Let me tell you how we got sprinkled with magic last week. As I said earlier we had a leak up in the roof which was pouring a small but steady stream of water into all the buckets we could find. First guy up there was a bogus builder sent by a best friend (MICHAEL!!) who took two days and a fistful of shillings later announced he had the leak plugged. There had only been a pause in the torrential rains pounding these parts so of course that fix unraveled after he’d left. I got on the phone and spoke to Rasta, who is mummy’s trusted fixer and he said he’d send a very good fundi called Mwangi or Mwange, I didn’t catch the name initially, the next day. I said please send him without fail before upstairs turns into an indoor pond. As he hang up he added oddly in Kiswahili, utampenda sana (loosely translates to mean you’ll like him but I suspect he also wanted it to mean you’ll love him). Mmmm. Game on.
The next day when George was away in the afternoon picking up a leg of pork from the butchers, the guard from KK guards brought dairy milk chocolate- brown complexioned Mwangi to the veranda where I was re-reading again that book about great courage and heroism called Barefoot Soldier. I put the book down and Mwangi shook my hand as I instinctively checked him out. I saw right away that here was a very handsome man with a friendly confident face standing before me in a faded lumberjack shirt and black jeans clinching a physique full of delightful promise and he had the whitest smile as if he regularly used close up menthol chilli toothpaste. Imelda fetched him a mug of tea as I explained what the problem was. He said he’d been very busy fixing roofs around our area due to their flattish designs which don’t allow water to run off quickly enough. And I can tell you that the deluge which has drenched this land is something close to epic; I just hope that people are storing all this water. I watched Mwangi speak with his eyes dancing and a tantalizing tongue-tip darting the corners of his dark lips. I was thinking to myself where have they been hiding you from me…
I recovered my composure enough to ask Mwangi to come with me upstairs so he could see where the water was gushing through. I led the way and I could sense behind me he was taking in the nude art that I once bought from this gallery which lines up our stairs. When we got to the room there was so much tension between us and my gaydar was starting to beep beep beep, you know when you are being studied on so many levels - sexual, emotional, even nutritional potential (hehehe, bj, slurp, slurp) - then he said he was going up on the roof. He started to take off his shirt to change into his work overalls, so I excused myself and left the room with the door ajar before I could pass out and it would be Houston we have a problem. I waited in the corridor as he got changed where I accidentally voyeured a reflection of his magnificence on the cheval mirror. Meaty chest. Juicy ass. Succulent thighs. Fingerlicking delicious chicken. Luckily I got out of the way quickly before he caught me.
To be continued….