Campus breakups;why they hurt so much?

Campus breakups; why they hurt so much

Two years ago, Griffin and I had simultaneous breakups. It was a poignant, highly emotional moment that nearly broke us down. Our breakups had notable similarities…We had both been dumped, stupid. The two women were our first true lovers in the murky and monkey business that is campus relationships. The after effects were so devastating that we nearly lost our marbles had it not been for the boy power security. The breakups came after our long breaks.

The differences: Griffins had dated for more than a year and I had just dated for three months. Griffins was doubly devastated than I was. Simply because I had not invested as much in terms of time and resources, but I was equally distraught.

Breakups in campus are inexorable. Sooner or later you part ways. This is the rule and exceptions are far much rare than you can imagine. Disappointingly enough, most women move on as if nothing really happened. And for the men in campus, this can be heartbreaking. Take my word for it; more often than not, these are our first real breakups in our post teenage hood dating era.

And when it is a woman leaving you, it is a sign of inadequacy. Financial inadequacy, sexual inadequacy and emotional inadequacy…not necessarily in that order. If a man is not strong enough he can be wrecked. It crushes one’s ego, hurts one’s pride and can be injurious to one’s self esteem. So evilly damaging. Many have been ruined, and it has taken a lot of courage to conquer that.

For me and Griffins, we had a session of therapeutic talks with boys over copious amount of tea at Senses (Student Centre)-OMG-don’t I just miss the place. How have we even made it here without it in the first place?

It was almost feminine, near gay or both. We didn’t act strong or try to be men about it. We opened up. We had a series of diatribes, lashing out at the women; quite admittedly, sour grapes but it did help. It was good for the heart.

Since our two women walked into new relationship with men in our same campus, actually our friends, we were really haunted by their ghost for quite sometime. I remember sitting in for columnist Oyunga Pala and writing on the issue. It is never funny, seeing your woman sleeping around in your hall of residence as was the case of Griffins or seeing her walking around constantly with him. It sucks big time.

Griffins, changed residence consequently when the ghost became too much. Nonetheless, we all got along together. The women were kind enough to say hi’ and call once in a while. But we learnt our lessons, with no better a teacher than experience.

Griffins was dumped because the girlfriend thought that he was sleeping around (may be he was) but it was a well choreographed move by the girlfriend to abandon him. On my part I had been accused that I was never available for her and I was persistently busy. Well I was as guilty as charged. But to date I believe there was more to it, that I hope soon she will tell me.

Why this tirade? Well in my circle of boys-six of us-the fifth and the least likely got his shocker breakup that nearly ruined him. I have never seen a brother in so much pain. So afraid of goodbye. Well he is the youngest and had been enjoying the most blissful relationship, born out of the childhood trust and faithfulness. I had warned him of complacency but he had told me off. We all do in our first love before we encounter reality with all her monstrosities.

But the girl friend wanted out rather curiously and surprisingly. It couldn’t have come at a more inapt time frame. At a time when you are all undergoing a career impasse and an unprecedented wave of msoto, the last news you want is your girlfriend pulling off from you. It is quite understandable why he is raving mad.

He has never experienced a breakup. He is young and naïve. Possibly he doesn’t know that life is one disappointing act. How often do you see a good woman entrusting her heart with a man who ends up abusing her making her hate men the rest of her life. How often have you witnessed men with good intentions being dumped with women they have so much invested in?

Love is the worst gamble. You entrust someone with your heart and body. They use it and they dump you as soon as the utility is done. Men use women. Women use men. At the end of the day, it all depends who is in the receiving end.

Thing is, we all should learn to accept the inevitability of this things. They are bound to happen. If someone ever told you that they want out, just request the reason, if only to help you be a better person next time and move on. Life is too short. And as they say, go out and mingle, there is always a lonely heart out there.

I have always held that, if someone is pulling off, don’t even think that it is remotely possible to him or her back. Usually by the time they are pulling off they are already deep into another relationship or they have it figured out.

Here is to hope that my friend will learn that sometimes those we love so much love can be a let down. My advice has been…get enough of Luther Vandross, Brian MC Knight, and the Johnny Gills of this world in his IPOD and get grooving. Get a drink, watch Arsenal play and talk to us. It can be wonderful. And to all those there who have ever been left, take heart. These things just happen.

Case for ‘validational’ sex

‘Validational’ sex
So much for average looks, the desire to feel full and satisfy the inevitable human sexual desire. I’m always empathetic for women with average looks or less. I know what it must be like. What with men being constantly drawn to the attractive ones, overlooking the average Carol or Mary, rather painfully.

For men, you don’t have to be too hot. If anything, whatever you lack, you can substitute it with proper bedroom delivery, brains or money. Women always need money for material security. Women prefer brainy men, so that prospectively they can expect bright kids. And of course, women can do with a man who knows his way between the sheets.

But for women, the rules are so much skewed. Conventionally, men dictate terms. They initiate the dating, seduction or courtship process. They own the process. They monopolize the process. They ask names first. They ask for dates. They choose the restaurant or the places to take a woman. All a woman is supposed to do, is play along. Give cues, subtle or otherwise as to whether the man can finally ask for the sexual favour.

Outside the conventional, we have heard of tired housewives doing it with watchmen, shamba boys, when the craving gets the better of them. Occasionally, we have encountered women who make advances to us or who send obvious cues that they are into us. Ordinarily, we never mind some quick flip, if only to sate the ever rife, pelvic thirst. But mostly, we tend to dig into the ‘morality’ of the woman before we can take them to the suck.

