain. He took me and forced his will upon me. A will not of physical courage. But a malicious calculation of emotional blackmail and psychological games that had me at a weakened, disadvantaged state.
Today, hearing those words. Knowing that there is no hope. And seeing the great deeds from the men of god. I suddenly realize that I am alone. I have no hope and I will surely die if I ever trust in anything godly again.
God is dead.
And the life-death cycle is a way of eliminating any false hope in life… it means, we have to fight or sink.
I will fight. But not in hope or force. I will fight in the game of cat and mouse. I will be the meek, submissive mistress. I will be living, giving, caring and eve nice. I will forget myself and place my hopes in something tangible. Something I can count on. Myself. The internet, and the unending cycle of life: my death.
I am already dead. I have nothing to loose by going at this fight in full swing.
So, today, the good, nice, decent, moral me dies. So that I can be the good, nice, caring mistress, for the man of god. Who had promised to help me, but feels I need to wait two years up until he can be done.
Two fucking years of temporary death.
Maybe the underworld isn’t all that bad.
Melanie, my bird whisperer tells me that someone else is taking the heat for this blog here. Last night, some goon who claimed to have been helped by Mr. G out of a theft charge called one her and told her that she made a mistake by going after the “wakili”. He was in a way, very familiar. Sounded like some guy who used to hook him up with one of the powerful families he wanted to work for. Funny thing, though, the girl was not scared. She said she had such evidence and witnesses that if they decided to “Cut he neck” as she was told, her death would be a welcomed relief, from the pain and torture his man put her through.
I say, come and join me girl. Tell us who you are and we shall help make the lives of million other abused women so much better. Or maybe, it will help Mrs. G, who is aware of all this, from the girl herself, to stop her husbands madness. Or is the man getting senile in his old age?
What lengths will this man go to protect himself? Another death? Will Mrs. O die (Oh yes, the woman is a married one), or will she join me, and help make this expose? I am the watch dog.
Oh, and this is not the first threat. Her former colleagues in a certain media house and former good friend, whom they split up over the uncomfortable feelings due to Mr. G’s acts, also know and are aware of his threats and spying on her. She even had a stalker. Gal that was me, but it was fun to see how she stashed all these photos and send distress emails to her folks!!!
If she dies, my story is true, and we ALL know who the killer is. Mr. G. Bad Move. VERY BAD MOVE.
My advice to you: You may threaten her, but you do not know me, and will never know me. This woman has been your faithful mistress for a long time. What? We even know about the pregnancies… she had better live to be 120.
But that is another story, for another day.
Keep reading, and keep your emails coming.
Unless he gets to kill me also, tomorrow… comes the day of the darlings!!!!
XOXO
Dirrty Mistress.
Please allow me to post this blog so late in the day, because I have been in the most awkward situation of my life. I am no killer. I do not wish an untimely death on anyone, whoever they may be. However, I came across a certain GM, who seems to be in the same situation. This woman/girl is the perfect easy to kill candidate.
She is vicious.
Now, she is no rabid animal, but she can inspire many attacks in any woman’s life than anyone I know. She is a hero, fearless and always speaks her mind. She is also fearless, which makes men and women who may seek to dominate her have a really hard time liking her, and hence want to kill her or beat her… just to stop her. Well, I am yet to see a first one to try and succeed. So, she called me late last night and congratulated me on my article. Reason… Mr WG was so touched by our article, he could not think of anyone else who would try and oust him… who would take him head on. But I am here. And she wants me to proceed, because he has made threats on her before, that if this time he does kill her, he will have a lot of people… and I mean A LOT to answer to.
Let us say that, that statement cause me to spill hot cocoa on my, ooops! Her former laptop, which as now you all know, is a great source of information. After a little blanching and delayed heart attacks, she told me that Mr. G has threatened to have her killed. Coming from a long trip from Kijabe, she slept immediately. Someone on a private ID called her and assured her that he has been contracted to cut her neck….
So, I know I can write the story, and GM will get killed. If she does, we are hoping Mr.WG, in the need to protect his deviance can go to any length…. Even the wrong person, whose biggest mistake in life was to inspire this story… and I will have contributed. Sorry GM, if you wanted to save your skin, you’d have done as we’d asked as early as Oct.
