My bank manager complained that I was spending too much and should set aside some for the future. What future, I replied. The government will only filch it all in care charges when I’m completely gaga and dressed in the latest fashion of adult sanitary diapers, sat drooling in front a nursing home telly showing endless repeats of Homes Under The Hammer.
So better get out and spend some more while I still have most of my marbles and a libido that swings alarmingly between zero and hero, sometimes in the space of a single day. Time was, not so long ago, that I could get it up two or even, if I’d had an extra weetabix, three time in a day and still have the energy to wobble down the pub. And give me a couple of days recovery and I was ready to go again. Try that now and the only place I’d be going is the intensive care unit of the nearest hospital.
So don’t expect too much of me on this trip. The spirit still resembles that of a randy teenager but the flesh is oh so weak.
I’m in Kenya because black ladies, particularly young attractive African black ladies do something for me which no amount of little blue or orange pills can match. And Kenya is full of more available ladies matching this description than you could shake a perfectly formed black bottom at. I’ll be off revving up my zimmer frame and chasing the classy lasses to be found in Nairobi next month but this month I’m slumming it in Mombasa. Well to be more accurate, Mtwapi near Bamburi Beach. Mtwapi is a strange hybrid sort of place. By day it is an average sort of dusty, traffic clogged Kenyan towns. But by night it takes on a far different complexion. As the African sun sets and the darkness creeps in, so do all the night people come out to play. Innumerable small bars and some big ones.open their doors and are rapidly filled with every conceivable kind of female of the species, old and young (some obviously far too young), fat or skinny, beautiful and as ugly as darkest sin. But all with a common objective of peddling their pussies to the predominately old and decrepit mzungu’s (white men) that frequent these places. I should feel right at home but its all too desperate and seedy for my liking and so I shall not be joining their ranks. Pussy which can be had for a few Kenyan bob is not pussy that I will be lusting after anytime soon.
So its back to the usual online options for me. Seeking is not a great deal of use here. Tinder is king and all the girls use it to hook up with Mzungu’s. So far I have had two nice encounters, the latest of whom has only recently left. The first was interesting as she claimed to cuckholding her 75 year old German boyfriend with me a sprightly mere stripling at 65. She is 22. She seemed to be in quite a hurry so I filled her mouth with Mzungu juice and let her go home to her septuagenarian lover,
The one I have just despatched out the door is a rather lovely young thing who, on disrobing, turned out to be an obvious milf. So again it was one pop and away, this time in the growler. So nothing special yet and so, weather permitting (its the rainy season) I will be off down the beach this weekend to see what we will see.