I wanted something that denotes my
incessant emancipation. Every day is a step for me to be a great person. I
appreciate where I’ve been despite its misfits, where I am and definitely have
a clue of where I’m going…
*****
He
had suggested we meet over coffee after work that Friday. He picked me at a
tattoo parlour somewhere on Moi Avenue where I was inquiring on prices. We
headed towards Hazina Towers and conveniently sat at the terrace section of the
restaurant. I ordered for some fresh garden salad and cappuccino. He watched me
intently as he sipped some red wine. His eyes expressed a desire of sorts, not
just an overrated interest. It was not that look men give you when they want
to fuck you until you lose your brains. His meant he wanted more. Besides, the
date was the culmination of lengthy phone call conversations we’d had for over
three months. He called every other day. I did most of the talking. He
preferred listening despite my attempts at getting him talk. Fine, I’m a
chatterbox.
“I
love listening to your voice and really do look forward to meeting you.”
He had confessed to me one chilly evening of that June. We argued on songs,
movies and politics. He gave me that approving smile on my strong anti Government’s
opinion(s) on taxation policies. Maybe it’s because he was an Exec in the
banking sector. He challenged me on books and that is what led to the idea of
visiting his house to get a copy of Paul Coelho’s The Alchemist. I disapproved at first but upon reflection consented
on condition that I should be able to get back into town and head home as it
was still early. Ladies and gentlemen, this is how I got to spend my night in
the cold region of Limuru.
*****
June 29 – 30, 2012
Johann
Pachelbel’s the great Canon lingers
in the background. The Television is on mute and currently set on the Universal
Channel. He walks beside me with his hands on his backside as I study the
pictures that are spread all over his living room’s bright walls. He is indeed
a lover of art. I ask him about one of the gold framed pieces hanging on the
last corner of the wall. It is a sizable abstract on canvas of a whose whose tits
are all exposed. Her eyes ooze desire and desperation of sorts. It looks obvious but you know
me, I ain’t that deep. He acquiesces and goes about explaining. I maintain a steady
eye contact with him. Brian is not your particularly dark good – looking guy
but he is somehow handsome. The handsome you would not promptly notice. He
speaks softly. There is something about the rhythm of his speech. It is calculated,
thought out and almost seductive in a way. He raises his right arm to show me
the artist’s signature on the base of the piece. I notice how his arms are
hairy and fingers are long. One of the three buttons in his blue T–shirt is now
loosened exposing strands of black hair on his chest. “Do you agree?” He interrupts my wandering – and of course, not so
saintly – thoughts. “Sure”. I respond
hoping he won’t ask me any further questions on the same since I don’t recall
his explanation…
*****
…The
last of the violin sounds in Canon die down. He has a bottle of beer in his hand.
I am sipping the glass of tonic in a flute glass as I peruse through one of the
three books I’ve picked from his shelf. He’s a generally organized man. The one
you hope will propose to you and take you to his grandma who he speaks so
highly of. There is some awkward silence between us with the music just ended. “I would like one of those pieces”. I
point at one of the less extravagant pieces of art. “I’ll get you one”. He offers. I argue that a recommendation to his
supplier would be sufficient but he insists saying that it is not an issue. “You’ll treat it as a gift from a good
friend”. He sneers and for the first time I notice his cute dimples.
The
TV is un-muted and channels switched. “You
must be feeling cold.” He says offering me his couch duvet. I belatedly
realize that this just breached our social distance and when my hands rub
against his, I get very comfortable. He plants a soft kiss on my lips. I comply
and in the next few minutes we are engaged in a serious saliva exchange action
that leads me into being perched on his lap. Our clothes ask to be excused from
our bodies and what ensues is some serious body to body exploration on that
couch. Nothing penetrative. We both find our release simultaneously on the blue
Persian carpet on the floor after which he leads us to the shower. The whiff
from cranberry and hibiscus scented gel rents the air in the shower room. We
stand still for a moment with the hot drops of water hitting our naked selves.
He leaves the bathroom and returns with a towel and pats me dry. I tie the
towel around my waist. He leads us outside. I notice the TV is off and the only
light is from the aquarium next to the wine cellar. The orange and the golden
fish are swimming animatedly. Don’t these
things get tired? I ask myself.
I’m
all spooned and warm underneath his fleecy blanket ready to get some sleep. Some
fine item starts playing. Wait a minute, isn’t this Jake Owen? His thumb subconsciously
scratches hovers around my left wrist. “Cole, we are done. You were peculiarly relaxed on this procedure”.
Huh? I open my eyes only to realize it’s the voice of Ben, my tattooist that
has interrupted my reverie on last night’s events.
Cole’s Note:
I
haven’t seen Brian for eons but his two pieces of art dangle in my living room.
Oh and the Ink on my wrist is exactly two years today!
Memories…
*Shaking My Head*
Cole