Please refer to her story later in the blog. Back to my story.
************************************************************************
So, I decided to pursue the legal issue that initially put me in this vicious grip. I spoke to him about it, knowing h would keep his word. I mean, any man who says he keeps his word a thousand times over, must keep his word, alright? As we sip hot beverages from Steers Muindi Mbingu, I remind him kindly that I am in great need to finish up the legal matter. I would like my freedom as well as start planning for the future.
The immediate answers are both disturbing and somewhat expected.
“You know that this is a cruel city?” he asks in a nice, warm fatherly voice. So what? It may b fatherly, but damn… my father is younger.
I know it is a cruel city. I am sitting in a BMW having hot chocolate and talking to the man who at this time holds my life in his hands. If I had a choice, I would be at home resting. I would be resting because I wake up with the cocks, and comes to the office past ten in the morning unless he has an early court case. Yes, I need sleep because in the last few days, he has been keeping me out with his silly friends until the wee hours and I need my rest.
So it is a cruel city. Screw you. You take advantage of an assured girl who came to see your wife, scared and half beaten by her husband and force her to give you sexual pleasure in exchange for her safety and some possible legal help, which she needs to get out of the clutch of the male husband monster and all you can intone is that Nairobi is a cruel city?
Spare me the fatherly talk. If all the fathers in the world were lie this and took advantage of their daughters friends, we would have more shrinks than lawyers……
“The best thing for you to do, is to wait until I am done wit you. Two years. I need two years, whereby I can take care of you, protect you, and make sure that you forget him, and then you can actually, get legal help. If you ever want to get it, you give me two years.”
I can’t believe my ears. I want to spill the chocolate o his lap and burn him, just to hear him scream. But I restrain myself, short of stopping to breathe, I just suck it in.
So, back to the dead vicious circle.
When a woman is assaulted, to the point of ear death, she has two options. She can succumb, forgive the man and resume the relationship in the false hope that he would never ever hurt her, or she can run away, get help and goal.
I took the second option, since I am a fighter. I took the second option. In taking this, I was led to seek help from anon I thought i knew. Somehow, I knew the right people then, or so I thought.
Then the circle resume. Here I am worse off than I begun.
I am here once again.
In the vicious clutches of another man, wielding worse power. More sinister. Evil. Cunning and more painful than a slap to my self.
I am humiliated, degraded, and god, I want t die.
Speaking of god….
My husband, the best thing about him: he was saved. A believer. A man of god.
Until the day he tried to kill me with kicks and slaps and punches to the gut.
But is survived, made it, got out, having some little hope in god.
Then meeting Mr. Gatonye. His wife so religious. She even prayed for me. And he did too. And in the name of god, took me. In my time of desperation and pain. He took me and forced his will upon me. A will not of physical courage. But a malicious calculation of emotional blackmail and psychological games that had me at a weakened, disadvantaged state.
Today, hearing those words. Knowing that there is no hope. And seeing the great deeds from the men of god. I suddenly realize that I am alone. I have no hope and I will surely die if I ever trust in anything godly again.
God is dead.
And the life-death cycle is a way of eliminating any false hope in life… it means, we have to fight or sink.
I will fight. But not in hope or force. I will fight in the game of cat and mouse. I will be the meek, submissive mistress. I will be living, giving, caring and eve nice. I will forget myself and place my hopes in something tangible. Something I can count on. Myself. The internet, and the unending cycle of life: my death.
I am already dead. I have nothing to loose by going at this fight in full swing.
So, today, the good, nice, decent, moral me dies. So that I can be the good, nice, caring mistress, for the man of god. Who had promised to help me, but feels I need to wait two years up until he can be done.
Two fucking years of temporary death.
Maybe the underworld isn’t all that bad.
Melanie, my bird whisperer tells me that someone else is taking the heat for this blog here. Last night, some goon who claimed to have been helped by Mr. G out of a theft charge called one her and told her that she made a mistake by going after the “wakili”. He was in a way, very familiar. Sounded like some guy who used to hook him up with one of the powerful families he wanted to work for. Funny thing, though, the girl was not scared. She said she had such evidence and witnesses that if they decided to “Cut he neck” as she was told, her death would be a welcomed relief, from the pain and torture his man put her through.
