Word of caution to clingy women

Guarding your man the wrong way

There are certain things men don’t take kindly. Whether done with the best of all intentions or not they are bound to rub your man the wrong way. There is a certain clique of women who particularly have this uncanny habit of guarding their men wrongly and as far as I know they end up being dumped without hesitation for their folly. What inspires these women to behave like such totally escapes me but that habit seems to persist? I thought it was so juvenile but interestingly even mature women often tend to guard their men wrongly.

Guarding your man is not bad at all. But how you do it matters much. There are certain proven methods of upsetting men. They include sticking to him in public places and brazenly displaying to all and sundry that you are the only woman in his world and no one should come closer to him. Unless it is with his consent and he seems to be enjoying it, give him some breathing space. This habit is common in places like parties. She will cling to you as if her very life depends on you. True, men have roving eyes and in any other party are women out to snatch your man, but some decorum is required when handling such matters.

Some women can be damn desperate in trying to announce to the whole world that this is their man. God forbid should you end up with such woman as your girlfriend. In the presence of other women she will hold you seductively and suggestively in manner that leaves little for imagination to those in the crowd who she is to you. Apparently her intention is to ward off any woman in the crowd with the intention hitting on you or when you will attempt you will be told off. It is a strategy set to send off tacit information that the man is hooked. She intends to damage your every chance. Whereas there are men who will feel loved but a majority hate being displayed as taken especially in an environment where there are many beautiful women.

It not just in parties where women have this habit. A couple of days ago a friend met a good girlfriend from days of yore and was hosting her in his house one of those cold lazy evenings. When her girlfriend who she is cohabiting with arrived ,she  suddenly she thought she had busted them and she instantly got alarmed. Consequently she started behaving rather too badly. She proceeded to demonstrate who she is in the house in a bizarre manner. Quite unbecoming. She forced a hug on his boyfriend, went to the bedroom changed her clothes to provocative dress and came back to ask if “visitors” had taken anything.

All along she did not ask who this intruder was. She deliberately ignored her and whatever she did was aimed at demonstrating that she is the queen in the house. I don’t know what ensued after we left but I learnt later that for her troubles she got dumped. As I later learnt the girl who was being disgraced was a respectable woman who deserved better treatment and my friend could not stand it seeing her being reduced to such petty issues that his girlfriend was propping up.

You can guard your the way you want but be rational. Question your every action and more importantly think of the consequences to both you and your boyfriend, immediately and afterwards. On the spot you can keep off all those women as you wish but in the long run man being prone to polygamy and promiscuity will find an excuse to dump you. You have to be technical in handling such matters.

The major drive to behave like such could be insecurity. This insecurity result from the fact that at any given place and time some woman is dressed better than her. Maybe she has displayed enough cleavage and flesh to attract the eye of your man. Ogling is an inherent men problem and their favourite either subconsciously or consciously. Painfully aware of this fact, women go to extra-ordinary lengths to protect their men. Unfortunately men don’t take this kindly and punish them befittingly.

I persuade women to learn better methods to guard their men. These desperate displays can be catastrophic. One thing that I know they will only stop the man from fooling around on the spot but will motivate him to maximize every opportunity that presents itself in your absence.


