"Heh, so the guy was being used like a dildo," another one interrupted, and laughter filled the place upon hearing that. No one opposed his decision; they all took his side and saw he had done the right thing by telling her that.
Semeni shook the matchbox to know how many sticks were left inside; her friend had already poured hers out completely. Even after being told of her mistake, she wrapped herself in the arrogance that most girls have—the kind that makes them act as though the man is the one at fault, so he can come crawling back and let her control him as she wishes. But this time, she ran into iron. There was no sign of being called, even after she said she was leaving.
In her mind, she believed he would plead with her after she showed signs of sulking, not knowing that the man had decided to change completely. The body part she owned, she saw it as a well—whenever one thirsted, they would rush to drink there. So she wasn't worried about Rajabu; she thought he was hers. That's when she met her downfall, and even when she tried to leave angrily, what he said to her shattered her completely.
That if she kept acting proud, did she think she was the only one in this world, so that whenever he desired, he would have to run to her? The answer that came to her mind—she wasn't the only one created, women were plenty, and even if she didn't return, he would get another and life would go on. That's when she was hurt twice, to the point a tear escaped as she returned to the salon to join the others she had left there.
When she remembered that there could be other women, and thought about it more, suddenly jealousy burst out—no one knew from where. It stuck in her throat, and she felt immediately that he must have found another woman; that's why he had dared to treat her like that. Even though her thoughts weren't entirely wrong, she still didn't have proof to confirm whether it was true or not—only suspicions. Thinking that her treasure had been invaded by a pirate, that was why there was that new arrogance.
She didn't realize that if you don't feed a pigeon enough, and it lands in a coop where there's more grain and fresh water, it will stay there and never feel the need to return to the place it was first tied. That's what happened to her—she wasn't wise enough to bow down, even when her towel had long slipped off, embarrassing her completely.
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Eric, when he met his drinking group after work, the main topic was Siyawezi. He explained to them in detail how wild the girl was, and how she'd reached the point of teaching him styles he'd never known before. He ended up helpless after the intense session with her—to the point he almost believed she wasn't of the age she claimed. He suspected she might have lied on her school records when enrolling, that she was older.
What he had experienced, even his wife couldn't compare—not even a quarter. Every move he thought he knew with his wife, this girl had something new, to the point he felt completely empty on that field. He even reached a point of letting the girl take the wheel herself, driving the "vehicle" at her own pace and pleasure.
"Man, that girl is a troublemaker of all kinds—you know, that day I felt like I was flying. The way she bent, when I went back home to my wife, even her hips looked strange to me, man, that girl taught me things," he said while spearing a piece of meat from the skewer to eat.
"A prostitute is still a prostitute, she doesn't deserve to be praised like that. What you get, others get too. Don't brag about playing ball on a world-class pitch when there are twenty-two players on different teams. She's only trying new challenges, improving her skills, so she can give your wife a proper hit when you get back home. Jose, tell him," his friend with a glass in hand said.
"You, Eric, being a peacekeeper abroad shouldn't make you forget that there's land you must guard at home. Your wife is everything—since you're not new to cheating, let us set you straight. The most beautiful flower is the one you've planted yourself. This one you're praising, if she's taken home as a wife, she'll forget everything just like ours did after being satisfied. Take that girl for what she is—a prostitute—just to ease yourself, not to set up camp," Jose said.
"I think you've heard Jose, my friend—enjoy the pleasure, but keep your mind at home, with your wife and kids. That girl is available to everyone, don't let her rule your head," he was told.
"Guys, you've all turned against me today, huh? Just for giving her a bit of praise, you're preaching now. You, Jose, didn't you already sleep with her?"
"That's why I told you that. What you got, many have gotten—even bodaboda guys sleep with her when they give her money. And you, fool, went there barefoot; deny it, and I'll expose you. No one who goes to her house for the first time remembers to wear socks, even if he was holding them in his hands," Jose said, and Eric fell into deep silence as his friends burst into laughter. They hit the truth dead-on; that's why he couldn't reply at all.
"This one clearly didn't eat candy with its wrapper. That girl's cleanliness confused you—besides her tricks," another friend cut in.
"That girl knows how to clean herself, man—so neat it shocked me. She's all one tone, no lines, smooth like a baby's skin. You think you'll even remember the condom? I myself won't lie, I went raw, and the heat she had—man, it's like she warms it on a stove before putting it in!" he said, laughing. "This fool probably went with a packet of condoms but forgot them in his trousers," Jose added, and they all roared with laughter.
"Now you're clowning, guys, turning me into a joke. As if I'm the first to lose a match in this world—like others haven't done it," Eric said, trying to save face, but everyone could see he'd lost confidence.
---
Siyawezi herself had no thought of Eric at that time. Even though the married man thought of her constantly, she saw him as just another passerby—like the others who had used her and gone. As long as she got what she wanted, she had stopped thinking about married men altogether.
By the time darkness had fallen that evening, she was sitting between the legs of the man who had promised to meet her that day after school—the doctor who had falsified records to justify taking the students out to abuse them.
At that hour, the girl, with full intention, sneaked out wearing two kangas—one tied at her waist, the other draped over her shoulders to cover the sleeveless top with thin straps she had worn. She had to slip out quickly before her father noticed she had gone to do her shameful act.
The kanga tied below—had it fallen off, she would've been left with only soft underwear, far from sufficient to be called decent covering. That's when she sat between that man's legs.