The Girl of My Dreams by Amanda Nechesa
The first time I met Sally was along the staircase on her way to her apartment. I was going down to buy supper, and get some blunts from the kinyozi guy. When she slid passed me on her way up, I stopped and stared at her momentarily. She was gorgeous. Hers was not the typical gorgeousness of a fine girl, but something more.
She had on black tights, or these things they call yoga pants, which hugged her body and enunciated her thighs and ass. To make matters even harder, she had adorned these tights with a colorful crop top, revealing her sexy navel sitting pretty on her flat stomach.
Then, there was that black bomber jacket written on the back in big red letters the word LOVE. And her hair, that curly brown hair only contemplated the shape of her eyes. The redness of her lipstick, the chubbiness of her face – God, had I just met the girl of my dreams?
I hadn’t, because when I followed her with my eyes, I saw her going to your house. She knocked twice, and then adjusted her crop top, her tights, and finally her smile.
You opened the door a few seconds later, and then scooped her in your arms. She laughed, a deep loud laugh that found its way to my ears, and a residence in my heart. That night, all I could think about was her. I tried not to. Trust me I did. But what is a man to do when he has just met the girl of his dreams? Well, the man wanks off at the thought of her, and doesn’t stop even when he has just cum three times.
Oh, come on, can you quit struggling with that rope? We both know you can’t get out of it. Does the image of me wanking off at your girl gets you mad? You want to kill me? Oh, I can see it in your eyes. You want to kill me, don’t you?
Well, bro, can you please wait till I finish my story first?
Alright, now, where was I?
Oh, jerking off to the thought of your girl.
So after that night, I tried to forget her. She was taken off the market. You had gotten to her first, I was just the unlucky fool who she didn’t even know existed. I had no claim to her at all. Plus, I am not a thief. I couldn’t steal her even if I wanted to, you see.
But, when a week later when you guys came over at my house to see if I had any movies or series; and I guess to be neighborly, you introduced her to me, I was done.
Were you gloating? Was that it? Had you come to twist the knife even further in my stomach? And why did she have to be in those pink short shorts? Did you tell her to wear those, so you could rub it in my face how you are the one who gets to feel those exposed brown thighs?
Oh shut up. Why are you trying to talk? You know I cannot hear you with that rug stuffed in your mouth. Oh great, now you are shaking your head. You didn’t tell her to wear them, huh?
Maybe, just maybe, Sally had a thing for me then. Now it all makes sense actually. That night, on the rooftop, after you saw I had no movies so we decided to just smoke the two joints that I had. Sally is the one who suggested the rooftop, and we, like the love blind idiots we were, agreed with her even though I could not stand you.
You have always been a lightweight, haven’t you? Three puffs and you were gone, wanting to go back into the house and lie down. You asked Sally to go back with you, but she wouldn’t.
“Manze me hadi sijakuwa high. We enda nitakupata.”
Two sentences that warmed my heart. We smoked in silence for a while after you were gone, and then Sally broke it,
“So, what’s your story,” she asked, in a way that told me she had watched too many movies. I mean, that’s the way movie characters always start their conversations, right? I didn’t mind it though. Did she want to know my story? Hell, I could write her an entire book if she wanted.
But for then, I told her the basics. Fourth-year student; oh just like me, she said. Umm, a lover of life and art. Umm, a good person who loves his family …ummm, what else did I tell her?
Honestly, I can’t remember what I said, but I remember what she told me when we had finished one joint and were sufficiently high. She looked into the night, and said;
“Can I tell you a secret? “
I loved that we were speaking English now. I have always preferred to communicate in English, especially if it’s with the girl of my dreams. Kiswahili doesn’t just cut it, you know? Anyway, I said yes. Of course, I wanted to hear her secret. Who would pass off on that offer?
“I can’t wait for my first marriage,” she said.
For a moment, I was disappointed. I thought the big secret was going to be something like I don’t love my boyfriend anymore.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day I passed you on the stairs.
Or, better yet;
I am horny. Let’s fuck right here, right now.
But, instead, she was telling me what every girl dreams of; a marriage. Just as I was about to give her a non-interested answer, I stopped and analyzed her words again.
I can’t wait for my first marriage.
Did that mean there was going to be a second?
“Does that mean there’s going to be a second?” I asked, taking the blunt she was passing my way.
She was still staring into the night as she answered me;
“I mean, why not. Don’t get me wrong, I love marriages, relationships and all that shit. In fact, I love them so much. There’s no way I am staying in one till death do us part. I want to experience all of them; you know? I want to fall in love with someone, get married to them for a while; maybe a year, maybe two; have the best life; have the worst life; get divorced, meet someone new, and experience it all over again. That’s not so bad, right?”
Oh no, it was not bad. It was not bad at all. You know what it meant? It meant that she was done with you. You are her first marriage, her first relationship, whatever shit she said.
The point is, she was done with you and needed a divorce, another experience, another person to come in and give her the best time of her life. It meant that I had a shot with her if only I played my cards right.
And so, here we are. Me, playing my cards. That’s why you are here. Tied up, gagged, defenseless. After I kill you, she is going to be sad for a moment. It’s only expected.
But you know who is going to be her shoulder to cry on? Me, her smoking companion, her next relationship, and probably the one who is going to finally satisfy her and make her stop wishing for other experiences.
Now, be a good boy and try not to cry as I slit your throat.
The Girl of My Dreams by Amanda Nechesa