TuFANYE MAPENZI

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Sep 14, 2021

TuFANYE MAPENZI

Nudely dressed, with a towel wrapped around her waist, a black bra holding on to her stiff busts, she sits at the edge of her bed, in her bedsitter apartment, eyes soliciting me, in a way that no woman nor girl has ever stared at me with. They seem heavy with sleep, some sort of unquenched desire brewing deep. I’m glued at the door step, the curtain falls behind me, so no one can see what’s inside. I’m shy. I’m hinged. I’m on my pyjamas, my blood steams through my veins. She stares at me, I hide my eyes from her not to see. She stands up, makes strides towards me. Takes my hand pulls me close, shuts the door. She whispers onto me…. “Nifanyishe Mapenzi” At first I don’t get it. I totally don’t get it. Because I’m a sweet boy at the moment, with a supple face and a baby smile. I don’t get it at first. Because I’m just but a 14 year old boy with innocence all over his face. I’m sorry 14 and a half years old, or maybe I had already hit my 15th birthday. I can’t remember, been a long time. But I ain’t get it when she said, “Nifanyishe Mapenzi.” I’m in high school. A form 2, and all my sexual arousal are at their peak. I am an adolescent. Just a boy waddling through mud of teen hood. I’ve watched porn. I’ve jerked off one too many times in the dormitory. I’ve read porn magazines. Yet I’ve never seen a grown woman before. I’m scared. I want it. She sits at the bed, stroking my hands, for a moment, I blatantly stare as the pornographic episodes plays in my mind. She’s now the brunette busty chick who got a cream pie on her face. Or she is the blonde chick who let me hit it from behind, ended up sucking my juices, as her eyes stares at me with lust. Or she’s the Asian chick who loves it rough, to have her moans hit the roof of the room and bounce back like rain. She notices my pintle getting excited. She smiles, reaches to my zip, caresses my mound. She asks,…. “Wataka kunifanyia mapenzi?” I stammer. She unzips my trouser. It happens so fast I can’t comprehend what’s happening. It’s my first time. Somehow I want it, I’m not sure if I do. I want to feel it too. She dips her fingers inside and fiddles my mound. It’s warm, and gets jiggishly excited in her hands. It grows. She stares at me. I’m momentarily lost in haze. “Wapenda hiyo, huh?” She asks slyly. My voice is coarse. I’m trying to speak but I can’t find the words. She does nothing, just massages my mound. I don’t know what’s happening, but I feel electric currents gushing through my body. They come out squashy. I’m just standing there, thinking that it’s the best I’m yet to have. She stops, “weeh bwana, wafanyaharaka, ni mara yako ya kwanza, eeee? ” She remarks. I’m not a pro. I’ve got imagination. She lays back on bed, removes the bra, and let’s her tits fall, she squeezes on to them, biting her lips, eyes on me, she beseech me, “Nifanyishe Mapenzi..” I swear I’m innocent, I was, maybe I still am, but I remember seconds before I lost it all. I remember the moments before disaster. As she laid there, squeezing her breasts, rubbing her thighs on each other, feeling something I couldn’t grasp, calling unto me. My pants down, for I’ve gone through the first phase. I’d be stupid and a liar to admit that I wanted it not. I needed to feel it more. She said, “waniogopa mimi? Usiniogope, songea nikifundishe…” I got closer, stepped on the bed, crawled towards her, at the same she was unwrapping her towel off her. Spread her legs, and I saw her bushy mellow. I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop. How would I when she laid there and presented a dream come true, tomorrow I’d have a story to tell to the folks. That I’m a genius. My mound in my hand as stiff as a rock. Sweating and perplexed, I swear I have no idea where to find the hole. She pulls me close, takes it and shafts it inside. She moans. And it’s like I’ve always dreamt of it. The breath that escape her lungs are hot, they resound like, “Ouch…. ouch….. usiache kufanya..” When I was done. We dressed. And I’m not proud of that moment, because as the existence of hell I knew I had underperformed. I needed another battle ground, another round. She shut the door behind me as I left. But before that she hissed, “Kesho pia, sawa?” This marked the beginning of everything. The beginning of a fairy tale. When I turned 16 it was better. I became a man before I hit my 18th birthday. That woman was a woman, she made me like it more than I had envisioned it. I learnt to be in love. To call and and request for a cup cake. She gave it to me willingly. When I turned 17 it was my home. The woman was 27. It didn’t matter. We were in love, at least I thought so. “Nifanyishe Mapenzi.” It made me smile, as one day I was heading back home to her, to find the door ajar, as empty as a beer can. Nothing was inside. My heart throbbed as if It was being ripped from my chest cavity. I entered the room, that seemed to be vacated, I sat down on the dusty floor, as I felt tears encroaching the emblem of my eyes. I was abandoned. There was no goodbye note. Maybe I was in the wrong place. “Nifanyishe Mapenzi” Huh, can you belive that.? Two weeks elapsed and I sunk into a deep depression. I got sick. I had all those signs and symptoms of a cancer patient or even anything worse. And my folks got worried of my weariness and pale skin. My loss of appetite and loss of weight. To the hospital they drove me at night when I had passed out. The doc did all the check ups he could do, but they found nothing. That’s right, for they didn’t check for any heart break. I had no malaria, no typhoid. They put me under medication and a strict diet, nothing helped, till they did the test and they knew me for who I had become. So sometimes I look back at my younger self, and somehow I want to pick a hockey stick and hit that boy. I take a look back and I wish that I could turn back time, to remind the sweet little boy of one thing that he missed. I do not regret the bushy mellow, that shit was sweet it gave me an experience. It lasted not for it costed me everything. And I look at you, young folks and I see you repeating the mistakes that I did. We ain’t any difference. The first time I ever spoke to my therapist, she made a joke, she said, “why do under 20 kids love so much sex yet fucks with no rubber.” I don’t know either. When they did the tests, they found traces of HIV in my blood, it’s been there all the while. I ain’t bitter about it. I’ve gone through my share of pain and stigma, alienation and being a misfit. It’s a thing I wouldn’t want you to relive. I take a look back at my younger self, and I wish I could tell him, “Tafadhali tumia kinga..” I wish I could wear a rubber. Ten years later from whence I found out, I met the woman of my dreams, who loved me for who I was, who I am. She’s right here with me. 

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