I say, come and join me girl. Tell us who you are and we shall help make the lives of million other abused women so much better. Or maybe, it will help Mrs. G, who is aware of all this, from the girl herself, to stop her husbands madness. Or is the man getting senile in his old age?
What lengths will this man go to protect himself? Another death? Will Mrs. O die (Oh yes, the woman is a married one), or will she join me, and help make this expose? I am the watch dog.
Oh, and this is not the first threat. Her former colleagues in a certain media house and former good friend, whom they split up over the uncomfortable feelings due to Mr. G’s acts, also know and are aware of his threats and spying on her. She even had a stalker. Gal that was me, but it was fun to see how she stashed all these photos and send distress emails to her folks!!!
If she dies, my story is true, and we ALL know who the killer is. Mr. G. Bad Move. VERY BAD MOVE.
My advice to you: You may threaten her, but you do not know me, and will never know me. This woman has been your faithful mistress for a long time. What? We even know about the pregnancies… she had better live to be 120.
But that is another story, for another day.
Keep reading, and keep your emails coming.
Unless he gets to kill me also, tomorrow… comes the day of the darlings!!!!
XOXO
Dirrty Mistress.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Death Threat
Mr. G...
Threating your immediate former girlfriend has opened up possibilites for us.
We are talking to her.
Hoooray,
Break her nexk, but you and Nash, cant stop the train.
My fans, we shall back at 1600hrs tomorrow.
Juicy
Threating your immediate former girlfriend has opened up possibilites for us.
We are talking to her.
Hoooray,
Break her nexk, but you and Nash, cant stop the train.
My fans, we shall back at 1600hrs tomorrow.
Juicy
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Damage
Its has been three weeks since I let myself get into this very elaborate form of personal enslavement. Please don’t get me wrong… I am not doing so badly. I mean, there are worse things. Things as bad as being robbed violated or assaulted by the man with whom you are living with or the one you are plain fucking. In these three weeks, I have come to believe in the power of vanity and invincibility. If you are rich and/or powerful enough you can have and do anything that you desire, no matter the price.
So, I was leaving the office yesterday, when I passed by the office… going in the usual manner: and I haven’t told a soul.
There are people I would like to tell, though, but I do not know how to start; how to explain it. But also, my pals are beginning to ask questions. To be curious: they are tired of my unexplained absenteeism, my sudden interest in Westlands: But hey, this is where we meet for a few moments of sex then some serious talk on all things men with mistresses talk about: their work, their favorite football club, in this case for him, it is Arsenal. And he does have a nephew or somebody, who works at the club who brought him memorabilia…. No wait, he has been to the stadium and watched live football. Wow, if I could get an express ticket to watch Manchester, just a trip to the Theatre of Dream, My! That would be heaven.
Anyway, after having to lie yet again to my friends as to my need to leave early, I go to the office, and this is nothing as bad or sick as anyone outside can tell. We actually have a lot to talk about. When you put aside the threat and forced engagements, this guy is great. Loves his children, his wife, his work, his soccer!!! And yes, he only sleeps with one other woman at a time, and if I were to even remotely believe him, he is still very good friends with his ex-mistresses, most of whom, are married.
He makes a pseudo-proposal, or that’s how I see it. Two years. Two years he can be with me, and in those two years, he can do whatever he wants, I just need to make myself available and presentable (that is said with a suggestion that I should go out there and buy myself some clothes), and, to avoid this very cruel city of Nairobi, he shall guide me because I need a guide. He shall help me get a job. On that note, he says I must resign from my current employer.
Not should, maybe, whatever, just resign.
And yes, we are going to Limuru.
Like I said earlier, it is not a bad life, not at all.
As a woman who has been assaulted an abused, and a poor girl, coming into contact with this all powerful, all mighty man, who has the power to have you arrested, buried and sunk in the deepest ghouls of hell, you pretty much appreciate any crumbs of goodness and appreciation that are thrown your way.
The irony is that, once you forget the terms of the deal, and get down to doing the duty of once a week fuck, accompanying the man to endless evening meetings at the Jacaranda and other hotels, going to Gypsy for Saturday football and Klub House for Friday’s Chairman’s table dinner, then it is kind of rosy. And funny thing, at the table, the men are of different sizes and power levels, and the women…. Look at the current girlfriend of one of the powerful men over there. She is so nice and cuddly, and I can barely afford to sit next to him. He shocks me on our way back: as we drive home, he asks me of my impression of her. I give an honest evaluation that I did not think she liked me very much of course she didn’t, he responds kindly. She is very, very, very; mad at me (meaning me).
