Fast Lane… 

​I had been sober for barely a week.

My family has been through enough. Being a coke addict in Kenya isn’t cheap. I have run my savings dry and I will do anything to get my daily fix. Withdrawal symptoms are starting to get their hang on me and the feeling isn’t nice. I hate the feeling. I detest it. I hat the itching. The cravings for a fix are immense. They tend to overtake my desire to be sober at times.

I long for the pleasurable feeling of being withdrawn… I am constantly tired, exhausted, restless and highly irritable. I have just had another fight with my girlfriend of 2 years. 

Karen is beautiful. A super model kind of beautiful. She is dark. Extremely dark. The beautiful kind of dark. She is Nigerian. She doesn’t have the accent though. She has shed that off and lots of other stuff including arrogance and waist fat.

Being in USIU, I get to interact with girls and students from all parts of the world. I don’t meet them in lectures or anything but in parties, high class student gatherings and orgies that are organized once in a while in Kilimani, Lavington and Karen. 

That’s how I met Fowoke (her second name) in a party organized by a classmate of hers in Kileleshwa. It was a party like any other only that I was highly hangovered, from too much alcohol, weed and coke from the previous night. When she saw me, she just approached, took my hand and took me to one of the rooms in the house. With everyone outside, she knew that we could have privacy for whichever purpose she had in mid.

I wasn’t surprised or anything. I am used to girls taking my hand and doing all manner of things to and with me on the first meet. So Foke (the nickname I had coined for her) didn’t surprise me at all by taking my hand.

Her: I am Karen. You badly need a fix. You are restless and having been observing you for the last 30 minutes, you need something to bring you to life. It’s a party for hells sake. You need to cheer up a little.

I just sat there looking at her and not really seeing her. I needed a fix. She took a bodypack, poured the contents on the glass coffee table and asked for a dollar bill. I took out my wallet and handed her a 10-dollar bill. She rolled it and like a pro handed it to me. Being too familiar with the somewhat white powder, I didn’t ask any question, I took the bill and did what I did best.

In a matter of seconds, my world was brighter. I felt like getting up and dancing endlessly to the music playing by the poolside downstairs, music I had been struggling to enjoy minutes earlier. I felt no rush to do anything. No physical sensation and immediately after the snort, I felt like I had been in love with Karen the whole of my life. She was my savior in a dark skin, ripped jeans and high heels.

That’s how we had met and started off. She was my high when she didn’t possess a high. She was all I wanted. When not longing for an injection, I wanted her ebony skin next to mine as we wasted the night away in passionate sex and weed smoking.

I had just smashed her head on the coffee table. This happened after an attempt at making me smoke a joint. I wanted to be clean. I was trying and the least she could do was offer moral support. 

Leaving her bleeding downstairs, I have rushed to the balcony to get some fresh air. I wanted to smash her head some more. I love the smell of blood but I love Foke more. I couldn’t do it. I hate hearing her cry.

Her Mercedes 750 amg is parked at the entrance of the main house blocking entrance to the apartment.

Me: Karen, either move your car from the house entrance or I will do it for you. Only that I will use a baseball bat.

Her: Go to hell Ken. 

That really fires me up. I despise being talked back to. Especially by a woman. So I rush downstairs and find her sprawled on the seat, her hair all mangled up in an obvious sign of intoxication. I am angry. I am shaking.

She is in a little green dress that has rode up her thighs, leaving that ebony skin exposed. It is my weakness. My anger suddenly dissipates, overtaken by an undeniable hunger to devour her. The exposed thighs fill me up with lust. I want her. If I can’t have my coke, I will have her. I will have her here and now. 

On seeing the hunger in my eyes she parts her thighs to reveal that she is not wearing anything inside. I rush to her, hold her by the waist and place her on the dining table. My lips find hers and I hungrily suck on them as if my life depends on it. She parts her thighs further to allow my enormous body to fit in between them. 

She bites my upper lip and I can feel the blood start to trickle… Like a vampire she sucks on it and the sensation is driving me insane. I need to feel myself inside her. If I am to see the next day I need her warmth wrapped around my shaft. As we kiss, I feel her hands slide to my shorts and unbutton the zip. She holds my member in her hand and starts feeling as it hardens with every caress. She moves closer to the edge and directs it inside her with a gentle push. I am lost in her. 

We are brought back to reality by the doorbell ring. Someone is at the gate. Being a Sunday, Karen is scheduled to meet her Dad for lunch at their house in Runda. The drive is 20 minutes from my house and instead of I driving her, her dad’s security men are sent every single Sunday to take her there. Precaution and all. Being the Nigerian Ambassador’s daughter is as demanding. Topping up with the increasing cases of kidnapping in Nairobi, her dad won’t take chances with her daughter’s security who has been kidnapped once while driving from class.

So I head to the fridge, take out some ice and ask her to place it on her injured forehead while I check out who is at the gate. I reach the gate to find Tanda, my peddler. I owe him 970 USD. He needs the money the now. His supplier is up his neck and the money needs to be paid.

I ask him to come in. I know I have to get have to get the money in one way or the other. I have some 740 USD in the house and I know Karen wont lack the 230. So he drives in and without even alighting, I rush to the house, get the money, ask Karen for the 230 which she gives with an extra 70 and take it out to Tanda who thereafter drives out like an obsessed rally driver…

To be continued…


2 responses to “Fast Lane… 

  1. Nice story and good narration. Why do you prefer to use USD instead of Ksh? Assuming Kenyans are your biggest audience.

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