The Room mate

Pink earphones strapped to her white bra, she spreads out her yoga mat. It’s that time of the day when she takes time to let go. As she bends over on the almost empty room that works as our sitting room, i slowly close my bedroom door for fear of being seen. Her bottom is well rounded, a phenomenon that her properly shapped breasts totally agree with into an arresting perfection. She dorns white hot pants and a white shower cap. On the seems of this white pant is the intriguing head of a snake or probably a dragon. What’s the difference anyway? I believe suppose all snakes are let to grow, they would turn into fire spitting dragons. Her tattoo spits it’s share of fire and i could reckon a number of lonely men find warmth at night from the thought of how far into her thighs the snake’s tail is found.

This has been her routine for the three months we have lived together. First it was a welcome sight after my best encounter with a woman’s body was on the internet. Fair Jessica Alba is but never as real as what i witness every saturday. Then it became a bother when her fair existence reminded me that probably my happily ever after will be with a cup of coffee and memories of the days she shared a house with me. Ask a man who will die alone and he will tell u which is worse.Well the story of how she came to be my room mate is more unbelievable than the fact that she’s still here.

She’s quite a room mate, not that i’ve had other female roommates to compare her with but my friends at school blossomed when rumour did rounds of the unspeakable beauty of my roommate. She cooks me supper, smiles at me after a hard day at school doing cats. That’s a big deal if the best smile u’ve had from any woman is when the not so good looking Mueni bursts her brown teeth out at your expression of undying love. If rock bottom has a basement then such situations surely get you there. Let me not forgive the fact that Mueni dorns a cap shaped weave complete with a swash of horse tail hair to keep the sun rays from her eyes. And you seem like the only guy who dares use the words ‘you look beautiful’ on her. Maybe she laughs cos she knows too well you lie or probably cos she knows unlike you there’s a lonely watchman three blocks down the road who slipped his a hundred year old tongue through the space between his teeth and brushed her hair. If that’s not all she calls you only on friday evening and says, ‘Aki mbamby natamani ngines na fondka’

She occassionally offers to give me a massage, an act she does with her gloves on and even then it’s one of my best experiences. I have ceaselessly told her of how fair she is and what a connection we have. An allegation she denies vehemently but what do you know maybe she hasn’t figured out that the feeling she bottles up, the one that has kept her at my place is what Oprah or Dr. Phil would call love. I pray every night and every morning that th owner of the sky opens her eyes someday soon. She’s lucky am a very patient man maybe i would have done something outrageous like  make up stories about our sexual escapedes and tell to my friends and anybody idle enough to listen. Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, screw that! Who cares what some lonely greek said anyway? Who even knows if he said so after he made out he-goat or with the picasso he bought for half the value of his entire collection of books? Nkt!

I love how she calls my name  in the morning to wake me up at 4:30, how he tender palms touch me on the cheeks and how she covers me back to sleep when i tell her i’d wake at 4:31 or 4:32. At night she walks into my room and switch off my lights and softly say good night.

I hate it when her heavily built boyfriend comes over and calls me names like, ‘little girl’, ‘pig face’ ‘cattle boy’ or worse ‘Priscilla’. No matter how many times i tell her how unmatched she and the Johny Bravo are she has never seemed to break up with him. Sometimes, ooh very occassionally i show her my dexterity in the Kitchen when i cook her a cup of tea to take with skillfully sliced pieces of ugali and she hugs me and says what a sweet boyfriend i’d make.

I have dreamed of the night when she comes crying into my open arms. Pours her heart out of how she’s been with tonnes of jackasses and what a nice guy i am and how she hopes i wouldn’t mind being with her. Then i would pretend that is an outrageous suggestion and avoid her for two weeks, ooh that’s a lil too much maybe two days or two hours is more practical. I would budge in like Rambo does when he goes to claim revenge or just to kill the bad guys for fun carrying a tonne of flowers picked from our neighbour’s flower pots and probably say, ‘Who’s your daddy? Or ‘Daddy’s home’ as if am some bad ass knife wielding mexican drug lord.

Ooh c’mon, i dream alot and that’s not good when i have to clean the house, do dishes, write another poem about my undying love for hwe and cook dinner just to keep my dream of being her boyfriend one day alive. Occassionally she just walks in while i try some salsa move which i would show her to win her heart and she smiles and say am funny before she gloats of what an amazing day she had with her douche faced boyfriend who looks like the shoes of Barmuriat when he doesn’t look like a penguin or a mystical creature from lord of the rings or harry potter.

At night i close my eyes and pray for love and wait for her to by some miracle to come into my bed and hug me to sleep.


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