It started with the knickers on the wire. Yet the sight of them unsettled me, I resolved to let it pass. Who hangs her under wears to dry in the eyes of day sun? Well, perhaps you could fault my up-bring or because I grew up in remote Rukungiri. But I think it is weird.
I live in an affluent gated apartment in Bukoto with two neighbors: a bubbly hot-looking female accountant and a tall muscled guy. I reckon he works in the gym, or maybe he is a model. His name is Juma. I know the accountant would choose him over me if she decided to select a husband from her neighbors.
I have a pot-belly. I wear glasses. And my fashion sense isn’t appealing even a bit, at least by Juma’s standards. At 32, the only person I have heard saying I am handsome is my mother.
With his enviable looks, Juma is single. The accountant broke up with her boyfriend. The night they split she burned his photos at the garbage place. I have not seen any man at her house since then. She could have given up on dating, or she is now in some sort of relationship with Jesus. Hmm!
And my relationship status? I bang random girls every Saturday and Sunday. What more? I make them scream their throats out.
YES, with this belly and horrible fashion sense and the glasses. There is no magic trick; I drink beer from bars along Speke road and sometimes in Kabalagala. Women there are easy to pick up, you know, right?
I am not proud of myself. When I stand in my mirror I see a bourgeois man who will die soon from a deadly disease and go straight to hell. This thought engulfs me with heavy guilt and self pity, but I cannot fathom why I never stop with the random picking and hostile banging.
This weekend I managed to overcome the ever defeating desire to wander about searching for prey. I won. I stayed home. This meant so much time with Ms. Accountant’s undies and ample time harboring sexual feelings toward her.
There were about 15 on display. I think these are all she has. Images of those knickers squeezing her round bottom and concealing the V-spot preoccupied me for the most part of yesterday. I saw myself undressing her, throwing the pants on the floor and murmuring sweet nothings into her ears.
At night, I jerked off countless times in my bathroom. I wanted to knock on her door, but a ghostly force tied me in my house. In my world of fantasy.
Sunday Morning
I had a sleepless night. I woke several determined to knock on her door and kiss her without saying a word. I failed. Morning came; we exchanged morning pleasantries and went on with small talk.
She told me she her TV Subscription had expired, but after recharging the channels were not showing.
“I think I can be of help,” I told her. I am no technician, but I saw this as my only chance to get into her house, and to see more knickers. She was glad to have me in.
Come around this week, Sunday. I will tell how things ended.
