The landlady's daughter
It was a typical Sunday evening until something unexpected happened.
After being cooped up indoors all day doing some cleaning, I decided to order some food.
Where I live, delivery drivers have a recurring disagreement with the concept of directions. So, rather than subject the poor guy to another fifteen minutes of “bro, you're almost there” while he is demonstrably nowhere near there, I decided to walk down to the front gate and meet him.
Ten minutes pass.
I'm standing there chatting with the shopkeeper, who, for context, is usually the mother—a woman in her late forties who owns the place and lives in the same apartment building with her daughter. Her daughter is the one who was running the shop tonight.
And, well...
She's beautiful. For context, she's a brown skin toned petite babe, about 5'2, and has the kinds of boobs you can't resist glancing at.
The kind of beautiful that has been the subject of multiple warnings by the mum to one of my friends some months ago.
We've known each other for a while. I'd go as far as to say I'm her friend. Sometimes, when I'm heading to work in the morning, we end up walking in the same direction as she heads to uni before I catch a matatu to work. So there was already some familiarity between us.
Furthermore, the mum and I have this aunt-nephew kinda relationship as she's always thought highly of how I carry myself. We've never butted heads when it comes to high music volume or rent payment. I also don't like having too many friends at my place except for the occasional homies to watch a football match or a girl to do you know what.
Anyway, back to the issue at hand.
Tonight, though?
It started innocently enough: a little conversation catching up as I last saw her on Monday, I think. 'How is school' that kinda conversation in between her serving customers as I monitor my delivery guy's progress. Eventually, he does arrive, and after picking up my food, I playfully tell her, “When you're done here, si you can come upstairs for like twenty minutes tumalize story.”
Twenty minutes.
A hilariously optimistic estimate, as it turns out.
Around 9:30, there was a knock at my door.
She came in, and I immediately noticed how her nipples were straining through her top. I had to subconsciously remind myself to focus. I was eating some of the food I'd ordered, so I gave her some while we talked. We carried on with normal conversation in between some flirting.
Then, the flirting became harder to disguise. Then out of nowhere "na kwani hunanga manzi?" I think it's best to assume she hadn't seen me bringing ladies up to my place, unlike like her mother.
I make up a story about how I don't have time for a girlfriend as I'm working.
One thing led to another, and eventually, we were kissing.
Started out slow, then it became hurried as I moved her to straddle me. Goddamit, she's such a good kisser! She proceeds to blow me and I had to reach for a serviette so as to not cum in her mouth. She stands, readjusts her clothes and says she needs to go home before her mum starts being suspicious as to her whereabouts as she'd closed the shop a while ago.
At this point, I'm walking around with a spectacular case of blue balls as I haven't had sex in about two months and wondering whether inviting the beautiful girl from downstairs upstairs was the best decision I've made all month—or the beginning of a very complicated chapter.
Because now I'm sitting here thinking:
Is it worth exploring this further and risk the wrath of her mum/my landlady?