As a writer, my ears instinctively perk up like a greyhound at the slightest mention of literature. Conversations about prose and poetry and drama are mellifluous. Now try to imagine how I feel when I come across a lady who shares the same conviction.
Her: Hey, I finally pushed myself to write something. You can read it and give me feedback.
Me: Great story. I was hooked from the first sentence. Really nice.
Her: Hehe thanks.
Me: So, what do you plan to do with it now?
Her: Nothing really. I wrote it as an emotional outlet.
Me: In that case, can I post it on my blog?
Her: Haha fr?
Me: Fuck yeah. It’ll be an honour (face with sunglasses emoji)
Her: Haha now you’re gassing me up (laughing crying emoji) Go ahead, I don’t mind (smiling emoji)
I’ll be honest, I’ve tweaked a few things here and there, and added a couple more things. Nonetheless, Her deserves all the plaudits. The whole project is her brainchild.
All it took was a smile and a nod to get things started.
My heart skipped a beat as soon as I laid my eyes on him. From the exterior, he appeared to possess all the attributes that a lady would desire. Talk about piety, extroversion, impeccable grooming, confidence, and, of course, a cute face. Oh, how I drooled over him with puppy-dog eyes that day! Words fail to describe my feelings at the time.
He subtly sought my phone number not long after our initial encounter. He informed my mother—of all people—that he would like to speak with me. I found this to be both innocent and fascinating. My mother didn’t read any perversion in his request and why would she? The guy was an interim evangelist and I was a youth leader, the chairlady of the church youth programme, in our parish. We were going to discuss Kingdom business. (Ha!).
Dutifully, I reached out to him as my mother instructed. Little did I know this would mark the beginning of our emotional adventure. Believe me when I say no man had ever been as fanatical about me as he was.
It was a frightening experience being in the presence of a man ordained by God, but I enjoyed the attention. We began having actual conversations and getting to know each other. I learnt, just like me, he was a campus student in his final year undertaking a Masters in Theology at a Limuru based institution of higher learning. His stint at our church was his practicum project.
In less than a week, he asked me out. It wasn’t your normal date, to say the least; a nature walk around the neighborhood. Still, I enjoyed my time with the man of cloth.
The phone calls gradually became longer after that and we’d communicate into the wee hours of the morning. I have a thing for funny people, and this guy continually kept splitting my sides with his quirky sense of humour. All this time, I couldn’t help but wonder, Is he smitten by me? On my part, I had long concluded that he had all the qualities of my Mr.Right.
More than spending time together, I loved to watch him in his element. On select Sunday’s he’d be called upon by the clergy to nourish the congregation’s spiritual hunger.
The first thing you’d notice about him when he stood at the pulpit was his crisp, clean, slim-fitting suits. He wore the hell out of them. God was definitely pleased.
His sermon messages were concise and relevant to present times. He delivered them with a laid back poise and tone. Unlike the typical African pastor who screams into your ears, Mr. Right spoke softly to people’s hearts; constantly making references to the Bible like a lawyer references the constitution. If he wasn’t called by God, he’d probably be offering legal representation to those who are least likely to see heaven, or he’d be a snake oil salesman pitching to venture capitalists.
We, the congregation, would listen keenly to the utterances of God’s vessel. His wisdom exceeded his years. People would nod in agreement, shout a rejoinder Amen! Or raise their hand to affirm and claim a blessing. He brought the church to life. Revival Sundays!
Blessed with an angelic voice, he would close out his sermons by belting out a tune calling people to (or back to) Christ. Always, there’d be a member or two who’d heed the call and come forward to be prayed for as they began their new life in Christ. Souls were being saved. The Great Commission was in full swing.
At some point, our church scheduled a trip in a fortnight’s time. I wasn’t sure about it, so I did not put down any money. Mr. Right insisted that we take advantage of the opportunity to build on our chemistry. I took him at his word and paid for it a few days later.
The hike was fantastic. I very much enjoyed his company as well. We shared tales of our (physical and spiritual) lives, laughter and refreshments as we scaled the mountain. The feeling of being so close to him was mind-blowing. He inspired me to reach the summit of Mt. Longonot. It was a mental and physical battle, and I couldn’t have done it without him.
My feelings for him started peaking as we made the descent down. We couldn’t stay away from each other. As we hugged goodbye at the end of the excursion, that’s when I knew, I wanted him so bad.
He openly admitted to being in a committed relationship with another girl; a virgin girl. Let’s call her Stacy. I never met Stacy physically but I got acquainted with her via Mr. Right’s mobile photo gallery. He gladly showed me photos of her, and of them together. She’s a beautiful lady who dresses immaculately. I’d be lying if I said she didn’t resemble the proverbial 31 woman.
Mr. Right spoke affectionately of her, it was quite clear he was madly in love with her. They were dating right, practicing chastity combined with other principles of Christian dating. Their relationship was God ordained. It didn’t matter, I reasoned, because I wasn’t looking for a relationship with him. His company was enough.
Just as I was getting comfortable with the idea of having him around, it all came to a rude and abrupt end. A new semester was on the horizon. This not only meant both of us would return to our respective campuses but also the end of his work practicum. Not that it matters really, but we were both enrolled in Christian universities. Talk about being rooted in Christ.
I was put off by the fact that I wouldn’t be able to see him on a regular basis like I used to. He was also pissed by the distance between us. However, we swore to meet up again. The same way we scaled Mt.Longonot would we scale the mountain of Time and Space. In the meantime, we kept in touch with constant calls, texts and sharing of memes including Mike Rua inspired Tikok videos (IYKYK).
