CLUBBING, NOT FOR FAINT-HEARTED

 

PHOTO CREDIT: FACEBOOK

Things can go wrong on those crazy night outs; your girl might kiss some not-so-hot guy, much to your chagrin.

Brenda @ F2; the sophisticated and elegant 

Brenda was the most beautiful Kenyan woman I'd ever met. I'd lick a kilogram of salt just to have her by my side. Except for the weave, she was flawlessly lovely, with a figure full of maternal promise. She had a light chocolatey complexion and a smile that might thrill any man's sexual cells.  Her outfit drew her in, placing everything in the correct perspective. I could see the shape of two bums as she stood, and her cleavage should be the SI unit of what decent cleavages should be, and every lady short of it is better off saving us eyesores.

I approached her on the dance floor after summoning some liquor courage. Because I can't dance to save my life (as you'll see a few paragraphs later), I started up a conversation. So much for the restricting dress, she was dancing gently and carefully.

"Without flattery, you are the star of the show tonight," "Shall we talk?" I asked, blushing familiarly. 

She gave me a disapproving look, but changed her mind and put on that deliciously wicked smile that we've come to expect from female drivers when they borrow a line in Eldoret's frantic traffic.

"Would you like to talk to me?" She inquired. "Of course I do," I responded quickly.

"Well, get those women out of our seats, they look menacing,"  She said, putting on my best military outfit and sending the seat stealers to the dance floor.

OK. She had decided to believe in me. I noted that, like most incredibly gorgeous women, she seemed insecure and extremely picky about who she danced with or chatted with. In fact, she rarely danced with men. She danced to specific songs. Let me recall... Ayra Starr, Chris Brown, and Ed Sheeran. Those are the tunes of the upper middle class for the slow.

Unmistakably elegant. Add to that, after hearing Bendover for the hundredth time, she went back to her seat, expressing disdain. She had passed that easy setup.

They were sipping from funnel-shaped glasses, a drink I don't remember, but it had a piece of lemon stuck to it. They were three and had the mature confidence of a first-time independent woman. They buy their own drinks and speak only perfect English. When addressing such women, the golden guideline is to wear at least one designer piece, a bar of genuine gold or silver watch, and a great pair of shoes. I passed this. Second, you must be driving a vehicle that costs at least Kshs 800,000. Then you'll be ready. While her colleagues were busy dancing, I pretended to be confident.

After a short conversation, I determined she is on the Annex campus (she spoke with all her energy as if in Annex, they don't go long calls). Unfortunately, she did not come across as intelligent. She was too preoccupied with her own beauty. She gave me her phone number and they drove to Chebarus. I contacted her later, and she answered twice or three times before dismissing me. It broke my heart. I'd give anything to see you again, Brenda...

Pokos (read whores) and phone number exchanges 

So many awful things do happen in a nightclub. My friends and I frequently receive numbers from attractive unaccompanied women in a club. We pretty much avoid chicks in the company of men after a dark incident in which one of our pals' skulls was nearly opened for chatting to a gorgeous lass in the company of some Kisii bully. From my judgment, might have been a cop. In boot camps, they are trained to extract the reasoning part of their brains. Try reasoning with a soldier if you're in doubt.

If a woman grants you a number and is with a male without bothering to introduce him, it denotes the man is either her sibling, family, or a fellow church member. Or, if he is the boyfriend, she doesn't care and you can drive home together for all she cares. If a woman continues to bend over or dance sexually while the man watches, they may have reached an agreement. If not, then plain urban defiance now defines many Moi versity women.

Dancing is sometimes the first step in obtaining a one-night stand. For some males I call pussy robbers, all they need is a simple audience and they can chips funga anything...trust me. Are you there, Steve? Exchanging numbers indicates that she may want to experiment with you in the future. For a man, the reason for taking a number in a club is obvious: sex. I'm not sure about ladies. In a club, no man looks for a girlfriend. Any man worth his salt understands that if she is not in the presence of a clinging male, any chick in a club is public property.

For women, it might also be sex or an expedition. The third female fantasy is having sex with a stranger. As a result, as a male, you could be dragged to a bed to stud and then abandoned. I'm not sure which is worse: a woman using a man to achieve her sexual goals or a man using a woman to achieve his sexual goals. Women used to be guilty a long time ago, or about the year 2010. But it appears that drinking took that away.

You can now chips funga the minister's daughter, a university student, and any other inconceivable woman. And to think they were so amused by prostitutes...

Silvia (an awful it is), Jay, and I 

"Let us go, and you do me," Jessica said. I realized I had misunderstood her.

"Let's go you lay me now," she says. I was completely inebriated, but I woke up. Jessica is one of those above-average beauties who a man wouldn't mind having a sexual encounter with. My thoughts were racing.

But there was a problem: Jessica had just bought several shots with my boy Jay over the counter. Jay had recently been dumped by his four-year girlfriend, and he was going through a stressful period. I had only stopped to say hello. Jay is short, and the cocktail shots or whatever Jessica was ingesting were turning her erotic nerves on as he vibed her. When I arrived at my towering height, salvation was here for her.

