It was around 12:30 pm on Tuesday last week and after periods of gloomy weather, the sun had finally come out. I stood up from my desk and began walking around our office, making sure to chokoza everyone I bumped into. I paused by the window to stare over the Nairobi skyline. Despite the fact that we don’t really wear official attire, I was dressed smartly. Business suit, well-polished black shoes. I was supposed to interview a certain female MD but she had cancelled just a few minutes earlier. Now I didn’t know what to do with the killer sense of style that I had blessed myself, albeit temporarily. I didn’t want it to all go to waste. You know those days when you dress so well and you want everyone to notice? This was one of those days for me. That’s the reason I had stood up to walk around the office in the first place.
As I stared out of the window, I took my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it. I dialed Tom’s number. For several tense moments, I listened to the ring. About the time I decided no one was going to answer, a distracted voice muttered a terse hello.
I swallowed quickly. “Am I speaking with Tom?”
There was a distinct pause. “Who is this and how the hell did you get my private number?”
Shit. Damn Gidi for not telling me this was Tom’s private line and apparently one he guarded closely. I’d managed to piss him off before I ever got to the hard part.
“Gideon gave me your number,” I said calmly as my pounding heart would allow.
“Who?” he demanded.
I hastened to assure him. “Gideon. He gave me your number about a . . . film project. He said you were a good director and you could take a look at my script and see if we can make something out of it.”
“Mimi sijui Gideon yeyote,” he shot back harshly
“I’m sorry to have bothered you. I hadn’t realized this was a private number.”
Before he could answer, I gently hang up the phone and backed away from the window.
Bad idea. Definitely a bad idea. But I didn’t care. I was frustrated with things not going the way I wanted them to. I had been a victim of so many disappointments lately.
My pulse raced, and I struggled to get my nerves back under control. I certainly wasn’t the assertive man today. With a rueful shake of my head, I got back to my desk and with a frown of concentration, I turned my attention back to WordPress.
I’ve been looking to get into the film industry for a while now as a screen writer. Not full time, just part time. Writing articles is my main passion but I have the ability to come up with really crazy, out-of-the-box scripts as well. I’ve tried getting into popular local shows but I haven’t managed. I approached renowned script bosses like Abel Mutua (Sue Na Jonnie) and Lucy Mwangi (Aunty Boss and Varshita) but they gave me a cold shoulder because they are ‘holier than thou’ and they felt I am too raw and controversial.
Since I didn’t want to keep begging people to get into their projects, I figured it would be wise to create my own thing, It would have to be something educative with key messages about issues such as STIs, unplanned pregnancies and dating dramas but it would still be uncensored – something that Ezekiel Mutua would probably ban but would good enough to go viral anyway. Deep sex scenes would have to be in there. Sex scenes like those in the movie ‘Blue Is The Warmest Colour.’ I am talking ‘Zane’s Sex Chronicles’ type of sex scenes.
In an effort to make the project a success, I had approached a number of foreign directors and producers who appeared to have interest in making projects in different parts of the world. I figured they wouldn’t be that conservative since people in developed countries aren’t as hypocritical about sex as Africans.
I spent days researching online and sending out dozens of emails out but I hadn’t gotten feedback from any of them yet. My friend Gidi happened given me the number of a local director who studied film in the UK. He is the one I had just called. He’d been very rude but It was alright.
At around 2pm, I decided to step out of our office to go grab something to eat. At this point I was contemplating giving up on my film dreams. Maybe this business was not for me.
I stepped outside into the hot air and closed my eyes as the sun brushed across my face. It was muggy and hot, but I loved the weather. It was better than the heavy rains that had been terrorizing people in recent weeks.
As I reached for my pockets to see if I had carried enough money, my cell phone rang. With a sigh, I fumbled for it and looked at the screen. I frowned when I didn’t recognize the number. It might be the same person who had called me earlier in the morning, saying he wanted to advertise something on my blog.
“This is Philip Etemesi,”I said by way of greeting as I continued walking.
“Mr. Etemesi, this is Laila from the US. You sent me an email about a script three weeks ago.”
“Oh Hi Laila,” I responded hastily. My heart fluttered and slammed against my chest. I was nervous as hell.
Laila was a director from Chicago in the US. She was black with African roots. She was born in America but her parents are originally from Senegal. I had done some research on her before sending her a mail. She wasn’t such a big director but she had made a few romance black movies. She had also shot a movie in South Africa and a documentary in Egypt.
Anxiety was now holding me hostage.
“I am sure you are surprised that I am calling you with a Kenyan number. I am actually in Nairobi for business. I come here often.”
“Affirmative….how are you doing?”
“I am doing great.”
Her sweet voice crawled up my spine and hit me right at the base of my skull. I had left my number in the mail I sent her but I hadn’t expected to call me. I thought maybe she would just respond to the mail.
“Have you had lunch yet?” she asked.
“Uh, no, was on my way right now, as a matter of fact.”