The Retrosexual man

Are Kenyan women prepared for the Retrosexual man?
After the really man disappeared, Silas Nyanchwani is leading men  back to the cave, where they belong
I have a particular aversion for many who don earrings and go for makeup. Men who jostle for space in the bathroom
For the past decade, the metrosexual man has been the talk in town; on radio, in the pages of both male and female magazines, in corporate offices, in salons and everywhere where fashion is fodder for gossip. Women sighed with relief that sweaty armpits and excessive masculine pride had been dropped as men became well groomed and progressive in their thinking.
Metrosexual men had overcame the prejudice that they are gay and they of course proved that a pink shirt and anything grey blend so well, that the word smart is a natural utterance by everyone around them. Metrosexual men were the extreme version of new ‘feminised’ Man. The man who could not fuss about looking after the kids as she went to the salon or to the Chama meetings. He could do domestic chores without feeling that he was giving his manhood away. Women loved it.
But in the recent days women are growing weary of this New Man. He is a fraud. He is insecure. He can’t stand up to fight in a pub once a burly drunk young man steps on the missus. He can’t fix a tyre puncture without calling for help. He is so hopelessly weak at roles that are traditionally assigned to the male gender. More and more women are hankering for days when men were men. They said what they meant and meant what they said. They were better liars. They miss the testosterone-driven men. May be that is why they are finding rugby a visually appealing sport.
But the man women are searching for may be just showing up unnoticed. He is the Retrosexual man. The real antithesis of all the progressive campaigns women have done to get the male specie out of the cave. He stayed when modernity swept all the masculine pride that for long defined the traditional man. He has improved with times, but the raw machismo is still very intact. He shaves when he wants. He dresses his own fashion although his wardrobe is updated. His preferred colours tell as much. He just arrived from the cave, complete with astounding table manners and behaviour that could baffle just anyone born in the recent years.
The Retrosexual man is retrogressive as far as the current reverse sexualisation of sexes is concerned. More and more men have been at home with lotions and lipstick in the name of better grooming. With the presence of gay men in town who feel compelled to dress and behave effeminately to drive the point home and women encroaching what captures the male psyche like sports especially soccer and rugby, the Retrosexual man has not been moved even a single inch to buy even some petroleum jelly for his scaly skin.
Irrespective of his improved economic status and perhaps academic status, he will stop by the roadside mahindi choma or mutura roasting young man, go for the juiciest part, shake hands with the usually weather beaten, lanky fellows invariably in a faded shirt but cheery as they sell their delicacies. He doesn’t sneer nor question the hygienic standards of the place where he buys such. He does not snob people, unless he dislikes one. Education or wealth humbles them, as t should surely everyone.
He is not threatened by the newly gained female power. The fancy titles, the stupendous salaries going the female way do not threaten his masculinity. Neither does he peddle defeatist theories that women climbing the corporate ladder are going up through the bedroom and not the boardroom. He does not have issues with women. He respects them for what they are, be it psychologically, physically, sexually or mentally.
He is an electrician, a plumber and mechanic all rolled into one. He fixes all electrical problems in his house and few other neighbours down the corridor without even bothering to switch off the Mains. He can repair other electronic goods with only the help of the manual without necessarily going to extortionist called electrician. All plumbing problems are an easy Sunday morning thing.
He drinks a specific brand of beer and must be something hard or if a teetotaler; he doesn’t disguise his drinking in fancy euphemisms such as ‘social drinker’ or ‘I drink occasionally.’ The only sign that he is drunk is his red eyes, and the car truly knows the way home.
He is so composed that most women love and hate him in equal measure. Where others see him as stubborn and insultingly rigid, some see a self-confident man who is in charge of his destiny, literally. He doesn’t move with crowds. He supports a funnier English Premier League side such as Birmingham and thinks their play is good. No, he is not eccentric. He also has some weird sport like judo that only he, follows in the wee hours of the night on his pay-TV channels.
The Retrosexual man does not cheat in relationships. He is straight and honest to a fault. He is likely to point out from the get-go where the relationship is going and does not wait some months when everything is getting complicated to jump ship. Well you think only superman can pull such in the current world? Boy you are dead wrong!
The Retrosexual man exists. He was there. New ones are emerging to oppose the metrosexual man. Or else one can ask why Wayne Rooney (I’m not a Manchester United fan) is never interested in shaving his hideous beard or why Calvin Klein hasn’t hasn’t approached him to pose to the world with their inner wear. And yes, nearly all Boxing heavy weight men and male fans as well posses the Retrosexual trait; that deep animalistic instinct that used to make men tick and kick butt.

