The Disillusionment

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.