How I Was Begged For Sex By A Kenyan Female Celebrity

P**PP

Years ago, when my adolescensometer recorded high degrees, I always fantasized about making out with an older woman. I wondered how it would feel like. Then one night my ambition finally bit me in the ass and it took me months to recover. I was the victim of a smooch ambush from a 45 year old Kenyan female celebrity.

Last weekend, as i watched a 28 year old Drake get the life sucked out of him by 56 year old pop icon Madonna, images of my own incident came back to mind. A 45 year old female celeb. My encounter with her was a moment that shall always hang heavy around my neck

It happened at a party, an invites only party that she had organized to celebrate her new brand ambassador role. She’d been in the industry for a while now and after peaks and troughs, things were going really well for her. Things were going well at the party too, until she kissed me in front of everyone. I couldn’t have imagined it. She was old enough to be my mama. In fact, prior to that she had always gone down under flames of mockery for not growing up and acting her age. She always wore mini-skirts that showcased her thick thighs. Her speech was ever uncensored and loaded with curse words.

It’s precisely this brazen sexuality that opened her up to disgustingly specific bodily insults about her “saggy ass” and her “ancient”, cob-web filled punani. For women, the penalty for refusing to age according to societal expectations was that society aged you. But no matter how much ridicule she got, she always stood tall. They said her ass sent cellulite shockwaves across her body but she was still more sexy than most twenty something women I know.

Then she kissed me. That woman kissed me. That fourty five year old single mother of two kissed me. She kissed me Etemesi, a young writer who doesn’t even look like Ryan Gosling. Her full lips covered mine perfectly, the way a newspaper page covers the exercise book of a primary school kid.

It was risky because everyone was watching. It was risky because famous middle-aged men are allowed to dip a few decades into the younger end of the dating pool but famous middle-aged women have to choose between younger women and their reputation

Photo credits: Blackbox

It all happened at her mansion in one of Nairobi’s posh surburbs. She had sent me a personal email 5 days earlier inviting me to the party. I don’t know why because we had never spoken before. From experience I know that a private party is always turns out to be an oasis for douchebags and drug-driven ratchets but I wouldn’t miss it for anything. In fact I was among the first to arrive looking sharp in my tuxedo.

Plenty of industry heavyweights were present. Foreign cars were on display. But who cared. I had Italian ‘Shoe’barus too on my feet. On my face, I had that ‘”don’t ask me where my car is” look. (uliza kiatu). I had a feeling things would get ratchet after we were informed upon arrival that it was a no-phones, no-gadgets party. You had to leave all your phones and cameras with the security guys at the entrance. That simply meant any sinful activity wouldn’t be documented in video, tweet, photo or sound.

It’s funny what transpired later on because at the beginning of the party, she (the host) had started out by addressing the enthusiastic crowd, After a string of scandals, she told the liquor consuming audience that she was going to turn her behavior around, stop disappointing her fans and return to her cherubic roots as a beloved female icon. She was going to stop being a ‘puthee’, she said. She even invoked the grace of God. That was for words. For actions, she proved that she was incapable of rehabbing her wild public image

She had ambushed me at a corner later in the night when I was chatting up a short chic with the obvious intentions of taking her home. Unfortunately, my ‘potential chips funga’ happened to be a niece of hers. So she simply summoned her and gave her chores that would keep her busy for a while. Then to my surprise, the host began pouring her heart and thirst out to me in her semi-drunk state.

“You want more drinks Etemesi?” she asked

“No thanks, I think I’ve had enough”, I said politely

“Awesome. But you bloggers should stop writing bad stories about me. I am a good woman you know. People don’t like me because I am everywhere and they’ll never quite get rid of me. After a long career, I am still refusing to vacate the spotlight as women of my age are expected to. I am just paying the price for sticking around”, she yapped.

“But I’ve never written a bad story about you”, I comforted her

“Yes and that’s why I like you so much. You write good articles and you criticize lots of celebrities but you’ve never dissed me. I think you love me. I think you are cute too”

That statement caught me offside. I didn’t know exactly how to respond. But before I could conjure up another polite phrase, a heavy kiss was planted on my lips - Shocker of the year. Her hands grabbed by abdomen and locked me up in her tight anaconda-like grip. I tried to wiggle free but I couldn’t. Like a gazelle under a lion, my fate was sealed. .

The crowd whistled as she devoured me, enjoying every moment. Everyone was wide-eyed, shaking heads and chuckling. I writhed and sighed. Some guests nearly chocked as they sipped their drinks from their smooth columns of glass tumblers. Trying to break free was a battle I couldn’t win. It was a Waterloo. A clean defeat. She was like Undertaker at Wrestlemania- unbeatable.

The tiny, rational voice in my head insisted now was the time to put an end to this, to walk out. But then I realized how powerless I was. I had no strength to deny her anything. She had complete control of me.  So I gave in to the dark arousal burning through my veins and digged my fingers into her fleshy butt in return.

The event had brimmed with moments that ranged from the resplendent to the downright bizzare thus far. But this action topped them all.

She stopped to look at me, a secret satisfied smile curving her lips. His eyes were wide and blazing queerly and the tremor in his arms frightened her. Then a mirthful sparkle filled her stare as if to reassure me that everything was gonna be okay. Like a tigress, a low gluttural groan came out of her mouth. Her breathing was fast and shallow. So was mine. Her flat belly and jiggling tits still pressed hard against my chest. Her eyelids fluttered and she whimpered, her fingers alternating between swirls and little taps at my back. She enjoyed the embrace so she still couldn’t free me. ‘12 Seconds A Slave’ is what it had been.

See Also: Etemesi's Tales | Sex On A Plane

Before i could withdraw my mind from its far places, another kiss was planted on the helpless me. Another 12 seconds that reminded me of what negroes went through in 1924. Her tender arms were still firm around me, as sure and hard as the rough alleys of Eastlands. I felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinking yielding, the surging tide of warmth. Her pretty face was now blurred and drowned to nothingness..

Like a pro, she bent back my head across her arm and prolonged the munju, softly at first, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made me cling to her as the only solid thing in a dizzy swaying world. Her insistent mouth was parting my shaking lips, sending wild tremors along my nerves, evoking from the sensations i had never known i was capable of feeling. And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, i knew that i was kissing her back.

Then she let loose and tilted her neck so that her head was close to my right ear.

“You wanna come to my bedroom?”, she asked

“Huh?” was my response

“I said, do you wanna come back to my bedroom?” she repeated in a firmer slutty voice as her warm breath trailed down my neck and over my shoulder.

My entire body quivered with response to her words. I almost melted. I blinked, my mouth opening and closing as if to say something. The quickly deteriorating voice of reason in my head told me I should employ decency. Instead, I felt my core pulse delivering an instant gush of desire and preparing me to comply with her very unorthodox request.

‘To do’ or ‘not to do’? That was the question