TWISTED.

By Brian Nzomo.

When I first met Sheila’s parents, I was anxious at first because they were stinking rich. I was not doing bad financially, but I was afraid they would turn our fianceeship down on those grounds.

Sheila convinced me that her parents were liberal enough to oversee petty reasons for not liking me. Well, that was partly the case. Sheila’s mom was an endearing woman. Her phenomenal kindness inundated me beyond calibration.

But her father was a different kettle altogether. He was tough on me. And from his hostile inquiry about me, my life and my background; I deduced a deep-seated distaste he had for me.

Maybe I had said something bizarrely repugnant to him. Or maybe he did not like that I came from a middle class Catholic background. He was a firm Anglican and I was vaguely puzzled as to why that would cause him such an inimical attitude towards me.

Sheila found me outside faking a call to relieve myself from the bellicose questioning from her father.

“I am so sorry about this. I don’t know why he is behaving this way?” She explained to me that it was never in his nature to act so crude to anyone. Not even the suitors she had introduced to him before nearly got such a treatment.

“No need to explain anything honey,” I smiled at her. She smiled back. “I love you, Sheila.”

“I love you right back, Brian.”

Brian! Brian! Maybe that was the source of his suspicion. But how feeble would this excuse be. Hating someone, or falsely correlating their name with a certain behavior was not something that was rang on my mind.

When we re-entered the sitting room. There was an unusual silence from him as he busied himself in reading a newspaper. Sheila’s mother had also lost the warmth of bliss on her face.

Nobody spoke much. Sheila offered to cook and went to the kitchen. Her father too, excused himself and went to the bedroom supposedly to sleep, or sulk at her daughter’s icky choice of a fiancee. When he left the room, he slit his eyes menacingly glaring at me.

“Welcome home Brian,” Sheila’s mother resumed her idyllic state. “Never mind about him. I’ll talk to him. I am sure I will make him understand you aren’t bad after all.”

“Thankyou ma’am,” I replied in a faux smile.

“Come on. Don’t call me ma’am. That makes me look old,” she gave a weird laugh. “Call me Delilah!”

“Delilah!” I echoed in surprise. Never heard anyone on earth named after one of the bible’s most iconic but villainous femme fatales.

“Yeah. Surprised?” She glared at me, in an equally bizarre way. “Don’t worry. I get that from everyone. Sheila’s father was equally surprised when he first hit on me. He thought I was trying to push him away.”

I nodded. Now what! What do I say? How I wished Sheila would be here to break the silence.

There was something so outlandish about her smile. Something so freakishly peculiar about her expressions, her bodily cues and her fashion. Don’t get me wrong. Not to say I believe modesty is graded by the length of a dress or skirt. But, let me say, sort of alien for a woman of her generation.

“So tell me how many women you have dated before Sheila?” She asked almost flatly. I did not expect that question. I sighed and gave a coy smile.

“Or, you are still counting?” She winked.

“Uhmm…Two,” I lied. Ofcourse it was four times that number. Not to mention the ephemeral sexcapades I had indulged in and still do…oh Well!

“Mmmh. Why such a small number? Is it that no one wants you?” She joked. But what a sick joke. From a prospective mother in law.

“No…no…that is not the case,” I defended myself. “Thing is…uhm…I am not thrilled by promiscuity.” Holy fuck! The lies that I was going to spout here would be immeasurable. But anything to save face.

Delilah placed her right leg over her left one revealing a brawny piston thighs. I coughed out the juice I was drinking and gazed away.

“What’s wrong Brian?” She got up and rubbed my back. Sheila rushed in wondering what the problem is.

“Don’t worry am okay,” I said.

“Take it easy. There is enough juice. It isn’t going to be depleted,” she laughed. I did not know whether it was a flirtatious laugh or a genuine one.

---

Delilah made it a habit to call me on the phone at night to wish me a good night. This made me puzzled. When I confided in my friend Dennis, he was in a zest.

