I Look Ruff and Tuff...

For the longest time, I have had my little secret reservation about comments made towards a certain section of European women for nurturing their body hair like it's a requirement for ressurrection when Jesus comes back (ai, na amekaa! Hiyo alarm clock yake kwani iko na Eveready? Hizo battery zilisha die). I have to even admit, and not too shamefully so, that I do have a thing for girls with some hair on their "sehemu za aibu" (as my catechist teacher so fondly put it back in the day). Bald coochies scare the religion out of me, and for some reason, they remind me of aliens in alien movies...well, with the exception of that dumb fuck of a hairball, chewbacca...all those years with kina Luke Skywalker and it has not learnt to speak even one word of English...that thing should be shot. So anyway, yes...I do like my women with some carpet for my lips to rest on while my tongue is fanyaing a tour of the area...I'm weird in that way...at least I was, until I met Khira (I have obviously changed her name so that Wangare doesn't know that I'm talking about her hairy behind...shhh!).

I met this girl while still in colle in Kenya, nice girl, although at the time, she already had sideburns...and me I still had that one ka-ndevu that you nurture like it was an egg from an almost extinct bird whose sole chance of the extension of it's kinds' survival on earth lay in it. As in she was so hairy, I could have sworn I saw nywele on her tongue once...but I could be wrong. So yeah, after we were done doing "comps" (wasn't that some useless shit??) I didn't see her behind for a while until I came to this joint. I had gone for some party somewhere and there she was, standing there looking like some strange reminder of a wooly mammoth, and booty grown to magnificent proportions which called unto my loins in a manner that could only be compared to what Peter must have felt when he was called to be a "mvuvi wa watu" by J.C. (is it getting hotter in here or is it just me).

So we get the talking, obvious bullshit about how things used to be back home...I totally kumbuka her shoving down two big ass samo's (za ndengu tena), all at once, when we were on break from class...which by the way she denies ever even tasting the damn things or even knowing that someone could even fathom making a samo with ndengu...but at this time I had chosen not to remind her again since I really wanted to further examine the anatomy of her midsection at a later time that night. So of course, one thing leads to another, and before I know it, she's got her tongue in my mouth and my paranoia kicks in, coz at this time, I'm slightly afraid of choking on a hair...well, in her case, a fur ball. Sgt. Shit-For-Brains of course wakes up and starts to send morse code through bw. John, trying to get approval to gain entry into any acceptable crevice on Khira's being, and it is at this point, I realize her dumb ass doesn't know morse code (some of you may have no clue of what I'm talking about right now...I mean the shuma started to pulsate uncontrollably and this girl was just standing there like she had been hit by lightning like 2 times, stiff as a pole). So I decide to take my hand huko chini on a tour, see if I can jump start her behind, like I have to do BOB every morning (stop it...BOB is my car...it stands for Bucket Of Bolts...nasty ass people). Kidogo kidogo, even before my hand gets anywhere near the prize, she shikas it, gives it a squeeze and tells me Aunt Flo is in town, and that's all it took for Bw. John to deflate faster than it would take you to put a fullstop on a piece of paper (this feeling is kinda familiar, I think in my head). So we agree to meet some other day, maybe a week from this particular day, to "catch up", as she put it.

True to the day, a week later, we meet again, and now she's looking just a little bit different, I could have sworn, she was less hairy, but again, maybe I just wanted to see it like that, coz by the time I got to see her again, I was so horny, I could have fucked her in the ear if she would have let me. Without missing a beat, our catching up quickly develops into catching rubs, to me quickly putting on a rubber in anticipation of digging her out like she was the sole remaining catchment area left on earth. As I'm getting ready for a prolonged session of bedminton, even her, she's stripping as well, and I swear I hear a sound, something like a poof sound and I immediately wheel around to see what the hell is going on behind me. It was at this time that I started to pray for momentary amnesia as well as blindness coz this mama had just taken off her panties and my eyes (against my will) passed to my brain (whatever few brain cells were working overtime at that time...sgt. Shit-For-Brains usually works solo) that unforgiving image of the largest patch of unkempt pubic hair that heaven, earth and hell had ever seen...I think I saw a jamaa trapped in that thing, but I closed my eyes too quickly, as I was trying to rewind my thoughts to that blissful period right before I saw Chewbacca's head sticking out of this girl's coochie (please let it not make a sound...please let it not make a sound). All of a sudden, I get a strong urge to get a weed whacker ama some sheep shears to bring her jungle love patch back to sanity...kwani it's paying homeage to the afro puff era? What the hell??? Immediate paralysis struck every pulse sent to my nervous endings as I beheld this anathema of what was supposed to be the very pivot of pleasure in the whole universe.

And then this girl, like an idiot, goes ahead to ask me if there's was anything wrong. An overwhelming sense of bewilderment overcomes me at this time...and I almost ask her, "can't you see it?! Do you have some poor rastafarian in a leg lock, or is that all you? If you're not careful, some hillbilly will hunt you down and skin your (as my friend Mutunga would say it) fanjina and make a coat out of it. Honestly, people...why would anyone in their right, God given and hygenically conscious mind have pubic hair that long....unless she was trying to save some money by growing her own braids.

Now, I know you're wondering about what I did afterwards...and like any other mwanaume, I did hit it, coz yes I was hornier than a jogoo during mating season (by the way, that little move a jogoo does when it's about to shag a hen...you know, the one it stretches its wing right next to the hen...me, I think the jogoo is ambiaing the hen..."haki Wanjiru, ukiwacha tu niingize, nitakununulia Skirt...wacha hata nikupime", which might also be wrong...but you never know). Yes, I finyad the hell out of her...punished her pudesh like it was responsible for hunger in somalia. I still haven't seen her from that day, but every once in a while...I hear cries of help from the distance, and I can't help think to myself whether they're coming from Wangare's sehemu ya aibu.