The Masseuse

“But I am a Kikuyu. Do you really think I can become the next MP for Kibra?” Waithera sounded worried on the other end of the line.

“Don’t worry. I told you I know Baba personally. I am his personal gym trainer. He has total trust in me. He will endorse whichever candidate I vouch for. And I am going to vouch for you.” Odhis reassured her as his naked body lay splayed out on his face beside the swimming pool.

“Even after what Kriss Darlin did recently? That guy kneeled in front of Baba. Surely Baba will choose him.”

“Kriss Darlin is a fool. Baba doesn’t like guys like him. In fact, Baba himself told me that Kriss Darlin was wasting his time. As per his own words, he said ‘Huyo jamaa wa reggae siezi mueka MP. Aende ajaribu election ya huko Kingston Jamaica’.”

They both chorused in laughter.

“Alright. I am in an Uber coming.”

“Good. Be nice to me and make me happy like we agreed and the seat will be yours.”

“I will.”

Odhis smiled before hanging up the phone.

As he placed the phone down, a blue and green dragon-fly flashed out from among the rose bushes at the end of the garden and hovered in mid-air a few inches above the base of his spine. It had darted nervously sideways and hung above the his left shoulder, looking down.

The young grass below his open mouth stirred. A large drop of sweat rolled down the side of his fleshy nose and dropped glittering into the grass. The garden in which he lay was about an acre of well-kept lawn surrounded on three sides by thickly banked rose bushes from which came the steady murmur of bees.

Odhis enjoyed spending time here in Karen. The villa was modern. On the garden side the flat pink-washed façade was pierced by four iron-framed windows and by a central glass door leading on to a small square of pale green glazed tiles. The tiles merged into the lawn. The other side of the villa, standing back a few yards from a dusty road, was almost identical. But on this side the four windows were barred, and the central door was of oak.

The drowsy luxurious silence of early afternoon was broken by the sound of a car coming down the road. It stopped in front of the villa. There was the tinny clang of a car door being slammed and the car drove on. The bell rang twice and the watchman who loved Odhis because of his generosity opened the gate.

Shortly after, a young woman carrying a small string bag and dressed in a white cotton shirt and a short, alluring blue skirt came through the glass door and strode mannishly across the glazed tiles and the stretch of lawn towards him. It was Waithera.

“Hi dear!” She greeted him, almost in a whisper.

“Hi Waithera. Welcome.” He greeted her back while still lying down.

A few yards away from him, she dropped her string bag on the grass and sat down and took off her expensive flat shoes. Then she stood up and unbuttoned her shirt and took it off and put it, neatly folded, beside the string bag. Waithera had nothing on under the shirt. Her skin was pleasantly sun-burned and her shoulders and fine breasts shone with health. When she bent her arms to undo the side-buttons of her skirt, small tufts of fair hair showed in her armpits.

The impression of a healthy well-formed woman was heightened by the chunky hips in faded blue stockinet bathing trunks and the thick short thighs and legs that were revealed when she had stripped.

She put the skirt neatly beside her shirt, opened the string bag, took out a bottle containing some heavy colourless liquid and went over to Odhis and knelt on the grass beside him. She poured some of the liquid, a light olive oil, scented, as was everything in that part of the world, with roses, between his shoulder blades and, after flexing her fingers like a pianist, began massaging the tough and the trapezius muscles at the back of his neck.

Waithera had been a masseuse for years before she decided to try politics after winning a betting jackpot. But despite how good she was at her job, massaging Odhis was proving to be hard work. He was immensely strong and the bulging muscles at the base of the neck hardly yielded to the her thumbs even when the downward weight of her shoulders was behind them. By the time she was finished with him she would be soaked in perspiration and so utterly exhausted that she would want to fall into the swimming pool and then lie down in the shade and sleep until her uber came for her.

But that wasn’t what she minded as her hands worked automatically on across his back. It was her instinctive lust for the finest body she had ever seen.

She looked down at the round, smallish head on the sinewy neck. It was covered with tight dreadlocks that set her teeth on edge like fingernails against pile carpet. And the black locks came down so low into the back of the neck — almost (she thought in professional terms) to the fifth cervical vertebra.

