I haven’t gotten laid in a long time. It’s been exactly five months and four days. I keep tabs, sadly.

And with the way things are going, I’m sure I’m hitting a year on this dry spell.

Not unless I do something about it – tonight!

After the wedding, we had planned on waiting for at least three years before getting kids. To say our sex life was exciting would be the understatement of the year. We explored every inch of each other and every square inch of that two-bedroomed apartment along Thika Road.

Maya was a virgin when we met. That was back in college. She was busy chasing a dream in journalism. I was consumed by the emerging craze in computer science. We shared a few common units. That’s where it all began.

I was, still am, pretty good looking and quite a serious catch. In short, I wasn’t celibate.

When we first started dating, I tried luring her into my pretty boy trap. It worked all the time, at least nine out of ten. “I’m waiting till marriage,” she said. At first, I thought she was kidding, or just playing games with a nigga, like all college girls do. But not exactly. She wasn’t your typical college girl. I realised this after our fourth date. This particular cookie was tucked away in an air-tight jar. No girl had ever held her guard with me that long.

I was so used to things going my way. This was now virgin territory, pun intended.

Come to think of it, I’d say that is what made me more interested in her.

I decided to do the one thing a college kid can’t do with a girl – practising patience. So, I stuck around. For three straight years!

And then after we graduated, I had to wait for another three years until we got married. I somewhat felt like Jacob in the Bible. And I certainly respected him for waiting that long.

‘Yes, I do!’ The three words that finally got the genie out of the bottle.

The wedding was low-key. Something we all agreed on even though our parents and relatives detested the idea. But we didn’t compromise on affluence and class. Again, something we both saw eye to eye on. The guest list was well-trimmed, and we definitely made a few enemies out of this. We spent heavily on the rings, something Maya really treasured, and the venue. Unlike most brides, she didn’t really obsess over her gown and we had it locally made at a fair price.

Besides the rings and venue, we decided to go all-out on the honeymoon. She’d always dreamt of spending it in Paris. I’d always preferred a local destination, Diani to be specific. You know, supporting the local industry. We compromised and settled on Dubai.

I promised her that on our second anniversary, we’d definitely get her to the Eiffel Tower as we did our version of the Amazing Race around the world. A new city for each year of marriage.

After two weeks of unbearable heat in the Middle East, we finally came back home and started life together as Mr. & Mrs. James Mukoma.

And the fun continued.

Shortly after, the first COVID case was reported in Kenya. Then the curfews were imposed almost immediately. At some point, we both worked from home. Or did we? Breakfast in bed, morning glories, sending a few emails just to seem active, then back to bed. More lungula. You know the cycle.

It was certainly a life I could have gotten used to for another ten years or so.

Then one evening, as I got home from work, I found her seated on the edge of the bed. She was holding a pregnancy kit in her hand.

“It’s four weeks.” The doctor told us.

That was August 26th of last year.

Today is January 29th.

I swipe the key card and there’s a beep. I push the handle down and we’re in.

Ladies first, of course. Once I close the door behind me, I swiftly reach for her hand and swirl her around. And just like in a sexy Indian dance movie, once she’s facing me, I pull her closer. I realise the movies really don’t exaggerate such stunts.

We’re now body to body. Our lips inches apart. Her red lipstick is still intact. She must have retouched it during her last visit to the ladies.

We stare into each other’s eyes. Her big brown eyes are so compelling you could get lost in them. But I sense a sadness in there, somewhere. Maybe Bi Msafwari got to her. Regardless, the wine and tequila in her are fighting hard for her to be present. To enjoy the moment.

I gently brush her hair aside and rest my palm on her left cheek. “Goodness you’re gorgeous!” That’s the White Cap talking but it’s utterly true. Any sane man would agree.

Am I really falling for her?

The distance between our lips is steadily shortening. I can still smell the Cabernet in her breath. Weirdly, it’s like everything is now in slow-mo.

I finally taste the plum and blackberry. So tender.

I slide my right hand down her left shoulder blade and stop at the waist, just above the bum. Her hands find their way to the front of my shirt. One by one, the buttons get undone.

Everything is still in slow-mo. As it should be. I want to savour every bit of this magical moment.

Curfew is in an hour but screw the president. No, wait, screw me!

My hand slides farther down. Her bum is so soft, a bit too soft. I realise there’s nothing underneath the dress. Just smooth evenly toned skin waiting to be uncovered. And this is my oyster now.

She gets to the last button on my shirt. Ever so patient. I imagined her ripping it apart but I’m enjoying the steady flow.

I reach out to the edge of her dress. For some reason, I find myself thinking about the butterflies. Are they back here? Time to finally solve that puzzle.

I slowly lift it up.

Her hands are already undoing my belt. She’s a smooth operator.

Our lips are still interlocked. Passionately.

She lifts her hands up in the air and I hurriedly slide the dress off over her head. Our kissing is paused for a sec, but we get back to it seamlessly, our eyes still closed. We’re both lost in the moment.

I wrestle with the bra straps for a bit. She notices this and seems to be enjoying it. Get it done Captain! This is your turf.

Then a subtle knock on the door. We at first try to ignore it. And with good reason. It’s probably room service. I had asked for chilled wine and White Cap cans earlier on just in case. But who needs that now?

It gets louder by the minute.

“You get that as I freshen up a little.” She says she’ll be in the shower and I can join in once I get the drinks. She winks at me as if to say, ‘don’t be too long now.’

I scramble for my shirt on the carpet and button it hurriedly as I head for the door.

‘Jay? Jay? Are you there?’

A familiar voice calls from the other side of the door. This startles me. Room service doesn’t know my name. At least not ‘Jay’. No one should know me here. No one except Dee, and she’s in the shower.

‘Jay, please if you’re there…’

My thoughts are all over the place now. I think of Maya, our unborn kid, my mum, my sister, my career. Somehow, Dee crosses my mind as well. Then I realise she’s in the shower, getting wet. What have I done?

Siku za mwizi ni arobaini. I wonder how many a cheater has.

Stay tuned to find out more in part four.

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