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Three-quarter birthday

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My wife Rita and I celebrate three birthdays a year, in March, June and September. Mine comes in March and hers in September. We call the June one ‘ka-quarter’. Have I lost you? A thousand apologies, but let me explain about ‘our’ sister.

Becky led me to Rita. I had come to Nairobi on a UN Mission. In my leisure time I love to sing so as soon as I landed, I sought out the Nairobi Music Society, though it took a little time. We practiced at a preparatory school in the leafy suburb of Kileleshwa. Since the practices began at 7pm to allow for those people coming from their offices, I never really saw the beauty of the place until three weeks before the May Concert, which we called the Summer Concert, although here, close to the equator there are no clear-cut seasons such as we have back home in Britain. On this Saturday, three weeks before the concert, the conductor called an “all-day” rehearsal to allow the choir to go through all the music, and in the afternoon session to practice with the Nairobi Orchestra just as it would be at the concert itself.

That was when I was able to see the neat playing fields, flowerbeds and mature trees. I had heard of such schools at home whose premises were “country” like a Lords manor; it was a bit difficult to believe that such an environment was created for small children! That was also the day I noticed Becky for the first time. She was a light-skinned girl in the soprano section. At tea, as I returned the spoon I had used to stir sugar into my cup, our hands bumped into each other. I looked up to offer an apology, and was met with the most unusual eyes. They were a sort of liquid-brown, and set in a smooth face of amazing calmness.

“Sorry!” I smiled my apology.

A radiant smile of very white, even teeth answered me, “Its alright. I was a bit clumsy there.”

I found it difficult to tear my eyes away from that loveliness. I held on for a second more than courtesy allowed. We each took two biscuits from the plate and I placed mine on the side of the saucer, ready to find a place to sit.

“I am Becky,” came the surprising words. I had not thought that such a beautiful woman would give me the time of day, yet here I was being offered an opening gambit.

Delighted, I turned back to her. “I am pleased to meet you Becky. I am Brian Goodman.”

“Have you just joined us?” she inclined her head. “I don’t seem to remember seeing you at the December Concert.”

I reflected that it had taken some time to find the Music Society. “Yes, I joined in March. I didn’t think I would catch up with those of you who had started in January. That is why I did not want to miss this rehearsal.” We sat companionably next to each other on the chairs set in the lawn beside the Music Gallery. “Incredible that such a building would be solely for teaching music to children.”

“Wait until I show you the individual rooms where they learn different instruments.”

“Are you telling me nothing else goes on in this whole building?” I lifted my eyes to scan the large edifice. I could not believe that all this was available in an African country for African children.

“Only the Hall in which we practice is not strictly for music. The rest of this whole thing is dedicated to the development of music.”

After lunch, the orchestra joined us for the rest of the rehearsal. I found that I enjoyed the music more, probably because I felt I had someone to connect with in the whole ensemble. By the end, I was confident with all my music; even if the concert were the next day, I felt I was ready.

Almost naturally I found myself walking next to Becky towards the parking. “Going straight home, I imagine?” I hazarded a guess.

“Yes, but I am amenable to suggestion.” Her brilliant smile was enough to dazzle me.

“Sawa!” I used my first Swahili word. “Follow me to Kasuku Centre. There is a pizzeria there called Pizza Corner.”

“Follow you, or race you?” This time it was more of a mischievous grin.

Presently we arrived at the Centre. “You do not mind pepper, I hope?” She shook her head. I bought us a medium Chicken and Beef Pepperoni.

“You do not mind if I get us the drinks, I hope?” I laughed my consent.

She told me, almost as if I had asked illegal bahis her why she did not have a boyfriend despite being so gorgeous, “I have just finished the academic programme for my MBA. At the end of May I do my final exams, and I will be as free as a bird.”

I updated her on my work for UNEP, whose headquarters were in Gigiri, on the outskirts of Nairobi.

You had better believe me when I tell you I had not been looking for a girlfriend, but Becky and I came to a swift understanding that as soon as her exams were over, we would spend a lot more time with each other. She would never spend the night away from home however, in deference to her parents’ wishes.

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The concert was rated a great success, as the Music Society was able to make a healthy donation to a childrens home that was selected to receive the bounty from this year’s Summer Concert. Another charity would be selected for the Christmas Concert. To celebrate, Becky and I went to the Carnivore and indulged our meat palates. In the evening we stayed on at the disco, dancing our feet sore. We found we could not last much beyond midnight, added to that stiff rule she had placed herself under, of not spending a night out of home. So we parted a few minutes before 1 am. That was the last time I saw her alive.

