Colleague Flings

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Fresh from campus, probably a size 8 or 10. The curves in the appropriate places. Your parent/s or guardians have sacrifices a little to get you the correct attire for this opportunity and that your mother has had the longest fast for since she turned 40. You are excited too. You can already picture a studio apartment in the next few months, complete with all the basic fine things. Probably in a year or two, a mini cooper will come along. You just bid goodbye to your campus flame. The Tall, Dark and Handsome lad who got a master’s scholarship to the UK and you don’t do long distance. You are still you, 23 and sure that very soon, you will get a classy 28+ working middle class guy to spoil you, not just with a trip to the cafeteria but at least an Easter weekend in the bush or white beaches. It is your first day at work. It is not a big company thus the induction begins with meet and greets. Everyone looks so happy to see you, especially Charlo wa finance (😝 borrowed from a tweep). The only unwelcoming person is the new receptionist with a skirt shorter than her nails length and designer handbag that automatically lands on your to-buy-list.

No harm to get treats as a new employee. Kevo brings you tea; Charlo drops a KFC pack on your desk at lunchtime. Brian, the pot-bellied boss gives you a lift to bus terminus in his fuel guzzler. You are so happy that you cannot wait to chat with your gal on how your “colleagues are so good”. On the 2nd day, an elderly lady will call you aside and give you THE TALK. She will warn you of the hit and run genes all the men colleagues carry. You know it; it’s now a new gospel. So you will sit there, almost wishing to pull out a pen and paper just to show her how serious you are taking in the piece of advice.

Two months later, and you realize that you are struggling to pay your bedsitter rent, let alone rely on 2nd hand designs. A piece or two that came after a lot of bargaining. You can’t even send your folks cash. You are not a faithful tither yet even the thanksgiving offering is so hard to come by. Charlo wa finance balanced his books and your lunch could not fit in any more. Mr Big Boss has been a little consistent with a lunch here and there. You have also gotten a new crush. Denno wa marketing. He has this polished accent, oozes everything in your male ego list and knows that not all blue hues can blend. You like him. He is likable and you really wish he could notice your new weave and now a much tighter skirt is.

It isn’t long before Denno hits the coffee houses with you in tow. His Nissan Dualis, still very new is a topping on the already cooked meal as you no longer have to jav. You like him and even remember to thank God for him. He is slow and careful, and you like it. MR. BIG BOSS is not pushing either. He knows what Denno is up to. He is an old dog with loads of experience. He knows when to bite, so he takes his time. The first bait? What about a work trip out of town? It’s the four of you so no cause for alarm. He openly talks, about how hard you work, which of course is true. You remember to mention to him how grateful you are for the trip because you needed the extra coin. He plays a concerned father and you open up about your struggles. He buys all meals during the trip and even pays accommodation. He does not ask for anything. He does not give cash. Again, down on your knees, you thank the lucky stars. You can’t wait to be back and run into Dennos’ arms. During the trip you can’t stop telling yourself that you are ready to take the relationship to the next level.

Fast forward, five months later, a few bras and panties have a new home, at Dennos. Mr. Big Boss has promised you bigger and better if you spared a few hours for him during the weekend. See, you will always have that one gal in your clique who will tell you why not? She is not your favourite but this time, you have nothing to lose. You start plotting. You learn to buy a few packs of condoms and pop family panning pills like nuts. You can finally afford to save, go for coffees on your own. Your folks are getting monthly stipends and your mom cannot stop praying for the company for paying her daughter so well. You can afford a designer handbag and human hair. Finally, you are almost living the dream you wanted.