I was drunkenly cognizant (another one to your list of oxymorons). I did something completely unmanly and inconceivable. I went away, feeling sorry for Jay's troubles. I kept wondering how Jay would have felt if I had sliced her like that. Could he stand that as a man, or would he have fought? His genetic makeup makes him suicidal.

He may have utterly lost faith in women. Jessica and his associates are a bunch of young women who define clubbing as going to bed with anyone. Protection was never an issue as long as morning-after medications were available. AIDS followed Leprosy.

Show me your friends, and I'll tell you about your character. Or, as my old lady would say, an apple does not fall far from the tree.

Sharon @Vines 

She had traversed our table 237 times (I was counting) to nowhere in particular. Her eyes were large, inquisitive, and cunning. She was attractive, and the phrase chips funga sprang to any man's head in the club. On this particular Saturday night, she was dancy-dancy. She joined in on the fun. She was a free-spirited individual. She appeared wild and uncontrollable. I created something for. Something was enchanting about her.

I was having Del Monte at Vines with my buddies Joe, Eddie, and Hans  while catching up on some late-night soccer

The difficulty with dictatorial teetotalers is that they presume everyone likes juice, making it difficult to consume alcohol in their presence.

On the adjacent lounge chair, Joe and I sat, analyzing stuff on various tables while watching boring soccer on the large screen. But this girl was getting to be too much. We made the decision to attack her. I didn't take my gaze away from her. She noticed me, but her gaze was too darting for us to lock.

Joe took to the dance floor and walked right into his trap after exactly 73 seconds. Joe indicated my direction and told her that I had a thing for her as soon as she turned her ass to his crotch, as they do it here in Moi.

She came to a halt and looked at me for 13 seconds, and there was magical chemistry, and we both want each other so much.

Unbelievable.

She approached my table and inquired,

"You, what is it?" she questioned, her smile sexiest and most alluring.

"You," I put mine on. I said. She burst out laughing. Then my boy Hans, who can be quite pervy, pinched her rear hard, causing her to cry loudly but excitedly. When I asked if we could go out kidogo, she agreed.

She returned to her table and sipped her drink. She was with two old men, mostly in their early thirties, and she appeared to be between the ages of 22 and 24. The men were giving me those frightening stares that I didn't care about. But I couldn't help but worry about how they were feeling. That they strolled in with this female who couldn't sit with them had to be the pinnacle of a stressful evening.

I quickly moved outside. I received her phone number. We shared an unexplainable sense of urgency. It seemed as if we had met by chance and were destined to be. I was in the middle of an extravagant hug when one of the males appeared and approached me to offer me his opinion. He gripped my hand tightly and murmured into my ear,

"Wachana na bibi ya mwenyewe, tuheshimiane," he says. I was not terrified. I let go and told him he couldn't bully me and that he should pull up his socks... I tightened my fist, preparing for a fight, as he gave me one more scary glance. She appeared to be shaken. The man could have made me butter right then and there, but he decided against it and walked back with her.

I met Angie, as she is known, a few days later and we had a lengthy conversation. She is a hotelier by trade. She works in the front office (euphemism for receptionist) of one of the restaurants.

We did, after all, go out. She was ambitious. She had ideas. She despised males who were always focused on sex and had recently lost her virginity. She despises outsiders and would never date an elderly man. She actively promoted herself for the evenings she was at my house. I almost believed her. In fact, she was playing so hard to get it that I nearly reinforced my pursuit...

Until I saw her doing a fantastic lap dance in Club Vines Friday (thus this long complaining blog). Oh, by the gods, lap dances aren't raunchier.

The man had the satisfying sexual appearance of a sure lay at the end of the night. It was unbelievable to me. She was uninvitedly extracting the delights. She went black when she saw me, but I ignored her. I kept wondering if the man was genuinely into her or if she was just another random girl...whether the man was emotionally inclined or not. It was simply too much for me. Sad. Or depressing.

My biggest clubbing phobia

Every time I walk into a nightclub, my worst dread is running into my ex or someone close to me performing a raunchy lap dance for some disgusting, burley, foolish, mongoose of a man who farts in his sleep. It can have an impact. Especially if she appears untouched and unconcerned about the world and its concerns.

I once had a mid-week drink with my dog, Joe, at a funny joint when his girlfriend strolled in with some short dude chewing gum with a stag in his ear. I noticed Joe twitch in pain. Even though he pretended it wasn't a huge deal, I could see he was trying to be a guy. He'd been seeking the flimsiest cause to dump her, and it couldn't have arrived at a better time. Fortunately, the man was her cousin.

I was once in wines and Spirits trying to close a business deal when I noticed Talia. Talia is Joe's ex-girlfriend. She was with an old man who was laughing at his jokes...he didn't appear mildly amusing. Stacy arrived 13 minutes later. Joe's current girlfriend is Stacy. Coincidences irritate me. I'm a little paranoid.

It implies I may have to forego clubbing to find an inward-looking woman.

The story's moral

Never take out a woman you wish to marry. Insist on coffee dates or other formal settings. She will know exactly where you are doing it in the future and potentially cause complications.

Second, running into your ex with another man might make liquor taste worse.

Third, if you go out with your girl and end up losing her or she ends up bowing over to someone, it's time to figure out what role you play in her life...