The invaded male territories

The invaded male territories!
Women have finally accepted that it is now cool being a man. They drink hard liquor, are sports fanatics and are becoming big cheats in relationships
By Silas Nyanchwani
My biggest distraction throughout the just concluded World Cup was not the clairvoyant Octopus that preempted every match by predicting the key matches with an astonishing accuracy. It was not the early exit of African teams that we all cheered from our hearts. It was not the unfair and scandalous elimination of Ghana by Uruguay. And certainly, it had little to do with the purging of Brazil by the Dutch. The distraction came from two advertisements on body lotion and some family soap.
This struck me as odd. Quite obviously, they were targeting the female audience who now constitute the ever growing population of soccer fans. It was a far cry from the days when alcohol, vehicles and shaving machines were the only things that could be advertised during great sporting events such as World Cup and the Olympics. Back then, it was a man’s world and advertisers knew better where to put their money.
Lately, women have invaded two things that were traditionally male sanctuaries where we escaped to when the heat became unbearable at home; the sports world and the bar. Nowadays, women are so much at home with soccer and rugby that they are the loudest cheerers and jeerers. When I missed out on the Rugby 7s this past month, it was my female friends who called out to lament on what I had missed out. As we lurch into the English Premier League, sure as hell, I’m guaranteed female company who will be follow every mundane game with me.
Over the last couple of years, women have dramatically taken to alcohol that it is urban naiveté any more to be astonished when your missus goes for something harder in your local as grapple with your light beer. You can get drunk before beer distorts the colour of her eyes. They are so much at home with alcohol that it can be bothersome to some conservative men like this one. Their antics when they get drunk are an amusing read for another day.
In every man, there is that little boy trapped inside that we normally escape to sports to get out. When we play or cheer the televised matches, it is a welcome opportunity to shout, yell, jump on the table, hug a stranger, hurt yourself, and cry over absolutely nothing. It is the only chance to let loose your manners, talk dirty with the boys, ogle the women around without the girlfriend twisting your neck the other way.
We ran away from our mothers when we were young to play, if only to escape what we used to consider maternal tyranny. It was tough love we learnt later. When we get older and get ourselves girlfriends or even wives, we escape their ‘tyranny’ by occasionally bonding with the boys to catch up (the male version of gossiping) on the latest. Women are congenitally possessive. At the very subconscious level men know this. Ever wondered why they always want to know our whereabouts and their persistent calls that can be suffocating sometimes?
When they get inquisitive and mount undue pressure on us, we normally escape to find peace elsewhere before coming back home to meet her harmed with a million questions that we invariably don’t have answers because most of them stem for an inexplicable fear and anxiety in her mind that we neither know nor comprehend in all honesty.
When we get home, we are normally too drunk and intoxicated to answer her questions or get her insults. This way we can maintain the equilibrium in the relationship. When we go for sports, women reverted to soap operas and checking their girl friends. This breathing space in so critical. Just ask any man who is never allowed some time with the boys and you will get the drift.
Now this balance has been disturbed. Currently, the new overzealous fans of soccer and rugby are not graduated male teenagers. Rather, they are your modern, urbanite lady. In your local, it is no longer the waitress who doubled as a commercial sex worker at night who is likely to be in the vicinity. You are likely to find just as many women as men drinking their sorrows away.
Therefore, more and more men are getting trapped with their girlfriends who are willing to follow them into every drinking and sporting dungeon without complaining or killing the fun by suddenly demanding to be driven home.
Given that, then, men ought to device other ways that will help us get away from the missus even if temporarily to regain the peace we normally sought within.
While we welcome them into the world of sports, can somebody tell them that at the end of the day, we sometimes wish to get away and spend time with the boys? It is the only time we can be ourselves. Besides, being with the boys does not necessarily that we up to some mischief. Just give us some little room and let us be.

Chiromo Versus Main; which is the land of beauty?

Chiromo Versus Main Campus:where do the beuties lie?
Let us put this matter to rest now. Chiromo is the land of ultimate beauty. Gradually, beautiful women have been getting brainy by day. The cutest chick in my books in Nairobi University is a Computer Science student in Chiromo. She has the easily the prettiest face I have seen in all my entire stay in this University considering that now I’m officially an elder following the exit of fourth year this week.
A little digression here is in order. Is it just me or the fourth year BA walikuwa down to sana. I can’t pick them in a crowd. They don’t have any presenced whatsoever. Their self esteem is inexistent, no wonder they seem so confused one can’t help. Wish them well.I Know time flies and come next year, we shall bounce.
Moving on fast, Chiromo is the place to get a date if you surely want one. Medics especially are outrageously gorgeous. I often sit outside Hall 4 now that Student Centre no longer functions to just marvel(read ogle) at the sheer beauty exuded by these younglings. I don’t know exactly what has happened lately, but more and more beautiful women are headed to Chiromo and the common assumption that BA is for the bimbos no longer holds.
Regular female students at Main are an apology to beauty. I know I’m not even handisome and hardly qualified to poass this harsh judgement. I could have kept so quiet on this one had it not been for the fact, most of the BA students at all level are unnecessarily snobbish. They think, they got it, while their Chiromo counterparts.
Chiromo women are respectful and orderly. When youy say hi, they don’t respond uppitly like the beauties in Main. At physical level, their beauty supersedes those of Main by far. This is is the verdict of men, not just me. It is commonly agreeable, in male circles that Chiromo should be the new huynting ground.
Keep it it here for more.

How Alcohol robbed me a date this past friday

How drunkenness cost me my date

Rule number one of drinking at a party: women should get drunk before men

She is the shapeliest woman I have ever laid my eyes on. She is light skinned but from the Lakeside. Those who come from the lakeside know that when a woman is born light skinned from those sides, she is guaranteed glowing beauty. I loved her the first time I noticed her. Her boobs stood erect like a clock at noon. Her bum drew itself on her sleek trousers and Peter, my buddy in ogling reserved only glowing sexual adjectives to describe her.

Her body movements seemed to be having a life of their own. There was a pulsating, a pubescence in her that was both promising and inviting. But she was a snob. When we ran into her with Peter, her responses to out torrent of questions were monosyllabic, indicating that we were getting a tad bothersome.

