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Marauding women whose sexual hunger knows no bounds

That men and women in Nairobi are humping like pandas is no news to anyone. Bonking anyone and everyone. Everything bonk-able. This city has never been smaller!

And this has nothing to do with the dour weather that has gripped the country. Risqué boning is a Kenyan thing, after all.


In this capital, you’re either having tonnes of sex or slaving a sex drought. There’s no in-between.

Granted, men are known to broadcast contents of their crown jewels with abandon. Your average Nairobi dude is either screwing your best friend, sister or the girl who waits at your table at the club.

For approval. To exercise his wild macho. Or whatever other lunacy that drives him.

Only women are now rivalling men in this infamy. A stallion on the loose is dread enough. But a woman on the rampage is Lucifer’s incarnation.

When a marauding woman is in a bonking spree, her hunger knows no bounds. She will clear anything in her way. Boys. Men. Women. I have one such friend. Actually three.

Unlike alpha males, whose behaviour bears the unmistakable insignia of loose libido, this one is defined by absolute stealth. At the office, she wears insouciance like a badge. She hardly talks to anyone. Unless you’re very close.


Miss does her work with split-second precision and is professional to a fault. Until she steps out of the building.

My bud always tells me who she’s devouring whenever we hook up. That’s to say two or three victims per week. On the lower side.

There’s something of a hunter’s instinct in a woman carnivore. Like a killer spider, when she spots her prey, there’s no escape.

Her devilish allure and magic to thank, she hauls women and men alike from clubs to go feast on them. And devour them she does to the last juice.

Explains why many men and women wake up alone, spent, in unfamiliar beds all the time. With only (cab money, if lucky, and) a half-hearted note reading:

“Out wrkg. Thnx 4 lst nyt”.

So, my girl took home this champ a coupla weeks back. Turns out the sex was explosive. Impressed, she decided to keep him for a few more assaults.



When the romp began, both hunter and prey were in it for the thrill. Then chap started to develop emotions. He even ghosted his girl. He was in “love” with this new catch. Who turns down a thrill without costs? Cardinal blunder.

Queen here has seen his type countless times before. Dealing with them is effortless: cast them off like a rag. Poor bloke was inconsolable.

Her kind is savagely unsentimental. In her ecosystem, there are never strings attached. None. Her rule book has only one item: tear each other apart then hit the highway.

Should you ever cross paths in town, don’t bother to say hi. She doesn’t care a rapt. Not anymore. That’s if she even remembers you at all. Go on as though you’ve never met. For dignity.

Not all succulent babes you see at the club are there for taking. Some are bloody hunters. They see an inviting hot dish in you. They just could be baying for your blood, or juices, as much as you’re lusting after them.

Only cross their path when you’re ready for terror. Only if.