BLOG: Toxic mix of women and alcohol that drove me to the brink
I was bored out of my skull as the frosty night in Nanyuki wore on. There weren’t any hookers in this inn tonight. A typical dingy night, if you may.
Not that going to my hotel room without a whore was a novel experience. Some nights were luckless, and I had to stagger there alone, and hope that the morrow would be less harsh.
That had been my life for six month now. Pumping poison into my gut and, and sleeping with women whose names I could not remember as soon as they left the following morning.
The Swiss NGO I worked for had posted me to the arid counties of Laikipia, Isiolo and Marsabit as their field officer, across which I traversed sniffing and collecting coyote and leopard poop for study by their team of scientists and conservationists who regularly visited from our Nairobi regional base.
This job, with no honour, was not what I had gone to college to end up doing. But of what use was honour in this forsaken wilderness? Besides, the money paid out for my upkeep up by the NGO was bait enough to get me by, and much more for indulgence.
The stay here had come with sacrifices nonetheless. The weather up north is bloody nasty. My face was now grimed by the scorching sun and dust. The skin all over my body resembled that of a gecko, if not worse. That I had to give up my comforts in the capital hundreds of miles away sometimes made me cringe with rue. I was thirty-two now, with no family or a permanent home.
My life revolved around work, work and more work. This was about the first job I had ever held all my life, and perhaps what I would do all my life.
Taking a slug of my gin, I slid several bills across the table, and dragged myself out of the establishment as the barwoman bent to pick the money up, swearing.
A silhouette blocked my path.
I titled my head upward to collide with a blonde, 26 or 27 years old. That she wasn’t gorgeous through and through was my instant conclusion. Spectacularly lanky and brown, she wore, in the fashion of a garment, a chirpy expression, perhaps in recompense of her average looks.
Missy wasn’t here for courtesy. She articulated her intent straightaway: she wanted a bull. I wanted someone to hammer. Besides, the oomph from weed, smoked earlier in the afternoon as balm for my miseries –a habit I had picked since I arrived from modern civilisation –had to be dispensed.
Without wasting time, we flagged down a cab.
As soon as I had my dinner in the backseat, the attack began. It was hunger meet hunger.
The woman nailed her begging mouth onto my waiting lips. This woman had a fabulous sleight of hand, and soon my whole body was subject to her expertly-practiced caresses. As we bussed and fondled with voracity, the cabbie focussed on the wheel, ignoring the hubbub at the rear.
While he gunned it through the town, we had the backseat for ourselves to feed our wickedly ravenous sexual propensities.
Inside ten minutes, the car towed outside Dik Dik Restaurant. It was at this goddamned expensive hotel where my thriftless NGO had me stationed.
Soon, I hauled my luggage home. Disrobing women has been my refined knack since I was eighteen. By the time the bedroom door swung open, the lass was only in her black filigree undies.
I noted that her skin was pale in the extreme, looked wasted, somehow unnatural.
Devil may care, I shrugged off in my drunkenness, as I pinned her, or was pinned, to the bed.
1300hrs, following day.
Damnit, I had slept in.
Summoning the energy to rise, I failed. I was powerless. A dizzying, colossal and awful powerlessness. My skull was ten times as heavier, my throat was parched and veins sore, dehydrated. I couldn’t move my tongue to lick my obscenely shrivelled up labials.
I immediately became conscious that I was dangling. Dangling in a void. I couldn’t feel myself. How could I not feel myself?
Lazily, I started assembling what little bits I had into a coherent sequence, of the events of the previous fifteen-or-so hours. Initially, my attempt miscarried, leaving my mental faculties downright wearied.
An hour later, my acuity seemed to come to after several goes.
Last night… I came home… with a woman.
Instinctively, I knew I was now alone. The woman had since pilfered away to gods-know-where. I didn’t search beside me for her.
We had had sex… what was her name? We had shagged. An intense, even violent, shag. A shag such as I had never had, or imagined in life.
Whenever I rode a woman, and ride them I did a lot, my catch of the night would marvel then frown at my arsenal, for my asset was, well, titanic –perhaps the only thing Providence had gifted me with absolute generosity. Women said I was a monster. I would be damned to say they were wrong.
That way, few if any women returned after a match with me. They would run, possibly flee town, forever.
My latest prey though had been of the insatiable species. All my cartridges had been spent, my energy consumed to the max. But she had continued to yell for more, sucking sap out of me.
That’s why I’m so groggy… but I should have been able to recover by now, I lamented, starting to vex.
It’s then that it hit me that the woman had, as a matter of fact, drugged me with a toxic depressant. I slumped back into the pillow and slept. When I woke up after what seemed like three hours, but what was actually a neat eight hours, my head was clearer, except that I could not lift a limb. I gave up trying to rise.
Two more hours went by, and the drug in my system seemed to weaken. I span my head. In one scan of the room, I discovered what there was to discover: the woman had tidied the room.
Clothes, cell, valise, personal gun and an assortment of other things belonging to my employer, were all gone. I could replace most of these items, but without any means to reach Nairobi, the woman had mucked up everything in my life.
A week later, I lost my job.