The day after next, a Monday, she took a lift with her parents, leaving her own car at home. In town, she got onto the University shuttle bus. At the campus, she chatted with her friends for a moment before walking off in the direction of her lecture room with one of them. Unaccountably, the driver of the bus chose this particular moment, while the two were behind the bus, unseen from any of the side mirrors to reverse. He bumped the two but Becky fell in the path of the rear wheels, which ran over her, wrenching her neck away from her body. The other students, on seeing the girls knocked down, tried to alert the driver, but he only wondered what they could be shouting about so early on a Monday morning. Only when he felt a bump did he stop. Everyone was running towards the back of the bus and he followed them to see what the matter was. Becky’s friend only had a grazed knee but it was obvious that Becky was badly injured.

The driver alerted the transport department, both about the accident, and about the need for an ambulance to take the injured girl to hospital. Becky did not make it to hospital however; she died of excessive bleeding on the way.

But I was not to know about these events until the following evening. That Monday I sent her our customary SMS message at lunchtime, and called her in the evening. It puzzled me why she had not responded to my message, given that she usually left her phone in her bag in the locker, and looked for messages from me the first thing after leaving class. The call did not go through, instead giving me a tone like that of a non-existent number. I tried to convince myself that since I knew she was sitting for a CAT that evening until 8:30, that her phone had been snatched by pickpockets in town as she was going home. When I could net get hold of her the following morning I got really worried.

By a stroke of luck I remembered they had a house telephone, whose number I had in memory. I called it with trembling hands. It was answered by a very young voice, and when I asked to speak to Becky, she told me to wait while she called someone. A sweet young voice came on, asking me, “I beg your pardon?” Apparently she had been given my request. As soon as I repeated it, she said, “Havent you heard the news?”

My heart jumped into my throat as I assured her I had not. “What happened?”

“She had an accident at University.” By now my heart was beating like African war drums.

“Where is she? Which hospital? Which ward?”

“Actually…” I did not need to let her finish her sentence. I let the earpiece drop back onto its cradle, staring at the turquoise wall unseeingly. I thought that I did not need to stay any longer in this country if Becky was no longer in it.

Suffice it to say, dear reader, that a week of mourning followed, which concluded with her funeral on the Saturday. So many of us shed tears freely, including family, colleagues, illegal bahis siteleri and classmates. I stood with the family at the graveside with her two sisters on either side of me. They seemed to choose me rather than any of their relatives.

In the week after we bade my darling Becky farewell I met with either of the sisters as we commiserated with each other. The younger one was in her final year of her first degree, while the elder was a pharmacist at the Government hospital. I was struck by how much she resembled her dead sister, in looks, tone of skin, and timbre of voice; but she was already engaged to be married. So my hopes of keeping my love within Becky’s family dwindled. But they both professed to have been curious to meet this Brian whom their sister praised to the high heavens. She had told them how good he was, and they were amazed that their normally quiet elder sister could talk to someone on the phone for an hour or more. Who could that be, they wondered.

Even while she told me of her engagement, Rita’s face held a shadow of something like regret. I could not be sure because she seemed robust about her hopes of being married.

I was invited to the wedding. I attended. Their father looked at me quizzically as if he wondered how I could have the stomach to attend another occasion within the family. But for my part, it was as if I wanted to be sure that she really was gone. She looked so radiant, and so like Becky that severally I had to pull myself back to reality. It felt like a double loss within the same year.

I invited her and her husband to the Christmas Concert. I had fought with myself not to contact her in the intervening months lest I rock their marital boat. She did come but her husband was not able to make it. After the concert, she came over to greet me, where I was having tea among my fellow choristers. As she approached I tried to chase all thought of her sister from my mind, but the similarities between the two smote me like a sledgehammer. When I hugged her, she felt so much like Becky that tears came to the corners of my eyes.

I dared invite another man’s wife to have a snack with me when we left the concert hall. Flashing me that radiant smile, she said, “But you must let me leave quickly lest my hubby gets suspicious.”

I could not resist a stab at humour. “We will do everything fully clothed.” I got a well-aimed punch for my troubles.

It was then that she told me of their attempts at getting a baby. Apparently his sperm count was low, but just on the borderline. Their doctor said that there was a chance that he would be able to impregnate her, so that she held some hope still. I held her by the upper arm tenderly as I looked into her eyes, as liquid-brown as those I knew so well.

Knowing that each one of us was a chance encounter between our father’s sperm and our mother’s ovum, I assured her, “The day will surely come. Do not lose hope.”

I fought with myself not to call her or go out with her after this, but the most I can tell you is that I nearly succeeded. She, too was becoming very fond of me.