They were having a secret affair, at the same time she was seeing the Chairman.
I am drunk, but I am not that drunk. When a man is so callous as to tell you that you have to fuck him, but he is concerned that his ex-mistress hates him because, as he put it, they were having a private affair since the Chairman is a very powerful man (and he is), and here he is expressing his concern. Puleez!!~! Spare me the tears.
So this is the kind of man, who wanted me to have a mandatory HIV test with his very good friend the doctor (I can’t mention his name, Mel, he is not a main part of the story, and I never saw him anyway…) and he was screwing with the chairman’s mistress!!!! Man, this is pathetic.
So, we are going to Limuru. And it is a beautiful place. There is this client who has a place coming up, and we are going to visit. My biggest problem is: who the hell am I? I could be going to meet people I respect with a man… anyway; I do not have a choice. So we set off for Limuru in the afternoon.
Driving a BMW in the country side is fun, if they let you go beyond the speed limit. I enjoy the ride
Like I have said twice before: it is not such a bad life when you have all these things that a nice and bright and shiny and lovely and beautiful. When things are like that and the above, you tend to forget why you are there. You maybe suffer from a few nights of insomnia after every fuck, but, when it is a trip to Limuru, or a nice evening at the Norfolk, and this is the best; an afternoon and early evening at the Gypsy watching football, there is something nice and beautiful and bright and shiny and maybe lovely in this sick, very sick arrangement.
So, as we take in the beautiful scenery, I wonder what I am still doing with him. Surely, e must be terrified that if I told his wife or god forbid, hi daughter, he would get some backlash. But something about the casual confidence and the sure manner in which h relates with everyone makes me scared and unsure.
I am not an unsure person. But when life has beaten you and handed you some painful chunks in such large portions, so fast, in the form of the men I your life, you kind of get unsure.
So, we arrive and have a nice time. I realize that there will be no way out. I must live out the two years. I must persevere. I will go along. I will give in.
But I will no longer be unsure.
I will collect evidence.
I will tell the world, one day. Not today, but one day.
I will destroy the man. Not because it is a deserving punishment, but because, as life goes, someone sometimes must bear the brute force of the sins of others.
For all those men who have taken women’s lives and hung them to dry.
For all the ones who live in great pain, unable to act, unsure. For them and me.
He will pay. And I will see to it.
So, on our way back, I get a camera and recorder. I was unsure, but I am intelligent, cunning and I can suck it up.
So, I am so totally glad I had the trip to Limuru to get to clear mind. It certainly made me somewhat… damaged.
I have taken a leap into a place of lies and deception, of blatant scheming… and that is the last bridge between sanity and insanity, between whole and damaged.
I am damaged. Deal with it.
So, I was leaving the office yesterday, when I passed by the office… going in the usual manner: and I haven’t told a soul.
There are people I would like to tell, though, but I do not know how to start; how to explain it. But also, my pals are beginning to ask questions. To be curious: they are tired of my unexplained absenteeism, my sudden interest in Westlands: But hey, this is where we meet for a few moments of sex then some serious talk on all things men with mistresses talk about: their work, their favorite football club, in this case for him, it is Arsenal. And he does have a nephew or somebody, who works at the club who brought him memorabilia…. No wait, he has been to the stadium and watched live football. Wow, if I could get an express ticket to watch Manchester, just a trip to the Theatre of Dream, My! That would be heaven.
Anyway, after having to lie yet again to my friends as to my need to leave early, I go to the office, and this is nothing as bad or sick as anyone outside can tell. We actually have a lot to talk about. When you put aside the threat and forced engagements, this guy is great. Loves his children, his wife, his work, his soccer!!! And yes, he only sleeps with one other woman at a time, and if I were to even remotely believe him, he is still very good friends with his ex-mistresses, most of whom, are married.
