MY EXPERIENCE DATING A HORNY INDIAN GIRL: PART 1

The sun had risen early enough unlike other days, magnificently shining the rays directly at my face straight from the cloudless blue skies. The wind was wafting, directly flipping my old white Puma jersey in and out of my scraggy body structure as I sat at the balcony of Mzee Kimani’s old flats deep in the rural villages of Ruiru. My mind was busy in deep thoughts contemplating of an Indian girl I had met a few days ago. In between my thoughts, I often got jumbled and lost in the wilderness of thoughts of because I never had thought of dating a woman of an Indian origin. This was a strange happening; a strange feeling. However, as nature would have it, in my thoughts, I found my body, mind and soul attractively getting glued to this invisible fine-looking Indian woman girl. I would describe this Indian girl as one of the very few gorgeous Indian women I had seen in the streets of the ‘city under the sun’. You of course know that Nairobi is no-longer a city under the sun but a 'city under trash' Her beauty at some point made me think of never getting married to a black. Being my first date, I felt naive and at the same time, I had that unending enthusiastic intimate feeling. HHer name was Alisha.

How I came to date an Indian girl still was never explicable even by my own conscience. Abysmally in thoughts at Mzee Kimani’s flat, ideas criss-crossed my mind that this exquisite Indian girl could have bewitched me.  I couldn’t imagine, a white woman would really ever have given attention to me. But on a jiffy thought, I disputed the negative thoughts on the basis that, since I owned nothing other than a rented cubicle in the outskirts of Ruiru, this must be true love; I mean God given manna from paradise. I only ‘owned’ a cubicle that acted as a ‘kitchen’, ‘sitting room’ and as ‘bedroom’.  Literally, by elongating my hands, I could touch one edge of my ‘bedroom’ and the other edge of the ‘kitchen’. Mzee Kimani must have been those mean and miser Kikuyu’s who maximized every single space to construct such a clasped flat just to save on cost of construction whilst maximizing on proceedings from our hard earned taxable pay. A real typical Kikuyu he was.  

Why this Alisha adored me, I have no clue. Why she unequivocally thought of courting me, a pauper like me back then, I have no idea. Maybe, my intellect and wisdom was her basis of my predilection. For your information, scientific research findings state that, human beings with slanting faces like mine typically have a higher IQ level. Now you know am not an idiot.  Probably, she had seen this and perceived a brighter future basing it on my intellect. I too liked and loved Alisha. Her tomato tree fruit look alike hips made my heart always skip a beat when I saw her. By the way, I am often turned on by the vocals of a woman. Alisha’s voice was those very few voices that would sustain an erection every time that sharp scream is raised during bedtime intimate play games. She was delightful. Though I adored Alisha, my esteem was at times very low, especially when I visited Alisha to see my family adherents and friends. My family and friends could not comprehend why and how I would date a woman of Indian origin. Due to this stigmatization and to avoid a possible fall-out with Alisha, I often confined her in my cubicle every time she came visiting. I dreamed  of a happy living and a happy life thereafter.

We dated for close to six months and trust me in those six months; I have never engaged her in real intimate sex. I have never penetrated her thing. Not even once. But honestly, every time she visited my cubicle, I made her let out yelps in her soprano Indian voice. Not any Indian man would  ave given her the heaven like romance I gave. Probably, my excellent skills in romance is what made her stick to me; regardless of my poverty. Maybe! She usually coveted for more romance but my fright of impregnating her at my age then (know that I was just 20) startled blubbers out of my flat chest. Envisage six months without sex to a stunning mademoiselle who tirelessly, unconditionally adored me. It’s crazy and incredible. It can’t happen, but it happen to me. I was so naive, possessing angle like characters; I would have died back then, I bet Pope John Paul 2 would have seconded my beatification process to sainthood. 

A few months later, in the month of August, beautiful Alisha called my Samsung A50 phone (you remember those very first blue curved Samsung’s). “Hi darling…..Mmmmmhh…..are you in today? I need to come see you”, she said over the phone. Her sweet sexy voice almost made me jmp out of skin. Immediately after her call, I woke up from my two inch mattress laid in a recklessly made 2 by 2 ft. wooden cot  and started thinking of what to concoct her. I knew Alisha loved spaghetti. Fluky enough, that’s the only meal I knew to chef. Fast forward, I heard a whack on my cubicle egress. I rushed to open the door to welcome the panting beautiful Indian girl. My room was at the 5^th floor and she usually got herself panting every time she climbed those stairs. She was dressed in tight blue jeans, the Indian sarong commonly known as kikoi in Kenya and some high black heeled shoes they usually call juttis to match a silk blue ‘tumbo-cut’ blouse. When she sauntered, her hippy curves would swing right-left like the South African blue gam soft tree during a drizzling afternoon. In her left hand, she held a rectangle designed brown leather handbag. A bag I had never seen during the few months we were into our dating. “Oh, what a lovely handbag”, I hugged her whilst appreciating the nice looking ‘new acquired’ asset.

I picked her bag and placed it on the plastic stool (you all remember those plastic stools and tables that you would find in every hustler’s house). I stretched my both hands to hold her close to me, kissed her and welcomed her to have a sit on the bed. Honestly, I had no sofa sets other than that Kentank plastic stool. I kissed her again and stood to serve her the spaghetti meal I had prepared. “Hey, hell no. today I feel full”, she said. I questioned why she declined my meal. I looked straight into her eyes and saw a horny Alisha. I whispered to my inner conscience that Alisha must be intimately horny, she wasn't in need of food.. Within seconds she seized me by both of her hands and heaved me onto my bed. She stretched her hand to pick the rectangle shaped brown handbag while intensely and tenderly kissing me. This time, my manhood was up and daring to have the Indian 'meal', but my guilelessness and fear of impregnating this girl kept crossing my mind.  She unzipped the handbag and a picked a silver shiny pistol. On seeing the silver pistol, my manhood immediately dropped to a zero degree, colder than the northern hemisphere. Without minding my scare, she went on kissing lips, this time pointing the silver shiny gun at me.  “Will you make love to me today or I shoot your ass dead”.  I even didn’t have the guts to respond to this question. All I felt was some searing stream flow down my thighs. I had urinated on myself. “Am dead”, I whispered to my inner self. The next thing I felt was her hand holding my dick pushing it inside. I felt a sweet stream of relief run my arteries. I held her by my side and while I stretched my head to have her tomato tree fruit look alike boobs, I heard a big bang on the door…….………………………….To be continued