“Perfect. Why don’t we meet so we can discuss your . . . project.”
Meet? Was this really happening? I was dumbfound. I remained silent for a minute, processing what was just happening.
“Mr. Etemesi? Are you there?”
“Yes…..Call me Philip, please.”
“Very well, Philip. Would you like to have lunch?”
“Uh….Oh…Sure. Where are you?”
She told me she was at some posh restaurant along Ngong Road that had a hard name to pronounce so she sent me her location map on Whatsapp. She also told me to send her a quick selfie so she could spot me when I arrived
I did as she asked before calling an Uber. It arrived within five minutes.
During the ride, the elderly driver was very nice and respectful. He kept engaging me in conversations, in English. Perhaps he thought I was someone very important, given the way I was dressed.
“Is the temperature to your liking?”
“Yes….yes. I’m fine, thank you.”
He returned his gaze to the street, and I turned my attention to my window to watch the flurry of traffic zip by. Finally, we pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and came to a stop under the awning covering the entrance.
I paid the guy then I walked in on trembling legs, trying to figure out where Laila was sitting. I saw a woman rise from her seat at a table set for two. Good Lord! The lady was gorgeous. She screamed wealth and breeding from the tips of her Italian heels to the top of her meticulously groomed hair.
“Philip,” she greeted me with that black American accent. “I’m so glad you could join me.”
Tiny little sparks shot up my arm when she slid her fingers across my palm to shake my hand.
Gentle strains of classical music filled the restaurant, swelling and reverberating off the walls with a soft echo. I sat on the chair and straightened myself. I relaxed and leaned back, sliding my hands behind my neck to cup the base of my head. I was trying to look comfortable and shake off the awe she inspired. Okay, maybe it wasn’t awe as much as a huge bolt of unadulterated lust.
Laila was intriguing. Stunningly beautiful. Sleek and long-legged with wide, exotic eyes and black hair that fell like silk around her shoulders. My fingers positively itched to touch it, to stroke it and wrap it around my knuckles. What were her secrets? Her eyes shielded many, with a mysterious aura that enticed a man, beckoned him to come closer, to discover what lay beneath the cool exterior.
Her shirt cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands. Her cleavage was plumped up and perfectly outlined like twin hills in a nature painting by Pablo Picasso and it threatened to strain right out of her neckline
Focus, Philip. For God’s sake.
Reclaiming my poise, I relaxed gracefully in my seat as a waiter poured wine into my glass. I took a sip as I studied the menu.
“Perhaps we should order first,” Laila suggested.
“I’ve decided if you’re ready,” I said as I laid aside her menu.
Laila motioned, and the waiter appeared. I placed my order and watched her smile my approval. A giddy little tingle shot down my spine.
“I’ll have the same,” Laila said as she handed her menu back to the waiter.
Warmth sizzled through my abdomen, burning a path to my penis. It pulsed and throbbed. It hardened until it ached. Her words kept rebounding and echoing in my ears, her voice so seductive and alluring.
The waiter collected my menu as well, then backed away from the table. As soon as he disappeared, Laila turned her gaze on me. Her warm bright eyes were appraising as they flickered with interest. She was sizing me up every bit as much as I was her.
“So I’ve checked out some of your writings and I’ve seen you are a very sexually liberated person Philip.”
“Yes I am. How did you come across my writings?” my lips quirked into a half smile.
“The internet is a wonderful tool. Amazing what will turn up in a Google search. You are a talented guy.”
“I am very sexually liberated too. I go after what I want and sometimes I don’t mind mixing work and play.”
“That’s wonderful.” I was still nervous.
” So it wouldn’t be an issue for you if we mixed work with play right?”
I cast her a surprised glance. My cheeks tightened. Did she just ask what I thought she asked or was she testing me? The directness of the question had thrown me off balance. Maybe she was just being comedic. I fumbled while trying to come up with an answer. Upon sensing my hesitation, she spoke again.
“I’m sorry if that offended you. Let’s start over. Why don’t you tell me what you wanted to discuss?”
I squared my shoulders and bolstered my flagging courage. “No I don’t mind mixing work with play, so long as it’s just a temporary thing. I wouldn’t want to be attached, especially to an older woman, no offense.”
I couldn’t believe I was being this cocky with a beautiful foreign woman. Most guys would have jumped at the opportunity without objecting to anything. But whenever I am dealing with any lady, I always prefer things to be on my terms, I prefer to be in control so that I don’t do something I might regret. I just hoped I wouldn’t ruin her mood.
“I understand. Do I look old?” Laila inquired. A worried frown tugged at her lips, and she rubbed her face with her hands.
“No, if I was to guess, I’d say you are around 30 to 32.”
“I am actually 39.” she revealed her real age, now smiling.
“Amazing! You’ve taken good care of yourself.”
“Guilty to that. I hear African guys have big dicks. Do you have a big dick?” she came through with another shocker.