One morning, you wake up and there is a hot Caucasian intern. You are forgotten. Worse still, she is in the marketing department and Denno is inducting her. He tells you not to worry until one day you see the texts. Mr. Big Boss gets the Caucasian on his trip. You remember the hot receptionist eyes on your first day at work and you can almost swear that it is the look you have on. You imagine your journey and can’t help crying. To prove that you are not hurt, you go out with Martin from sales, Richard from HR, Fred from the office in Nakuru and even a one night stand with Bill, the IT guy. It is only one and half years and you are “SCRAP”. Used by so many men that you can hardly wait to get another job. The men warn the new men against you. They even discuss you with the females and send them to “talk” to you. Your dignity is gone. Mr. Big Boss blatantly declines your promotion because your values could hurt the brand. You can no longer land the candy eyes because hey, even rubber failed on herpes. You have a few good things and countable trips to 3 star hotels to your name, draped in a very ugly reputation. You may stay to take all the humiliation but if the heavens are merciful, you will get a new chance at a new work station to redeem yourself. If the gods conspire against you, one day there will be memo about redundancy that you will see circulating. You will not understand. Then will come an email to meet the Human Resources Manager. He/she will be short and clear. Your services will no longer be needed. You will start the hustle afresh, broke, broken and either with a lesson learned or no esteem left that you will just pick up from where you left .


I Was a Wreck

I don’t know what men expect when they meet a woman. I really don’t know but I think one thing they are afraid of is physically hurting the woman rather than cheating. Mine is a different case. I loved being abused physically. See, I know this sounds unreal but let me break it down for you.

I have dated three men before and I had never had a “real” connection with any of them until this fourth time. I discovered that accidentally. It was the first time we were making out. It was his place and as expected, he was bit clumsy. Many women love it gentle but I am in the realm where I define masculinity in a very weird way. So when he pinned me on the chair so hard, I did not feel uncomfortable, it was funny how excited I felt. Was short lived because I felt a sharp pain on my back. We stopped and on turning, I was bleeding thanks to a broken nail cutter. His first instinct was to get me all cleaned up and nursed but the blood turned me on in a way I have never experienced. I am a religious 90 day rule observer but this time, it only lasted 32 days. It was magical. I embraced how careful he seemed after the accident.

A week later, we had a fight because I did not want him to go out one night. He hit me, I know its bad but I always say I pushed him to the wall. He hit me and I think the shock on his face was the best thing I had ever seen. I had a broken lip. But he stayed and we made up and again, I realized I was connecting. The following day, he was a smart man to ask why I was not mad and why he thinks I enjoy being hurt. We talked and decided to explore if indeed I enjoyed being hurt. I bought chains, whips and needles. I had blades and knives on stand by. All was well. I enjoyed the near death chocks. I always wanted to be sad so that I could see him desperate and vulnerable to make me happy . The worst bit however is that with time, it got more intense that at times I would walk from our bed to cut myself so that he could make love to me. I turned him into a monster. A sad and desperate one who passed my initiation. He withdrew from the social life and spent most of his time nursing my wounds. I can’t tell who became another’s slave. I lost all my friends and almost never spoke to my family.

One day, I fell ill. I needed a proper hospital. We had to get a private doc because I was a wreck with fresh, healing and healed wounds. I needed help. Good news I got. We were expecting a baby. I was okay but he was so scared. For the first time in almost a year, he told me that he needed to broker a business deal late in the evening. At home, I felt nothing. Cooked diner and readied myself for a night of “celebration”.

He came home around 9pm, but not alone, with his friend and sister. I did not see it coming but I cared less anyway. There was enough food so we ate and drowned a few glasses of wine. In mind, I am trying to thing of the trashiest of things why he had company. I was happy that for the first time, he had taken the initiative of new things.

While tipsy, I started being at ease and he talked. He opened his heart and never hid what we had gone through. I was not shaken. I still thought that it was a way to make the others comfortable . I only started being alert when he said he could not hurt his child anymore and he wanted it safe so bad. He was leaving, at least until I healed.

I finally became human and begged him to stay . I wanted him because I wanted his torture. I wanted him to harm me more. I wanted him to feel that he owned my body and everything I could offer. The net thing I remember is waking up in hospital with no one but the doctor. Moments later my brother showed up. He did not ask why. He hugged me and said it will be okay. I did not know which hospital it was . All I wanted was the father of my baby to take me home. I stayed in hospital for a month and a half, with daily counseling . The only relative I saw was my brother and his sister. On discharge, I spent two more months in a rehab then his sister took me in until I delivered.

