Bad bachelor: Bath, Beth, bed and my blackmail dilemma

If you have been following the bedside adventures of me, Art Amacho, six foot tall, clean-shaven, Subaru spinning advert man in his early 30s, you’ll know I am in a fix. Thanks to Ms Beth Njeru, the crazy 60-year-old neighbour in my Kilimani apartment block – in fact on the same floor as myself.

You see, we caught rubs one drunken weekend in October at her place and now not only won’t she let go, but has been actively blackmailing me to go to bed with her again.

What happened two weeks ago, was that she took a photo of me at my apartment door, with the 17-year-old cleaner girl having thrown her arms around me and given me a quick peck after I tipped her a thao. Caught by surprise, I am totally and completely innocent of anything.

But having been a former wildlife photographer in her younger years – including an award-winning picture of a cheetah chasing an antelope – Madame Beth’s photo makes me look like a paedo. And she openly threatened to anika it on social media. Imagine the disgrace of it all.

Plus my mean mzungu boss, Miz Cynthia Worm, wouldn’t hesitate to fire me – and in this pandemic, nobody is hiring people. In fact, staff are getting laid off across the board.

So I’ve been forced to be laying the pipe on that wicked blackmailing sexagenarian jirani!

I do it angrily, but she seems to like it.

‘Smash zat, Tiger,’ she hisses as I weka weka. This is the problem with being with a divorcee previously married to a perverted German. They are all deviants kwa kitanda.

Worst of all, Mad Beth, as I think of her now, has made it clear that if she EVER sees any woman, ‘ata mama mboga’ in her words at my door, I’ll find that ‘underage pic’ on ‘all blogz.’

I cannot take it, or her, anymore!

Lately, as we get it on, I look at her scrawny neck and fantasise about squeezing it till she croaks, crazy frog.

But I have no desire to go to Kamiti – so I sadly conclude that I will just have to lie to Mad Madam Beth that I got made obsolete at work.

And that I can no longer afford to live in Kilimani area!

Then I’ll just move out and go to another part of town, where she’ll never find me, ever.

I shared the news with her last Friday night, after the usual obligatory sexagenarian sex.

She looked at me with her bright eyes, brilliant with what I can now see is some sort of insanity.

‘Do you really think the antelope in my award-winning picture got away from that female cheetah, Art Amacho?’

‘What do you mean, Beth?’ I said.

‘I mean you can’t run, Amacho. You are going nowhere,’ she said calmly. ‘You’ll just move in here with me.’

[email protected]