He makes a pseudo-proposal, or that’s how I see it. Two years. Two years he can be with me, and in those two years, he can do whatever he wants, I just need to make myself available and presentable (that is said with a suggestion that I should go out there and buy myself some clothes), and, to avoid this very cruel city of Nairobi, he shall guide me because I need a guide. He shall help me get a job. On that note, he says I must resign from my current employer.
Not should, maybe, whatever, just resign.
And yes, we are going to Limuru.
Like I said earlier, it is not a bad life, not at all.
As a woman who has been assaulted an abused, and a poor girl, coming into contact with this all powerful, all mighty man, who has the power to have you arrested, buried and sunk in the deepest ghouls of hell, you pretty much appreciate any crumbs of goodness and appreciation that are thrown your way.
The irony is that, once you forget the terms of the deal, and get down to doing the duty of once a week fuck, accompanying the man to endless evening meetings at the Jacaranda and other hotels, going to Gypsy for Saturday football and Klub House for Friday’s Chairman’s table dinner, then it is kind of rosy. And funny thing, at the table, the men are of different sizes and power levels, and the women…. Look at the current girlfriend of one of the powerful men over there. She is so nice and cuddly, and I can barely afford to sit next to him. He shocks me on our way back: as we drive home, he asks me of my impression of her. I give an honest evaluation that I did not think she liked me very much of course she didn’t, he responds kindly. She is very, very, very; mad at me (meaning me).
They were having a secret affair, at the same time she was seeing the Chairman.
I am drunk, but I am not that drunk. When a man is so callous as to tell you that you have to fuck him, but he is concerned that his ex-mistress hates him because, as he put it, they were having a private affair since the Chairman is a very powerful man (and he is), and here he is expressing his concern. Puleez!!~! Spare me the tears.
So this is the kind of man, who wanted me to have a mandatory HIV test with his very good friend the doctor (I can’t mention his name, Mel, he is not a main part of the story, and I never saw him anyway…) and he was screwing with the chairman’s mistress!!!! Man, this is pathetic.
So, we are going to Limuru. And it is a beautiful place. There is this client who has a place coming up, and we are going to visit. My biggest problem is: who the hell am I? I could be going to meet people I respect with a man… anyway; I do not have a choice. So we set off for Limuru in the afternoon.
Driving a BMW in the country side is fun, if they let you go beyond the speed limit. I enjoy the ride
Like I have said twice before: it is not such a bad life when you have all these things that a nice and bright and shiny and lovely and beautiful. When things are like that and the above, you tend to forget why you are there. You maybe suffer from a few nights of insomnia after every fuck, but, when it is a trip to Limuru, or a nice evening at the Norfolk, and this is the best; an afternoon and early evening at the Gypsy watching football, there is something nice and beautiful and bright and shiny and maybe lovely in this sick, very sick arrangement.
So, as we take in the beautiful scenery, I wonder what I am still doing with him. Surely, e must be terrified that if I told his wife or god forbid, hi daughter, he would get some backlash. But something about the casual confidence and the sure manner in which h relates with everyone makes me scared and unsure.
I am not an unsure person. But when life has beaten you and handed you some painful chunks in such large portions, so fast, in the form of the men I your life, you kind of get unsure.
So, we arrive and have a nice time. I realize that there will be no way out. I must live out the two years. I must persevere. I will go along. I will give in.
But I will no longer be unsure.
I will collect evidence.
I will tell the world, one day. Not today, but one day.
I will destroy the man. Not because it is a deserving punishment, but because, as life goes, someone sometimes must bear the brute force of the sins of others.
For all those men who have taken women’s lives and hung them to dry.
For all the ones who live in great pain, unable to act, unsure. For them and me.
He will pay. And I will see to it.
So, on our way back, I get a camera and recorder. I was unsure, but I am intelligent, cunning and I can suck it up.
So, I am so totally glad I had the trip to Limuru to get to clear mind. It certainly made me somewhat… damaged.
I have taken a leap into a place of lies and deception, of blatant scheming… and that is the last bridge between sanity and insanity, between whole and damaged.
I am damaged. Deal with it.
Monday, December 8, 2008
The beginning: The TERMS
Thank you Melanie for that email on the identity of Mr. X. I was a little bit of a coward and today, I realized that there is no need to hide his identity. And yes, he is a he, and I am a she. So, I am embracing myself to some serious stuff and possible tussles between my agent and me, if I do choose to disclose his name.
