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Girl Of My Dreams (1)



On Sunday as the dons stayed away from lecturer halls, I decided to stay even further away from them and sunk into our well-liked joint; F2.

I was hoping to dance away the night as the stakes of Kenya’s stout rugby team kept rising in the final leg of the Vancouver sevens.

Being a regular at the watering hole, I had mastered the art of patience, it was increasingly common to bump into a classmate who would offer you a quarter litre of vodka. How thoughtful of such people to help you save two hundred shillings that you would have used to intoxicate the liver.

I pretended to be too deeply absorbed by phone, unconsciously rocking my head to the cool Caribbean vibes gracing the airwaves that night.

Seeing that no one I knew was forthcoming, I opted to get myself a bottle of whiskey and went back to my table which was largely empty.

I bought whiskey that day not because I had enough money to waste but because I had been told a tale of girls and their love for men who take whiskey; ' I was going to be Lucky and get myself a lady,' I said to myself trying to break the seal.

I gently filled my tumbler half way and remained laid back as if waiting for a fellow comrade. As the night progressed no beautiful lady had stopped at my table let alone having a glance. And just soon I gave up the wait, I had a gentle pat on my right shoulder followed by "kwani wewe huna marafiki? " the voice tried to inquire

If we have met , you know that those are the types of questions that rub my shoulders the wrong way. I mean whats the essence of disturbing my peace of mind with such toddler like questions? But that day was different, infact I smilled before telling her my name and letting her know that I had come alone. She introduced herself as Nikkita and asked if she could sit next to me.

She was lively I must say but broke,my efforts to get her buy her own drink were as futile as selling pork in Iraq forcing me to share my bottle with her. She must have been a first year, the rate at which scotch malt took the better part of her was alarming. In no time she had forced me up for a dance. As i got myself ready , the lady with two left feet was busy knocking her knees in an effort to shake what her mama never gave her.

After minutes of sweating it out at the dancefloor i retired for more whiskey. Nikkita followed, this time she was helpless and couldn't control the rate at which her lips oscillated to make words come out of her mouth.

She was quick to ask me where my girlfriend was -a typical way of Kenyan ladies trying to find out if you have a girlfriend. I wasted no time telling the truth, she was nowhere to be seen and that I thought that Nikkita was the girl of my dreams.

She smiled bringing her deep dimples to life and said that she didn't believe in true love. She opened up amid tears welling up her eyes, "she must be hurt, " I thought to myself. Her man had left her for her bestfriend after a successful experiment in form of a three some and now she had no one to call bestfriend and baby. She had done what a good friend would do, give her sex experience, but she had advertised the correct person to a wrong audience and now it was herself to blame.

After the sobs she asked, "would you mind if I gave love the last try? " Wakubwa, you know that feeling when a beautiful well endowed lady call the shots, I couldn't resist, I gave my now empty bottle of whiskey a part on the neck and asked Nikki if we could go home. It was game done by half time.

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