A wanton pastor
During a fellowship in Pastor’s house, where Pastor could be heard emotionally leading a worship song, a woman angrily banged on the door, loudly demanding that Pastor come out and pay her. Pastor’s wife got out. The angry woman ordered her to go back inside and ask her husband to pay her.
“We are in the middle of a fellowship,” Pastor’s wife tried to reason with her.
“I don’t care! Tell him to come out and pay for screwing me!” the woman shouted.
She then said that she was a prostitute and that she had given Pastor a prostitutey service one early morning two weeks ago. He had promised to pay her through MPESA the same day, but he never kept his promise. She knew his ka church, where she had gone to look for him, and someone whom she found there directed her to his house.
The singing inside Pastor’s house had already stopped. The heavy silence in the entire plot was a clear indication that every single tenant had decided to make this particular incident a priority in their life, and we were all listening attentively while peeping through our windows or doors. The bolder ones decided to just sit outside and ‘get some cool, fresh air’ because, suddenly, ‘it was too hot inside’.
Pastor’s wife, with no emotion showing, opened the door and called out her husband. As soon as he got to the door, the prostitute furiously leapt onto him and grabbed his trousers by the waist.
“Ah! Let me go!” Pastor said whilst struggling to free himself from her grip.
“You will not just screw me and not pay!” she screamed.
“Is this true?” Pastor’s wife asked, calmly, while staring at the ground.
But Pastor had amnesia.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about!” he swore.
“Uuuuwwiiii!” the prostitute screamed. “Do you want me to show you my vagina so that you can remember? Uuuuwwiiii!”
“Ah! Stop screaming, people will hear,” Pastor said.
“Uuuuwwiiii!! Uuuuwwiiii!! Pay me my money! You cannot screw me for free!”
“Then why is she here if you say you do not know her?” Pastor’s wife asked.
“Give me my 500 shillings!” the prostitute screamed, tightening her grip on his trousers and jerking it.
But pastor’s amnesia was severe.
“Your five hund…who has sent you to ruin my life…oh, Father, I praise your name Jehova, oh, Lord of Lords and king of kings, oh, shantabarababa makete rababa shokorastaka…oh, Lord, I lift yo…”
Pastor was interrupted by a hot slap from the prostitute.
“Stop bothering God! Did you use his penis?! My money! My money! Or I will finish you! Uuuuwwiiii!”
She stomped her feet.
Pastor’s wife calmly passed through the crowd of fellowshippers and got inside the house. Immediately, Pastor started talking to the prostitute in a low tone.
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t want! Liar!”
Pastor told her something else in a low tone again.
“I am not going to meet you at Karomaindo bar tomorrow! You are paying me now!”
She jerked her grip on his trousers, the other arm akimbo, while shaking one leg in impatience.
Then Pastor’s wife came out with a Ksh 500 note and politely gave it to the prostitute. She let go of Pastor and sneered at him. Then she put the money in her bra and walked away.
Pastor’s wife nicely asked her husband to get inside the house. The worshippers promptly left without being asked to. Then we could all hear Pastor loudly crying for forgiveness as his wife beat him like a snake, asking him why he wants to give her AIDS instead of children.
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