Sometimes in a girls life, shit happens that has no logical, karma, scientific and whatever form of justification. For me the shit has visited me twice. The first is insignificant in this tale, but the second… oh, it surely is. I can sum it in three words… words that will state everything in clear and precise terms:
Mr. Waweru Gatonye. Lawyer and senior counsel. Well, I don’t understand the second part, but that is the part where all the young ambitious lawyers bow and scrape at the beck and call of the Senior Counsel. Now, that is a good thing, to have people bowing and scrapping, at your beck and call... life is a great thing, this way.
So, WG, as I shall call him from here hence, does sound better and more precious than Mr. X, you do agree?
Mel thanks for the tip. I am also experiencing some great tingling niceness that was not there beforeJ
When wg called me on e Thursday evening, and asked me to go to his office: St. Ellis House, 6th Flour, he was very precise on how I was to make my entry: I was to appear after 6.30 pm, call before I get into the elevators, not tell a soul where I was going, and yes, to bring him a bar of chocolate. On arriving: having to enter on the second door from last, direct to his office, and not having to use the main door, he was already there. Waiting for me.
I walked in with a smile, because he stood and greeted me with a broader one:
“And how’s the great lady?” he asked in his signature greeting mode. I was happy to see a friendly face.
He welcomed me to the seat, those black/brown leather seats and sat next to me, in a very very familiar way. Alarm bells shot up, but I ignored them... noooooooooooo, he wouldn’t dare.
He asked me to make myself a cup of coffee, because he had had lunch… Mama (his term to his wife), makes and packs him great lunch on a daily basis. It apparently makes s her feel important and useful, as any woman should. The chauvinistic prick!!!!
I made myself coffee, with bread, and a good spread of the honey. Perfect honey from some good Nuns who are his clients. He also happened to mention that he does a lot of work for the catholic mission. I was impressed, and yes, you guessed right, he is Catholic.
Taking my tea in nervous anticipation, I took time off to look at the great book collection and was impressed, he also did impress upon me that, yes they are expensive, and no, not many lawyers can afford them, especially the Luo lawyers, who are such tribalists and (how do I put in this delicately?)… a special people. Not special in the kind that makes you want to be with them, love them and own them, but special in the way that makes you want to take them to some schooling and teach them how to invest, marry one wife and maybe use a condom, in order to ‘not be HIV positive). I was impressed. Partly because such profound words and statements show a lot about a man, but because, after all is said and done, when a man tells you that and politely adds that he has employed Lous in his office and respects them, you cant help but want consider him ‘special’, or just surmise that he is indeed a bigot.
Anyway, a ma ca talk, and I can only, but listen. Waking up to place my cup back, he tells me that I do indeed look very nice. I then realize what he is up to. This man, he wants to fuck me. WOW!
BTW, I haven’t said the reason i had came to see him in the first place, have I? well, Mel challenged me to be honest ad to give every sordid detail, so here it goes. WG called me at 10am. In a polite manner, he told me that he wants to help me wit my legal issue, the one I had told Mrs. WG about, and so, I was really looking forward to this. However, when a man starts ogling at your ass, when you are at his office at 7pm, you have but two choices: either to go home, or fuck him. Since he wasn’t used to female rejections, I chose the easier way, I chose to stay. I am not looking forward to the sex, but damn! I think I just got my periods.
So, I sit down and he removes his tie, walks to the adjoining office, which is the pupil’s reading area as well as the fridge, all the while questing me about my health status, and I can only think of one thing: He wants to screw me without a condom. And here he was telling me about the Luos.
He comes back and asks me to lie on his chest. I am not sure how to feel, but I do. I lay far back and place my head on his broad chest. He smells nice. Of perfume and something else… AGE!!! I am the first person in history to smell a man’s age.
He tells me about his favorite son, who is currently in
Suddenly, he stops talking and switches to Kikuyu. He tells me of a doctor he knows. A very good friend of his, who has done some discreet things for him in the past. A great friend indeed, to whom I shall have to present myself to the following day and have an HIV test!
I can’t breath. Is he serious? He wants be tested just for a fuck? Please, let him buy a condom, or ten, if he can manage it, and get over and done with it.
