1. A Night in Nairobi


    Date: 10/10/2015, Categories: Seduction, Author: ahgoudie, Rating: 8, Source: LushStories

    To the casual observer, Maxwell James Robertson looked much like any other expatriate in the lounge of Nairobi’s Fairway Hotel. A well proportioned man, a touch under six feet, age had treated him kindly. Middle-aged, he had a firm face with a determined “Scottish” chin and aquiline nose. Having just spent a couple of weeks in Uganda, he was pleasantly tanned, a tan that set off his immaculately groomed silver hair to perfection. He was plainly dressed in what is commonly known in the tropics as “planter’s” attire. A pale blue cotton shirt, well cut beige chinos, calf-length dark grey socks, and a pair of brown Timberland moccasins. Personal adornment was conspicuous by its absence. No rings on his well manicured hands, no gold bracelets or chains decorated his wrists or neck. A simple Casio watch on a black plastic strap around his left wrist was his only accessory, other than a packet of Marlboro Lights and a disposable cigarette lighter placed neatly on the long low table in front of him. He was drinking slowly and with care from a dimpled pint mug of “Tusker” lager. To anyone who chose to study the relaxed looking figure more closely, his eyes gave him away. Large grey-blue pupils, surrounded by remarkably white whites, and quite unhooded by eyelids, they moved incessantly, noting everything and everyone in the old colonial style lounge. An old Africa hand, he sat, as always, with his back to a wall facing the door. Every newcomer was rigorously inspected as they walked ...
    the five or so paces past his settee. He didn’t miss a thing. A bitten nail or nicotine stained finger, unbrushed shoes or a crumpled shirt, no detail escaped his fastidious eye. He periodically scanned the lounge about him but to divert unwanted attention, he did so with an air of mild surprise. Women were subjected to even closer scrutiny. Those curious large eyes first focused on the lady in question’s head, and then moved steadily and inexorably down to her feet. Everything about her was noted and filed away in about five seconds. Nothing, but nothing escaped this extraordinary visual interrogation. Her looks, her make-up, earrings, a hint or more of cleavage, black or white bra or no bra, a protuberant nipple, visible panty line, tights or no tights, perhaps the outline of a suspender, a waft of a familiar perfume. And of course, where visible, the third finger of each hand. For Mex, (he had changed it from Max when he was sixteen; it was more distinctive, quite apart from rhyming with sex,) was no ordinary middle aged expatriate. Mex was a seducer, a womaniser of consummate skill. He had bedded more than four hundred women in his forty eight years, and kept a detailed note of each and every conquest. He was still counting. The Fairway was rather quiet that Monday evening. It had been a public holiday in Kenya that day, and expats were strongly recommended to keep a low profile. Walking around the streets of Nairobi, day or night, could seriously damage one’s health and ...
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