“My guy!” He laughed. “Porn’s ’bout to be real!” I knew what he meant. Not that I was particularly clueless about what Delilah wanted, I just did not want to believe it was true. Or did I?

“So what do I do?” I asked him. Not for advice. I needed to be gassed up to take up that challenge. Dennis would never advise me to dissuade myself from clambering on opportunities like this.

“Just do the needful!” He smiled salaciously. “Bang dat MILF till you both burn out!”

Bad advice. It almost scorched me.

Delilah invited me for lunch at her house. Her husband, Sheila’s father had gone to Kisumu for an investors’ conference. I knew this was not any meeting. I asked myself with the necessary tools. Ate sumptuously on foods believed to be natural aphrodisiacs, condoms in my back packet. Hoping Sheila would never know I met with her mother. Alone! With no one else at the house.

Lunch was good. Delicious to be precise. But since I had eaten, I had no keen interest to dwell on it. I eagerly waited for her to make the first move. She was dressed seductively, her face smeared with tons of make-up.

But instead of doing so, she began conversing with me. Minutes, an hour, two hours. She did not seem to want anything else beyond talk. Even with her provocative gestures and randy stares, that was all.

“It’s getting late, I need to go back to my room to do some work,” she said finally. “You can stay till the sweltering sun goes down!”

I watched her leave the dining table. Maimed by confusion, I could not know what move to make next. If she really wanted to fuck, why the hell would she not make the first move?

Well, I guessed it was because I was the man here. All these signals were not misplaced. And telling me she had gone to her bedroom to do some work…There must be something there, I thought.

Shamelessly, I went to the bedroom door. Fuck Brian! What am I doing? I sighed and pushed the knob. She was startled as she quickly wrapped the towel around her fleshy toned body. The look on her face changed to that of chagrin.

“What do you want up here!” She asked in rage. It was potent raw rage. Not pretentious rage. Real anger. An authentic blast.

“Sorry! I…I…am…I wanted to ask…no…I am sorry. I will going now!” I said rushing from the doorstep.

As I drove home, I felt a lump of indignant shame lodged in my belly. I was a stupid fool. And I shall pay for it. Oh Sheila! I only hoped this will die out between me and Delilah.

---

I got home early because I did not pass by the bar as I usually did. I saw him seated on the bonnet of his Porsche, in front of my gate. Sheila’s father. I wondered if he knew already that I was coming from his house.

“Hello sir,” I saluted him demurely. He only pursed his lips and asked me to let him into my house so we may talk over things. No problem! Unless he was armed with a pistol that he would use to exterminate my existence from his daughter’s life, I did not see any other reason to deny him that chance to talk.

“Sir, I understand the fear you have about your daughter. But sir, I love her so much. I promi…”

“Shut up Brian!” He said albeit in a calmer tone. “I came here for some other business!” He faced me grimly and inched his way closer to me. His creased face registering displeasure facing mine antagonistically.

“Look here sir…” I tried to say. Then the unexpected happened. He placed his index finger on my lips. Like what the fuck! That’s gay!

“I love you Brian!” Okay! He is gay. But yeah, what the fuck!

“Sir, are you out of your mind?”

“Yes,” his voice became more low and sibilant. “When I first saw you, my heart could not withstand the power of your charm…” I took a step backward.

“Everything about you was so sexy, gosh! I tried so hard to diminish those feelings! But it was impossible. Even forcing myself to hate you for no reason at all, it did not work!”

I took another step backward. But there was a table. Dead end!

Before I could change my position and stay away from him, it all happened in a flash. His livid coloured lips planted on mine forcefully. And I was enarmoured. Yes, like fuck! I was fucking captured.

I don’t know how this happened. It was all like a hex. An hour later, we were cuddling. No, why did I have to tell this godforsaken story! But a writer is cursed to forever ink his own shame on paper.

Sheila. I married her. But her enigmatic father never stopped overwhelming me with his passionate appeal. And each time, I fell for it…

Brian Nzomo is a third year student at the Kenyatta university studying Media. He is an aspiring literary guru. Contact him via email; bryonzoms505@gmail.com.