I ask why? And he says he wants to be safe. He has had many women in the past (BUT AWAYS OE AT A TIME, AND HE IS A FAITHFUL SUGARDADDY!).
the nerve
I don know what to comment when a man tells me that he is faithful, yet he has a wife, at home. A fucking wife, whom he had just referred to as Mama… but if you are calling your wife mama, then, well, maybe you are allowed to be that pathetic.
I applaud his ethics, damn, he is faithful!?! I am astounded by the corruption of the English language and the interpretation of fidelity… for a Catholic former alter boy, nonetheless.
He throws me off, silent, and asks m to kiss his nipples. Yes they are nipples, and no, they are not big. They are however, sensitive, and the man can only speak in tongues!!!!! YES, YES, YES.
It takes me while to find out what a man likes in bed. But for wg, it was the nipples. I massage them and lick them.
I alternate between sucking the left one and massaging the right one. Reflexively, my hand moves further south and I am not sure, but did he just say…Mama? I don’t know, it could be Ma! But, he is delirous from pleasure and I am gagging from shame and guilt. I try to stand. I can’t take it any more. Taking my hand off and running my palms over my creased skirt, I realize that what I was about to do was not only wrong, but it is immoral, unacceptable, and possible illegal.
He looks at me with glazed eyes and grabs my hand.
“If you leave now, you won’t get out of this building. I will have you arrested and you may never see the light of day again. Come back here and finish what you started. And I will say this for the last time. If you ever try a stud like that again, you will pay. Now,” he paused and gave me a once over. “Remove those pants and spread your legs on the sofa. You are not going anywhere.”
XOXO.
Dirrty Mistress.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Awakening
I am almost loosing my mind over the prospect of this new freedom I have found. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the time when the truth will not set me free, but it will destroy, annhe Awahilate, humiliate and basically vanguish every ounce of pride and honor and keepsake and goodwill and all things nice that Mr. X has build and staked for the last few centuries. It is time to take this trip, from the foothills of Kirinyaga to the plush Karen home, and have an indepth look at the life, habits, desires and motivations of this one man. This Mr. X.
I had the opportunity to ask around many other women who have been in my position, and they have strongly expressed negative feelings about my coming out in public, but looking back, I realize that lessons for the future and for our children, all come from fears and negativity we must address.
When a man lies, everyday, in many ways, to his spouse and his mistress, to himself and his friends, and to the rest of the world...
When a man forsakes the right path, and veers off the narrow way... but implicates others and leads others astray, destroying lives and killing dreams... deliberately hurting and inflicting emotional damage and rubbing old scars... when a man is un-awed by the fragility of a woman and forces her to commit murder and murder, not once...
When a man, so depraved of remorse and human kindness purses a woman in ruthless abandon over accepted norms, forcing her to lie to her friends, hence leaving her friendless and alone in this social world...leading her to live a life of deception devoid of common triumps and unsifted emotions.
Then, that man ceases to be a friend.
He ceases to be humane.
He becomes the enemy, the anti-feminist, the hypocrite, the spawn of the &(^$#%@$&(). and worse so, he becomes, in personification; Mr. X...
Please walk with me as we explore the journey of Mr. X.... The MAN.
I had the opportunity to ask around many other women who have been in my position, and they have strongly expressed negative feelings about my coming out in public, but looking back, I realize that lessons for the future and for our children, all come from fears and negativity we must address.
When a man lies, everyday, in many ways, to his spouse and his mistress, to himself and his friends, and to the rest of the world...
When a man forsakes the right path, and veers off the narrow way... but implicates others and leads others astray, destroying lives and killing dreams... deliberately hurting and inflicting emotional damage and rubbing old scars... when a man is un-awed by the fragility of a woman and forces her to commit murder and murder, not once...
When a man, so depraved of remorse and human kindness purses a woman in ruthless abandon over accepted norms, forcing her to lie to her friends, hence leaving her friendless and alone in this social world...leading her to live a life of deception devoid of common triumps and unsifted emotions.
Then, that man ceases to be a friend.
He ceases to be humane.
He becomes the enemy, the anti-feminist, the hypocrite, the spawn of the &(^$#%@$&(). and worse so, he becomes, in personification; Mr. X...
Please walk with me as we explore the journey of Mr. X.... The MAN.
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