Waithera paused to give her hands a rest and sat back on her haunches. The beautiful upper half of her body was already shining with sweat. She wiped the back of her forearm across her forehead and reached for the bottle of oil. She poured about a tablespoonful on to the small furry plateau at the base of the
man’s spine, flexed her fingers and bent forward again.

She shifted her hands on down to the two mounds of the gluteal muscles. Now was the time when many of her clients, would start joking with her. Then, if she was not very careful, the suggestions would come. Sometimes she could silence these by digging sharply down towards the sciatic nerve.

At other times, and particularly if she found the
man attractive, there would be giggling arguments, a brief wrestling-match and a quick, delicious surrender.

With Odhis it was different, almost uncannily different. From the very first he had been like a lump of inanimate meat.

When she had done his back and it was time for him to turn over, both his eyes and his body showed interest in her. His member was hard as a building block. She stroked it a little and he almost lost his mind.

“Please continue.” Odhis begged when her fingers left his member and and slowly moved down to work down the right leg towards the Achilles tendon.

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back to it.” Waithera smiled.

When she came to it she looked back up the fine body. Was her revulsion only physical? Was it the colour of the dark skin, the sort of roast meat look? Was it the texture of the skin itself, the deep, widely spaced pores in the surface? The thickly scattered freckles on the shoulders? Or was it the sexuality of the man?
The indifference of these splendid, insolently bulging muscles? Or was it spiritual — an animal instinct telling her that inside this wonderful body there was an evil person?

Waithera got to her feet and stood, twisting her head slowly from side to side and flexing her shoulders. She stretched her arms out sideways and then upwards and held them for a moment to get the blood down out of them. She went to her string bag and took out a hand towel and wiped the perspiration off her face and body.

When she turned back to the Odhis, he had already rolled over and now lay, his head resting on one open hand, gazing blankly at the sky. The disengaged arm was flung out on the grass, waiting for her. She walked over and knelt on the grass behind his head. She rubbed some oil into her palms, picked up the limp
half-open hand and started kneading the short thick fingers.

She glanced nervously at his face. Superficially it was all right — handsome and manly. But, looked at closer, there was something cruel about the thin-lipped rather pursed mouth, a pigginess about the wide nostrils in the upturned nose, and the blankness that veiled the very pale eyes communicated itself over the whole face and made it look drowned and morgue-like.

Waithera worked up the arm to the huge biceps. She had admired his fantastic muscles ever since she first met him at the gym. They exchanged contacts and began chatting frequently. She had been reluctant to have sex with him since she had a man. But when he told her he was a personal trainer for some big politicians including Raila, her interest surged. She had decided she was going to go after the late Ken Okoth’s seat. She had some money from the jackpot win but she needed the backing of Baba. She told Odhis about it and he promised to make her the top candidate. His only condition was that she has sex with him.

Her strong fingers gouged nervously into the big deltoid muscle on the point of the shoulder. She was now ready to have sex with him. In a split of a second, she stopped massaging him, grabbed his member and directed it to her southside lips. She let it sink inside as they both moaned in pleasure.

For the rest of the afternoon, he was going to make love to her all over the compound. Eight lengthy rounds in total.

Little did Waithera know that Odhis wasn’t Baba’s personal trainer. He had never even met Baba. This wasn’t his house either. He lived in a bedsitter in Dagoretti Corner. This mansion belonged to his sugar mummy who was currently away in Sweden for a business trip.

He enjoyed lying to women..Just three days earlier, he had brought three women to the same villa, after lying to them that he was a jazz singer from Chicago. And he had pulled an American accent to prove it.



In other news, my new book ‘The Fornicator’ is currently on sale at 970 bob. Call, text or Whatsapp 0720663044 to order. Delivery within Nairobi CBD is free. For other areas, you will be charged a small delivery fee.

About Philip Etemesi

I am the sheriff in this town. Writing is my joie de vivre. I am a superman thanks to God. Need to discuss a thing or two with me? Shoot me an email via
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