A host of things which once in a while surprise you and me don’t really qualify for that classification if you were to look a little under their architect. Take the case of familiarity. In our formative years, we used to say, albeit bragging intellect, that familiarity breeds contempt. And how true we were except that then, we were not in position to competently appreciate the import of what we were saying. All the same, a mere utterance of the words readily earned one rosy accolades in the simple understanding of their peers.
Why all that, you may wonder. Fact is that a lot of the obvious tend to take centre stage in our day to day life, go ahead to make an impact on our future lives but lamentably, to our utter ignorance, we ignore them.
Enough of that. Our pre-occupation, this time around, is this VIP coming in the characterization of quite a big boss answering to the feminine gender. A product of the land where amaido grow and are eaten with no care to the world, madam Wendy is a black beauty who did nothing, and is not likely to do anything in the foreseeable future, about bleaching her face. Educated she is, a socialite, she moves in the high circles where is discussed the things that matter in influencing the lives of a bulk of the country’s population.
And, like all of us have a failing or two to our calling, madam Wendy’s failing is that she likes night life, enjoys a good drink to the stage of making her dead drunk, has a sexy look, a sexy smile, sexy rolling eyes, moves in a sexy way with a wriggling bumpy bottom to boot and, if you are to talk of what takes place between her legs and from her mouth, is herself as sexy as sexy has ever been. Now, that’s definitely a wild combination in a single human body if you ask me.
Talk is rife that the good lady has slept her way to the top unashamedly doing it with the low, the middle and the mighty and what’s more, she herself boasts of it rightly reasoning that she sees nothing wrong with her using what providence freely gave her if the same helps to further her career and wellbeing. So, you will appreciate that in relating what happened to this lady, recently divorced from her failed husband with a Master of Science degree, is not scandalous as we know scandal to be.
Madam Wendy has severally been overheard confessing to female friends that she has an itch between her legs which she helplessly can’t contain. She runs a busy office and has a driver to take her to the places, meetings and parties which she attends at the bound.
My dictionary defines a wendy house as a children’s small house-like tent or structure for playing in. So, whether it was by commission or omission that this lady was named Wendy doesn’t matter. What matters is that her behaviour fits the measure for she indeed uses her kabunidde so well that it’s like a ‘structure for playing in.’
You don’t have to crucify Wendy for this because even her female tribes-mate are famously known to publicly brag about their sex lives and one of their common brag is: “Nze nsula ngugemye!” If that was to be translated, it means that they sleep naked with their men and that when in bed, even after suffering a battering of their v- monologues, the women sleep night-long holding tight onto their men’s drillers of pleasure. What a people! Matooke drinkers should be ware of consorting with these girls/women from across the bridge who wriggle their waists better than those dancing akadodi.
For a long time, Freddie, 28, and Wendy’s driver, suffered without bitterness as he drove the lady to parties and dance halls from which Wendy emerged with males whom she would take to hotels or inns for hours of bonking. Freddie had to sleep through these hours at the steering waiting to drive home his worn out drunken boss whom he sometimes had to tuck into bed. But a job is a job and no one understands this better than a man.
It was the other Friday when Wendy, too tired and soaked silly at a residential party she had attended up to past midnight, had to be helped into her VX Land Cruiser. Mbu one man had bonked her in one of the bedrooms which answered to why she was nicker-less having forgotten her knickers there. But, to all appearances, that man had done a poor job of it and madam Wendy was panting for more.
Once in the vehicle, she let loose her foul mouth with a litany of four letter words making a bounty of the F… Yous. On reaching home, she leaned onto her driver’s shoulder right into her bedroom and on the way, her hands were all over the driver’s trouser’s front. She was frantic for a long pummeling of her hot pudenda and she was not shy to concede this as she ordered the driver to do her bidding. You remember that saying of ‘he who pays the piper?’ Well, Wendy called the tune that night and Freddie was more than happy to oblige lest he lost his job. What’s more, the kiwoman, in her 40s, was a dish worth feasting on.
Looking forward to a salary increase and more, Freddie bested himself at whacking his boss in all the manners of whacking pussy he knows under the sun. He did the 69, the 96, the missionary, kabuzi, kacapizo, the…….. oh my! He was not to be disappointed because Wendy was heard loudly commending him on a work well done with that “Gyebaleko Ssebo….” She was also heard screaming and begging him to pump her harder and harder and not to stop. “Freddie, do that faster, faster, oh yeeees. Oli wa mulembeeeeh!” The exhausted couple dropped off into the sleep of the dead in the wee hours of Saturday in Wendy’s mazongoto.
However, waking up a little before noon, a rightly thirsty and naked Wendy angrily boomed at Freddie: “You fool, what the hell are you doing in my bed?” She then shouted, “Askari, askari,..” When the latter answered to the call outside the bedroom door, she ordered him: “Come and eject this freak from my room.” The bemused askari who had witnessed what Wendy was doing to Freddie when they came home the past night, obeyed her command albeit without the required strictness. That day both Freddie and the askari lost their jobs at Wendy’s. Talk of “what do women want in a man, I mean?”