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When bullets flew left, right and center, I knew it was my end. I didn’t have to go to Iraq or Kabul nor did I meet that horror in Garamba neither was I in Busia, it all found me at Top Bar. Guys, I knew I was dead; leaving my beautiful Yasmine, the twins and my first daughter Hawa but God loves his sinners that is why he probably saved me to live another day.
Although some Muslims like Ouma love booze, I thank Allah for not boozing. I almost died for a woman as you all know I am the kind of guy who would ride a lion to DRC to bonk one of ADF Baluku’s sexually starved wives.
Sometime last year, I hooked a beautiful babe called Prossy. She had big bums and nice legs; the kind of babe that any real man would like to shaft. I thought it was a walk in the park when she concurred with everything I told her.
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“I have heard all you have said but if we are going to be together you won’t be calling me at night!” Prossy told me. So I asked why. “I am married to a ruthless soldier,” she replied. She pulled her purse from the bag and showed me a snap of the mean-looking wizard. I know soldiers are dangerous but if I had not docked Prossy’s bulging Kandahar, what would I tell Allah on D-day?
“If I ever tell you that I am not at the shop, just know I am with my hubby,” Prossy warned me. She demanded for things that I have never even heard of and all I got back was kisses. “I am still studying you,” she kept on telling me as if I was Biology or History.
Guys, I threw in the towel and told her never to see her again. She pleaded and pleaded and shed some crocodile tears. “Darling, I know how you feel and I would have given you but I did not come with my sex kit?”
“For me I want the goodies,” I angrily told her. She then lamented to me of how in her tribe a woman has to be with several towels (enkumbi) by her side during action. “You can use my hankie,” I said while pulling it out. “My shirt too,” I added.
“Of course you know nothing about what I am saying, you are married to a stupid chotera…what does she know other than lying like a pregnant dog while you are shafting her,” Prossy angrily told me pulling my hand to between her legs.
She pulled her knickers aside, placed my hand between her Kandahar walls. I felt like I was in the heavenly kingdom. “Good God of Nazareth….ohhh nga its every wet,” I whispered as I ran a finger. In the process, I caressed her twinnies. The whole Kandahar became wetter and hotter when she pulled out my hand saying, “Stop before I unleash my inner side.” I pleaded for another minute “What do you mean by inner side?” I asked her.
Prossy bragged of how she could wet the car seat. “Really! You mean you are like those women I normally read about in Onion,” I asked her. Instead of answering me, she put my finger that had been surfing her into my mouth. “How do I taste?” she asked me.
The answer should have been “Like every other woman I have tasted” but because I wanted a romp, I replied, “A gentleman never tells until it is over.” The programme was set for Saturday as the major would be out of town. “You will enjoy it on Saturday and Sunday,” Prossy told me on phone. First we went to watch the rally after which we went clubbing despite being fat. Prossy danced like she was possessed by demons.
It was like she was celebrating. At about 3:30am, we left the club and drove to town with plans of spending the night at Imperial Royale Hotel. She got a call from her friend who had spent a lot of time in Somalia doing Kyeyo so I drove her to Top Bar where beers flowed like there was no tomorrow.
“Prossy is a very good catch. As long as you treat her well, she has no problem,” the friend kept on saying. The gologo was demanding for its daily bread. She insisted we leave the place right away so I sneaked my hand down between Prossy’s legs, pulled the knickers aside and started surfing her.
Her El-nino poured endlessly. Prossy freaked saying, “I warned you.” Omunenes’s Aweete was playing that very moment as Bebe Cool said “MukokooneSabawaa awetee” a rain of bullets went past me. People screamed right away. “Afande don’t kill us,” Prossy screamed thinking that it was her hubby while as her friend screamed. “Thieves, thieves,” I knew it was my end.
“Afande sir, I haven’t done anything yet please don’t kill me. I didn’t know that she is married,” I pleaded as I crawled in search of a safe heaven.
About then I heard rescuers on getting out. Prossy confirmed it wasn’t her hubby. I drove them to her friend’s crib as they trembled like leaves before running to Abby’s place where I gave him breaking news.
Of course I can’t come out to help the police since Yasmine thinks I was off selling cosmetics in Mubende.
Till then, I remain Yours Truly, The Mighty Hyena.