So this last Friday when we decided to have a party, I didn’t know that fate could cost me my dream date. I had planned to go corporate, get myself some accent, get loaded and start hitting ion her afresh. But on Friday, she was visiting her male friend in the hostels. After drinking the hard stuff, I got drunk within record minutes and from then on, whatever I spoke was crap.

Blame it on the alcohol. When I ran into her, I couldn’t hold my tongue back. I made all my confessions to her in that drunk state, and boy? Didn’t speak bad. In fact I sais so much craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap that I’m afraid of running into her. I hated myself. I hated the fact that I couldn’t control myself.

Now, I know I made a big fool of myself. I regret. Now am considering quitting alcohol and sticking to beer. Ad if I meet her, I hope she will reach deep down her heart to forgive me and give me a chance.

Is there a Sexual Explosion among the Nairobian women?

Your average middle-class woman is a walking sexual encyclopaedia. She has experimented pornography on her boyfriend(s), often to disastrous results. Silas Nyanchwani offers his two cent worth on the issue.

I don’t believe men when they tell me their sexual exploits. Normally they have a tendency to exaggerate, edit the details to suit the heroic status we often yearn for. I have never met a man who confessed that he failed to satisfy a woman sexually. All men are good performers in their own words. They make women moan, scream, beg for more and completely exhaust them. Reality tells something different, however.

Sex is something mysterious. All our thoughts are governed, influenced and inspired by something sexual.  Especially men. They say that men think about sex every nine seconds, and it is no hyperbole. We want the best for our selves. It is the reason we privately watch pornography or eat anything that we think is aphrodisiac. When it boils down to comparative sexual talks with peers, there is always something that worked for someone that one is invariably tempted to try.

But lately, women are calling shots in the bedroom. Women now have high aspirations and expectations. They go nothing short of a big O. If a man can’t eke it, he better ships out. Women try everything in the book (read the glossy magazine), and apply it in the bedroom. Ever wondered who needs those glaring titles such ‘Eleven sexual move to drive him mad’

Lately more and more men are treated to rare, bizarre bedroom acts that leave them challenged, embarrassed, scared, baffled, astounded and confused. It is the stuff they scoffed at pornography a few years ago.  Where women get the courage to pull it is beyond me. Women are sexually energized, activated and they ooze raw sexual power that is easily scaring men out of bed. Going by some reliable anecdotal evidence, women are taking seriously the material they read in novels, magazines, internet and pornography

From their diet to choice of literature they read, it is evident that women now want the most out of the bedroom. Gone are the days when a man could caress her a little, spank her bum, touch her boobs, breath hard on her neck, lick her tongue, kiss, get an erection, insert, bang-bang-bang, ejaculate and hooray! If you try this on a Nairobian lady, you will be courting a disaster.

When it comes to bedroom matters, women can’t seem to be accepting a below average performance. Our mothers most likely missed the now proverbial multiple-orgasms. Women want this. While their attempts to get the best and the most from every bedroom act can be comic, one ought to give it up to their efforts.

More and more men are being caught of guard when a woman requests to blow them. They are caught in a dilemma, nay, crisis that they cannot begin to fathom. If they refuse, it will be the height of sexual naivety in 2010. It smirks of sexual ignorance. Some under undue pressure often can give in, even though grudgingly but their psychological status cannot allow them to enjoy the supposed pleasure. They are afraid, often unreasonably, what will happen if an accident happened. It is quite unconventional for men of a particular age. But some for curiosity or experimentation frequently give in but it is not yet time to celebrate this level of sexual emancipation.

Nairobian women are a different breed. There is nothing new they won’t experiment with. Whether a sexual orientation experiment (actually I have overheard that if any lady has not kissed a fellow woman s considered as ‘uncool’) or fashion fads, foods and everything, they are so magnificently good at it.

That is the reason, more and more are trying real peculiar sexual styles that are wacky to say the least. Half the time they prove catastrophic and can scare a potential suitor away. While sex is a key ingredient in marriage, no man wants a sex machine for a wife. Fulfilling her expectations is impossibly difficult with the current job-related stress and the junkie food that we eat. Besides men still hold the belief that the sexual experience of a woman is directly proportional to the number of men a woman has slept with. At that level, it becomes personal. No wonder many female writers have advised women never to disclose the exact number of men they have slept with. Men mind this.

Men are getting highly encouraged to ‘up their game’. Women are not relenting on their pursuit of happiness. They are fired. They are hot, literally. They know what they want. They are doing their part. Can men reciprocate their efforts?