I am almost jumping with excitement! He is on the way!
Ever since he arrived in the City to leave his car at the overnight parking and get transport to our little town, he has been texting me about where is. I know he is now at the nearest town from here, and will be arriving in less than 40 minutes. I have looked forward to this all week. My pussy is twitching like anything. His tongue on my clit is absolutely wizard.
I have had a liking for Mr Mwaura ever since I was very little. When he came to visit my parents along with others of their friends I wanted to sit near him, although at the time I did not know what pulled me to him so powerfully: after all I was hardly 5 years old! Yet of all my father's friends he was the one they liked least. They would talk against him, saying how unlike ourselves he was, that they felt he was not really one of them, an invader into their circles.
When I was in High school, my teenage friend, Gertrude, who was daughter to Mr. Waithaka, another in that circle once gave me further insight. She had come to understand from bits and pieces of conversation between her father and mother that Mr. Mwaura had gone to school in the City, had not grown up among them, had not played childrens games with them. I longed for school holidays so that I can see him again, observe and copy his mannerisms.
But this mudslinging on the part of my parents did not diminish my admiration of him; to me he was so attractive. He spoke in such a refined way, I thought he was so high class. My sister and brother did not understand what was to admire in him or his family. His children also seemed to carry this aura of superiority. The fact that he worked in computers drew me to admire him greatly. He had been in the bank before that, making him rather different from others of my parents friends. They were electricians, salesmen, or carpenters.
Now, in adulthood I think I can understand my parents antipathy toward him, his family, his upbringing and background. Since his mother was a teacher in the old days when to be one meant being highly respected, they, my parents saw him as not of their class. I think all the backbiting was their way of trying to diminish that which they felt was threatening to them, to bring him down in their eyes.
I noticed his polite speech, always thanking people even for small things; it went straight into my bloodstream when it was to myself he spoke in that way. I saw how he responded to my dads verbal assaults, which was how Dad spoke to everyone, friend and foe alike.
Somehow my parents noticed my liking of Alfred, and would sometimes make fun of it, mocking that I wanted to be a softie, pretending to be better than everyone else. I only aspired to learn more of the ways of people in that class, who went to high-cost schools, where there were children of cabinet ministers, Europeans and Asians, in short all that the rich are. I could not speak of these ambitions to anyone in my family, and yet I could not say anything to my hero. I would not know where to begin! After all I was in school and dependent on my parents.
When I finished high school, I went to university, enrolling in Information Technology. At the time I did not examine my reasons for wanting this line of work. Now, many years later, as a woman, I suspect Alfred was an inspiration.