Were we moving too fast, too soon?
Barely a month into the new semester, he invited me over to his place for the weekend. This didn’t sit well with me for I knew precisely what would happen if we met. Regardless, I opted to ignore my instincts and accept his invitation.
I had two classes on Friday, so I told him to expect me in the evening of the same day. By early morning on D-day, he’d started texting like a man possessed.
Praise God!…God bless you!…God watch over you!
These declarations were meant to dissuade me from changing my mind and backing out last minute, just in case.
The minute my classes ended, I geared up for the uphill climb; javing through three counties just to see this particular child of God. The boychild didn’t even send me fare to go neither did I ask him to refund me when I got there. I genuinely wanted to see him again.
For the return trip, I asked him to facilitate my transportation because I had insufficient funds. He sent me some money but it was slightly short of the actual cost. I took no offence at this and topped up the remaining amount myself albeit wondering whether it was a miscalculation on his part or if he was broke. Either way, I appreciated whatever he gave especially considering the fact that he took care of every other expense during my stay.
When I alighted at the Kabuku stage that Friday evening, Mr. Right was on-hand to receive me. Two separated souls finally reunited. We’d once again made it to the top of the mountain. Dreams do come true.
So excited was he to see me, that he hummed and sang a little bit to himself as we made our way to his place which was a few metres away from the matatu stage. His melodiousness, turns out, is not a one off or occasional thing. Throughout my entire stay that weekend, he was either singing or humming (mostly worship music). At one point, he chose to serenade me and I applauded him by rombosaing for him as he covered Bounce by Ruger. Singing is his thing. His weirdness. His uniqueness. His gift.
Anyway, once we had settled in, he quickly said a thanksgiving prayer: thanking God for my safe arrival and the food before us (or was it before him?). This would be the last time he prayed or mentioned God. From there on out, we put our salvation aside, we denied Christ.
The ambiance in his room consisted of dim lighting and a seductive playlist. In anticipation of what would eventually happen, I hit the shower before sitting down to eat. He’d prepared a lackluster meal which I only took a couple of bites of before pretending to be full and pushing it away. Then, as you can probably guess, within no time, we got down to monkey business.
I couldn’t get enough of him and his heavenly sensual touch. His kisses, his caresses, his deep strokes…(mmh) Lord have mercy! It was all sorts of wrong but it felt so damn right. Christians call it fornication but, in all honesty, it felt like a spiritual awakening. A holy fuck, excuse my French.
We spent the following day cooped up indoors. He’d cleared out his entire schedule for the day just so we could goof around and make joyful noises. It was a Joyous Celebration (see what I did there?).
Initially, we used protection, careful not to multiply and fill the earth, but then the condoms ran out, so we ate the forbidden fruit raw. Skin to skin. Tena na tena. Mechi baada ya mechi. Party after party.
Mr. Right is a passionate lover who certainly knows his way around a woman’s body. He did things that left me biting my lip hard and rolling back my eyes in unfathomable pleasure. The man of God brought out the devil in me and exorcised my demons. It was a tender but vicious, steamy but fiery, ritual.
Later on, as we cuddled in bed, in the post-coital pose, I pensively asked him where we’d go from there having now indulged in the original sin. He swore nothing would change. If anything, they would only get better.
I believed him.
The assurance left me feeling safe, secure and loved. I drifted to sleep in his arms shortly after.
I woke up on Sunday morning and found him, fully dressed, putting on his clerical collar. Kingdom duty was calling. We talked a little bit. Again, he reassured me nothing would change going forward and promised to check in with me during my journey back. He handed me his padlock to lock up on my way out. We hugged and kissed passionately one last time. And just like that, the good shepherd was off.
On the bedside table, was a hearty breakfast set on a tray: a bowl of porridge, buttered bread, scrambled eggs and fruit salad. So aesthetically pleasing was the presentation, that I couldn’t help but snap the thoughtful gesture.
After the most important meal of the day, I readied myself for the exodus.
Midday found me en-route to school. There was barely any traffic on the road, so I got to the city in good time to catch our college’s customary Sunday afternoon bus from the town campus to the main campus.
From his place to my school, true to his word, Mr. Right and I were in constant communication. Nothing had changed. Yet.
That evening, as I lay my head on my pillow in the hostel room, I relieved every moment we spent together right from the first time we met to the just concluded visit. I hoped that we’d develop a deeper connection going forward.
Clearly, the joke was on me.
The texts suddenly became sparse. My inbox was as parched as the Sahara desert. Declined calls would soon follow. Day by day, he steadily fell off from my list of regularly contacted people. Mr. Right turned into Mr. Ghost.
What went wrong? Was he just after it? Was I just another notch in his belt!
Who am I kidding? I expected this to happen. But now I just pondered if it was all worth it. I knew what I should have done, but I let my guard down. I let lust take the wheel and consequently fell short of the glory of God. I have since repented and continue to pray for strength from above in the face of temptation, even as I bear the repercussions of my conduct. I am not perfect, the flesh is undoubtedly weak; hopefully, I will be more steadfast in future.
The moral of this narrative is to forever look beyond outward appearances. Indeed, not all that glitters is gold. Don’t get too attached too quickly, or else dolefulness awaits you. Under no circumstance should you contradict what your intuition is telling you; it is always spot on!
It was a lesson well-learnt.