During my pregnancy, I don’t how if I actually embraced healing. My moment came when I saw my baby girl. I don’t know what happened but I realized that happiness is not pain. That caring is not an apology. I knew that I wanted my baby and all that she came with, including her dad. He took us home. He had gotten us a home. My family and his welcomed us. It was a new beginning .

I don’t know why I bottled up the abuse I had gone through in high school. I protected the rapist because I did not want to be ashamed. I consented to the succeeding episodes because I though the pain I suffered all through made the monster care. I thought all men should treat me that way. I wanted my husband to be one of them.

My girl is five and half, she has an eight month brother. They have been the best almost six years of my life. The scars are a contact reminder that I am a survivor.

I Cannot Be Your Lover

Friends are supposed to be just friends. Not friend with or friends for. No. Friendship should just be pure and with no expectations like a give and take situation. However, there comes a time when you have this friend you feel like you cannot be *just* friends anymore. It can be frustrating especially for a girl. Men will say it but rarely will we. I wrote the tit-bits below with an intention of sending to my friend. I never did, but I know he suspects it might have been something bad that either of us did that costed our friendship. If you read this, and you think you know it is you, I am sorry.

Few years back when we met as acquaintances, I hardly knew we would fast be friends. You were so reserved to the extent that I knew we would never be friends. Though I knew I would see you more often because of the situations that made us meet, I knew you were one of the friends who liked it very formal. I respected that. As much as you made me tone down being hyper just to match your energy, at least talked less when you were around because you hardly ever maintained a long chat which was very formal. As time went by, we grew to talk more. You were so sweet and considerate. Held my hand through a bit of my growing up. You made me comfortable and showed me the other good side of life I had not experienced. Where people talk in low voices and don’t have to maintain eye contact. Cannot lie you brought the best in me, you made me alive in a sober way.

With time, we finally became what people would call friends. You did not hide much, opened a bit by bit. You prodded but never pushed for me to speak. With time, I realized just how much I always looked forward to the talks. You were and still are a very nice person. It scared the hell out of me. You were a healing shell and I admired your baby steps and the resilience to overcome. You were a considerate dreamer. I really liked you for that. The more we talked, the more I realized what a good human being you are. I looked forward to the moments. I looked forward to the talks. I looked forward to your eyes. I searched your face every day to see your eyes, which I think I managed twice or three times.

I admired how bold you were when tackling life. You were not afraid to crawl amidst the dash or stop when need arose. For you, it only mattered that you went forward. I was used to some friends who had bits of what you stood for but for the first time, you were like four of them in one.

But you tripped; you fell in love and said it …….

I was not a young girl not to know what was coming. I suspected but I think I took for granted. I thought it would not come so soon. But then it came. My world stopped for a bit. I played with our feelings and it was so painful to see us get hurt. I will never forget the first time you maintained the gaze. It broke my heart into a million pieces. I will NEVER forget that. The rage, hate and brokenness. I will never forget what you said to me.
“Doris, we cannot be friends, I want you more than that. You won’t convince me otherwise”

That evening I went to bed but could not sleep, sat at the balcony until 3:00am crying. I don’t know why I cried but I knew you were not the man I wanted I wanted in my life. I never wanted a man who always told me yes. I did not want a man who controlled me (yes you did even without words). I never wanted to see you as my partner because you made me so vulnerable. You challenged me and I am so glad for that. But every day I saw you, I always wanted you to accept me as a good girl. I did not want you to know my weaknesses but always ended up sharing almost everything.

I ask myself if I led you on, to some extent, I did. I always fell in your embraces like my life depended on it. The kiss I stole in the dark was because I did not want you to see my eyes sparkle. Dragging each other to church was the most beautiful thing in our friendship. There are sermons I just stared at you praying and hoped that you prayed for me too. But still, my heart would not love you as lovers are to. I am so grateful for everything.

However, I am so sorry. I know we can never be friends again. You put that so clear. I miss you. But nothing has changed. To date, I still cannot let my heart accept you as a lover. I am so sorry for leading you on. I am sorry for making you sad. I am not sorry for the happiness you brought me. I am not sorry about the kiss, I liked it. I am not sorry for the times we were there for each other. I will never be sorry that I met you. In fact, I really thank God I did. I really wish we were still friends as much as I know that will never be.