She called me one day near my birthday in March. “I know Becky would have taken you out for your birthday. Would you allow me to, even though I am different?” These words brought a pain to my chest for being almost true. Did she have any idea how much like her sister she was?

“I am sorely tempted, my dear Rita!” I protested meekly.

“If you are worried about Ronald, don’t be.” She had pierced right to the heart of the problem. “He has not placed me under house arrest.” I thought I detected a note of defiance beneath the cheek, but could not be sure.

She took me to CJs Restaurant in the middle of town on Koinange Street, famed for twilight girls at night. Without meaning to be amorous I palpitated her upper arm as looked into her soft eyes. I was mildly surprised when I heard her breath catch in her throat.

“This is really strange. I will sing the birthday song for the one who sings professionally, while I have never been accused of being musical!” Her eyes were wide with wonder. She did a pretty good rendition of it nevertheless. So I pulled her to standing position as I too stood. I hugged her in canlı bahis siteleri a full body embrace, into which she melted and held for a long moment.

“If we do that again, I will be tempted to take you home and pump your womb full!”

“Don’t joke about that, Brian! I have so wanted a baby that it is now a source of tension in the bedroom. He seems to feel there is no use fucking me if it never gives us a son.” I kissed her on the lips as we sat back down. She was breathing heavily.

“Would you like a lift?”

“Where to?”

“To yours, via…” I left that hanging in the air

She called the waiter, paid him, then stood up right away. “I accept. Lets go then!” Suddenly her cool, calm exterior changed to an excitable state. I too began to heat up.

As soon as we entered my house we grabbed each other hungrily. She was ravenous for cock, having been subjected to desultory screwing for some time. We threw off our clothes in very unceremonious fashion, so eager were we. I knelt between her legs guiding my hungry cock to her entrance. I pushed only slightly, feeling her lips opening in voracious welcome. I slid smoothly in.

“Ooooh, Brian, Brian!” she sighed loudly, wrapping her legs around my waist. I fucked her hotly for only a short while before we both erupted in a mighty orgasm. I filled her with my hot fluids causing her to kiss me so hard she almost bit my lips off. We floated back to Planet Earth gradually.

“That is it for your ‘via’. Now for the rest of the lift!” she brought matters thus to a conclusion.

“We must do this again!” I laid my claim.

Then you must arrange to take me to Safariland for a night, she challenged me.

With those words the death knell sounded on her marriage, all of nine months old.

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As the middle of June passed, I noticed something unusual about Rita. The same heat that had invaded her in March attacked her again. Now that we were living together I could compare her behaviour around the 20th of March and June. I could not fail to notice that there were astronomical events occurring at these times. That year the winter equinox was on 20 March, four days away from my birthday when we had first had each other to be followed by a few other times, when I could steal her away from her husband’s clutches. 21st June was the summer solstice. A few days before this, she became sexually ravenous. She wanted me several times a night, but on the solstice proper, she was unstoppable.

She wanted me to lick her pussy, to nibble on her nipples, and to suck my cock before she took me into her pussy for a thunderous orgasm. Somewhere in this entire melee a thought struck me. Wasn’t Becky’s birthday on 21st June? When she was alive I had never connected her birthday with the solstice, but now I was wondering what the connection was between the late Becky’s birthday, the solstice, and her sister’s heat during the period. Would she have been so hot at these dates, had she lived? In any event, I joked that Becky’s birthday was my year-and-a-quarter birthday, as well as her, Rita’s, year-and-three-quarters birthday.

By the time Rita’s own birthday came around in September, she had good news for us: she was expecting a baby! Again, differently from other months, she became more sexually active as it drew nearer. I realised with shock that the equinox would occur on the 24th September. I waited with bated breath to see what would happen that day in bed.

As I expected, she hit a peak of activity that day. Again, as the solstice came around in December she became unusually excited. Not surprisingly, she delivered a daughter on 20th March, which happened to be the winter equinox. Because of that event, her sexual urge did not go into overdrive. Or probably it did, but since she was in the labour ward I was nowhere to observe. When I went to see her on her hospital bed she had a twinkle in her eye. I could tell something especially delicious was turning over in her mind.

“What are cooking now, darling of mine?” I asked innocently.

“Does it occur to you when our daughter was conceived?” I could only look at her as the implications sank. Conception must have happened around Becky’s birthday and the solstice! Thenceforth we would celebrate St John the Baptist’s Nativity with new significance as both our daughter’s miracle day, and in Becky’s memory.

You can see that this third birthday carried significance for all three of us.

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