Big dicks? Clearly, she was a woman who wasn’t afraid to plunge forward when expressing her own desires.
“Ummmm,” I hesitated again.
I sat back, stunned at how direct she was. I had never imagined that I would be having these kinds of conversations in a business meeting. Rarely had I seen a successful career women being so honest and raw with matters outside business. There was no hemming and hawing, no discomfort evident. Just a true and earnest accounting of her most intimate desires. Perhaps Americans were just more frank than us Africans.
“Don’t mind the absurd questions. I’ve been married to a white man since my early twenties. We divorced recently. My fantasy has always been to be taken by an African man. Forget Black Americans like me. Just a strong African man.” she said as she leaned forward in her chair. “I hope I am not making you uncomfortable.”
“No you’re not. I like women who know what they want.”
If she was an older man and I was a young girl, this would have been considered inappropriate on Harvey Weinstein levels. But that wasn’t the case. She was just a bold woman shooting her shot at a guy she was attracted to. And I really appreciated that. Most ladies cannot pull that off. They are too scared.
“I am attracted to you coz you seem like smart guy. I am sapiosexual. I am not looking to be your cougar so don’t worry. I just want a little fun. I actually read the article where you said you don’t like sugar mummies. You’d be surprised that I spent an entire weekend just reading though your stuff. Very addictive.” she continued.
“I feel very honored right now.”
“You should be.”
We were interrupted when the waiter returned with our food. She didn’t waste any time with the meal. She tasted the grilled fish and sighed her contentment as the flavor burst in her mouth. We ate in silence for a few moments before I peeked back up at her to find her watching me.
“So what do you think about my script?” I asked hesitantly.
“It’s wonderful…..very controversial but wonderful. I am planning to pitch the idea to the other board members of my film company back in the US then we’ll see if we can get a budget for it. If it gets green-lighted, I’ll come back with a film crew then we can do casting and start shooting.”
I was thrilled by her revelation.
I looked up and locked gazes with Laila. She really was beautiful. She looked a bit arrogant, as is the case with most well-to-do people, but not obnoxiously so. She was assured. Confident. Comfortable in her skin.
Subtle power surrounded her like an aura, and I briefly allowed myself to fall into the fantasy of what it would be like to belong to her, at least for a night. Owned.
Just the thought sent a shiver straight down my spine. My balls tightened, and my penis jerked and pulsed until I had to shift in my seat to alleviate the pressure.
Her fingers tapped absently at her wineglass, and I watched in fascination as one slid gently over the surface. She had beautiful hands. Long, lean fingers. How would they feel on my skin?
“Is the food not to your liking?”
I blinked and shook my head before staring down at my half-eaten meal. I had gotten lost in her beauty for a moment and forgotten to eat.
“No,” I said hastily. “It’s excellent. Sorry, was just collecting my thoughts.”
We ate the rest of our meal in relative silence, only breaking it occasionally for idle chitchat. When she was finished with the last bite, she checked her watch and grimaced.
“Lunch was lovely, but I really do have to get going. I have to meet a certain lady friend of mine in Gigiri ”
“How long will you be in Kenya?”
“For over a week.I am going to Diani tomorrow then I’ll be back in Nairobi on Saturday. I’ll then fly back to the US on Monday. I’ll call you on Saturday. Then we’ll see if we can mix business with pleasure right?” she asked before signalling the waiter to come and take the cash.
“Sure” I inhaled sharply then nodded.
There was a joyous gleam in her eyes. I stood and offered her my arm. She smiled at my gallantry.
“Your mother must be proud,” she said with a snicker as we walked toward the door.
“Well, she is, but why do you say so?” I asked in an amused tone.
“You have impeccable manners.”
I laughed. “My mother would have no compunction about tracking me down and beating me if I ever forgot my manners, especially around a lady.”
When we got out, we gave each other a goodbye hug.
“It was a pleasure, Laila. I look forward to hearing from you.”
She moved her lips closer to my right ear, not caring that people were watching and said, “You’ll definitely hear from me. Keep that big black cock safe for me. And make sure you eat well before that day. I don’t like disappointments in bed.”
“And in case you don’t feel like it, i’ll understand. Please let me know early if you aren’t up for it so that I can look for another African guy okay?”
“I am in!!. No need to think of options.” I interjected.
Something potent surged in my veins. Excitement? Desire? Or was it something else altogether?
Anticipation. It licked like greedy flames over dry wood. Suddenly there was no question as to whether I would fulfill Laila’s fantasy. Hell would freeze over before I’d back out and let her get another man. If she wanted to be taken and dominated in bed by an African man, she’d be taken by me.
After all the troubles I had gone through to find a director or producer that was open to my ideas, I was now getting a director plus American punani. Life is a roller coaster indeed.
I stood watching her for a long moment as she got into a waiting car before tucking my hands in my pockets and whipping out my phone to hide my growing erection with it.
I couldn’t wait for Saturday.
Click HERE to read PART 2 of the story
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