Guns, Gangs and Gangsters

Guns, Gangs and Gangsters

In my line of work, holding a gun is a one of the most intense feeling in my momentous life. Orgasmic is a better word, the gun lies in my hand, and I feel it and caress it, like fondling an erect nipple. You take your finger along the shaft and tip of the barrel and you feel the magnitude of the power in your hands, and then you disengage the safety… a feeling Cleft compared to that of going in unsheathed in a harlot (he didn’t use that word but well I am a euphemist). It’s a magical feeling, as you wave the revolver around and everyone ducks or cowers in fear. Did I forget the foreplay? As the smell of gunpowder fills your nostrils, as the magazine loads a cartridge in the barrel. Pleasure danger… ha-ha that’s what Jimmy called it. A feeling of danger that turns you on. Oh… Lord and the climax… when you pull that trigger and all those feelings of power come flooding in and you feel your guts spill out as the recoil jerks you to the realization that you have just killed a man, a woman maybe, sometimes even a child. Pleasure danger… ha-ha that’s what Jimmy used to call it before we picked up what was left of him in the hallowed Gitaru[1] pits. On his face ware the tell-tale signs of guns, gangs and gangsters.

It’s not easy being a psychopathic terror monger. It’s not easy being a gangster, the great power of being a cold blooded killer brings comes accompanied by an insurmountable amount of responsibility. I was young when my parents died, way too young to understand as my uncles pillaged our farm, stole our properties and said something about taking care of the family. I don’t remember much only that a year later I took to the streets and became one with the pavements and cold alleys. Life was hard at first with nothing to eat and everyone out to get you for one reason or another. It got easier as I learned and accepted who I was and what I was, a man. A man on his own in the cruel mad world which was baying for his blood. I didn’t care much for the life I was living, but all of us street urchins had heard of the numerous money the bloodhounds, a notorious gang along Waiyaki[2] way, were making and the fear they instigated among motorists.

We wanted to be them, consequentially you can’t blame us, for as we spoke of the harrowing risk filled stories of the life of guns, gangs and gangsters, we felt a tinge of pride. Proud of the men who had braved the intensity and shit of the seductive streets and taken to battle those who had way more than they should. Plus who were we to be despised so? To be treated as common rats, to be spat upon for the simple reason of our existence, to be seen as dirty wretched animals contaminating the pavements, streets and alleys of their towns. Such hate from the world can change a man, make him resentful of all those people who walk about with car keys jangling from their hands, make you feel distasteful every time you saw a woman walk out of a mall or stall with a large bag in her hands. Such hate can mark you with violence.

I grew tough, and I worked my way up the crime ladder to a point I could join the bloodhounds. You see the point is, when you convince yourself with hatred and scorn for those who have more then it develops a courage and gives you the power to hold a gun and point it straight at a man or woman, and if they dare flinch, you pummel them down till they cave. We were animals yes but the world had cornered us and we had no option but to retaliate claws out.

I remember when I joined the hounds, a ruthless gang of five recruiting 3 boys, merely teenagers, into the hard weaned life of a criminal, they were ruthless. We were ordered to march late into the night and to be nocturnal lookouts, without fear of the night. Cleft, the gang leader was easily provoked into violence by the slightest inkling knowledge that you were wasting his time. We would canvas a town for all its exits for nights on end until we knew them like the back of our hands, then we would inform the hounds who would plan their attacks.

In hindsight I was too much of a boy then, raised into my puberty by the alleys and gutters… I had never even known a woman. It was Jimmy who brought this up to Bullpin, who trained us and chiseled us into men. Bullpin laughed and said the hounds didn’t accept boys in their clubs and he would have to do something about it. On the night I lost my virginity all the gang members and recruits were holed up under the Gitaru Bridge, looking about tactfully, Cleft motioned me,

“You can’t be a bloodhound without ever having being touched now, can you?”

Cleft asked to which the other guys guffawed loudly.

“You go over to that building there and say you’ve come to collect Stacy’s dues, we will be here when you’re done.” He continued with a smirk.

As I walked to the ominous brothel and as they looked on jeering, all I could think of was what lay in store. As I walked clear cut across the road, I noticed the myriads of women who were perched by the stalls’ flickering lights, I walked into the alley that went straight towards the building’s entrance as the twilight girls continued whistling to motorists as they passed by. At the entrance, I knocked and a big matronly woman opened the door angry and disappointed with the scrawny figure that stood in front of her.

“We don’t sell milk here, come when you’re older,” she spat out.

Jimmy whistled loudly and as the lady squinted her eyes in the distance she understood and she asked me what I wanted.

“Stacy’s dues.” I said as my mind wandered to a time it felt safer.

“Staaaccccyyy!”

She bellowed within the house and five minutes later a middle aged thick woman came. The large woman muttered something to Stacy under her breath. The lady turned to me and beckoned me with her finger with a look of amusement on her face. I walked hesitantly to which both women laughed loudly,

“Fresh meat eeh?” the woman referred to as Stacy asked “Come on now, being one of them requires courage” She added with a wink.

I nodded my head. She smiled and took my hand past the matronly woman up a flight of stairs. I followed her blindly, with my inexperience and fear of the worst tormenting m mind, while she walked briskly ahead with her depravity and pompous demeanor. We got to another floor and she let go of my hand, she walked on ahead and opened one of the doors that were all over the corridor.

“Get in this room and take all your clothes off, I don’t tolerate limp boys now, so work yourself to excitement, I’ll be here in a while to help you relieve.”

She said as she walked on, I stood as my mind raced on. My mind was flustered and aware, I walked in and about the room with my eyes wide, what I remember clearly was the smell. A strong fragrance, somewhat overpowering, the bed was neatly covered, and they were all manner of pictures and posters on the walls of half-naked men and women in bikinis and swimsuits. I took off my clothes. Shirt first. I took of my shorts slowly with the fear of a boy. Stacy came in large and imposing and for the life of me… naked to the skin. I covered my eyes in terror. In her defense before I did shy away from her imposing large posterior, my mind had good record of the fact that she was beautiful, with well-toned skin and lovely thighs… the thighs yes. Stacy walked towards me, giggling excitedly, she was way happier about this than she should have, probably having a feeling of self-fulfillment, she would make a man out of a boy today. She sat next to me, large and imposing and flustered my dry hair, I eased up and let my hands drop. I raised my face and looked at her, a naked woman I had never met before and she smiled, a half re-assuring smile. I was terrified but I knew Cleft would beat me to a pulp if I failed in this and with the fear and worry still plastered on my face I lay flat on the bed.

Stacy roughed her way next to me in the covers and fondled my head, taking her hands all over my body with the seasoned experience of a seductress, all my senses went limp, most of my muscles hardened, some more than others,  she smiled again, happy that I was indeed a man. She clasped my manhood within her hands and shook…

“You’re a strong boy eeh”

I closed my eyes in nervous excitement to which she guffawed loudly…

“Eeh Stella, he’s a man yes” She shouted, her face towards the wall with her back turned towards me…

I heard a laugh, presumably by the Stella in question, Stacy turned towards me and motioned for me to get closer to her, I obeyed, she was in control and I was at a loss for words, I needed to be a man, I needed to be part of the blood hounds.

 

Check out my blog soon for the sequel to Guns, Gangs and Gangsters,

Sneak peek: A passed pastor’s past.

 

Francis the Lone Puppeteer

 

[1] A town along Waiyaki Way from Nairobi

[2] A major road in Kenya connecting Nairobi to Limuru.

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