In the long run, the woman who out rightly or subtly asks for sex from a man is always regarded as either loose, desperate or both. And once men hear of such, trust them to make a queue in that direction. After they are done, you will hear them comparing notes before relegating the woman to the class of ‘has-beens’.

But women are getting tired with the current status quo. They are going after men they think they like. In the recent past, my colleagues have confessed making out with women who have brought up themselves upon them. Some have gone ahead, to sleep with them in a no-strings-attached scenario. The women are not guilty ridden as it used to be.

A little while ago, if a lady dared sleep with a man she could not entrust her feelings with, she could be swallowed in a bout of cancerous guilty. Utterly unforgivable. But with the ‘casualization’ of sex, more and more women are getting into this business of casual sex business.

Women are fast learning to separate sex from love and are almost accepting that more often than not the two are mutually exclusive. A man who delivers in bed is least likely to be loving and spread their love around, most of their time. Men who do shoddy work are often the most loving. But a woman ain’t gonna feed on love alone or can she?

Thus we are having women knowing which side if their bread is buttered. Whenever a man hits on them, they fast decide which one first;Love or sex.

Let us turn our attention to a new concept I’m coining here:

Validational Sex. What is it?

Validational sex is a situation whereby a woman as an act of desperation gives in to any man for a sexual act. It happens when a woman wants to confirm if she too can be laid. It is a self-groveling act and occurs because of two reasons; sexual hunger or the desperation of being overlooked by men constantly.

This precisely explains such rumours of women sleeping with the least likely men. That stupid, smelling fool bedding the most beautiful woman around. Or that man with a tummy that having it with a petite woman, and all those other unlikely liaisons.

It happens morning, noon and night. It is common place. And it is fully understandable. When a woman possesses average looks, she constantly feels inadequate. This, coupled with low self esteem, doubly contribute to a woman willing to sleep with any man who dared ask her out, even if for fan.

I have no qualms if one does it to calm the burning erotic flames within. But there is power in patience. People should learn the gift of patience. The phrase, there is someone for everyone is true. But not many women are ever willing to wait. Resultantly, we are having many women sleeping around and ending up being treated like sluts when in the really sense, they are merely enjoying the simple things that make life worth.

Having sex to validate your existence ranks very lowly, especially, if you are a woman living in a very judgmental society like ours. Fellow women will label you hopeless. Men will always laugh behind your back for your availability for a quickie and other forms of demeaning sexual escapades.

Thing though with average women, they serve the best where it matters most. It is a like a compensatory factor for whatever they lack in looks.

Naomi

Naomi
I wanted to write about end of campus break ups. They have always intrigued me. They are predictable, bitter and disappointing. But I have scheduled that to the subsequent blog. Hopefully it will be a mature, conscious, insightful and instructive piece. I can guarantee.

Now let us talk about Naomi. She is 20. She is a lady who has done the unbelievable. At 5’5, light-skinned, latent but erotically promising hips that she invariably dresses correctly, a benign, simple and modest smile, she intends to be single. Her feet are like a foot path to a lushly green garden(no pun intended). Her bottom is sizable enough to satisfy any sexually greedy person in our midst. She dresses quite sexually. Her wardrobe dictates she is a lady yearning to be seduced, courted and possibly be married.
She loves music. She is listening to Boyz2Men’s Water runs dry as I’m writing this while playing Solitaire. I bet I’m that boring. But hold your horses before you accuse me of being incurably boring.

Naomi is the mark of simplicity. The SI unit of modest. She does not blow dry her hair and will not scamper to buy an umbrella, afraid of her hair. Impossibly, she manages her hair as naturally as possible. Naomi will go out with anyone who asked her out but will drop any sucker pronto who tried anything untoward or who refuses to be understanding of her lifestyle choice that we are discussing here. At the risk of earning yet another dozen female enemies, to me she is the embodiment of femininity in the university.

Naomi studies Architecture. She initially wanted to be a Mechanical Engineer but fate threw her into building and construction. Not that she regrets anyway. The same way, I don’t regret not making it to Medical School. I still believe, given a chance, I can make it( this is meant to be funny).

What has Naomi done that she getting this air space and your time? Well, I met her about a year ago at a friend’s room. Back then, she was a starry-eyed first year, bursting with eagerness. My friend, Nimgi was after her like bee following someone with a strong scented cologne. Quite understandably, Nimgi was the right choice for her at the moment, the erotic desires of the three or four men in the room notwithstanding.
Nimgi later told me something that got me thinking about her so much. One, she does not believe in this thing called love. Neither do I. She intends to remain single and celibate the rest of her life. I equally harbour such thoughts, only that I’m the lone son. She is the lone daughter in their family of two sons and a daughter. I thought that Nimgi was the naïve freshman, clueless on what to do to a woman. I dismissed him that he is hardly capable of telling a woman the right things.

For long I looked forward for my fifteen minutes with her. They came. We had a one hour session over a drink at Nick’s Grill. She was composed with that poise of a woman who has read and listened to a lot of Oprah. Her disposition is so calm like someone who has discovered that peace within that we always seek. She still possessed her beliefs and I postponed the talk to an appropriate date.
In my mind, I had overplayed expectations that finally I was about to date a woman that my heart truly desires. At the beginning, as usual, I wanted her to be in charge. I told her to choose the place of her convenience; around her classes, in my room, in her room, in town or anywhere. She obliged to avail herself whenever I wanted her. I proposed my room. She was there in exactly 30 minutes, keeping time in an astonishing fashion.

She arrived wearing a pink top and a key holder corresponding the colour of her top. She wore black cotton pants. Her hair was simply tied by an hair band. A simple, casual look on a Monday evening, I can add. She came in. She was so much at home in my place. She fell in love with my music, by the way, I boast the best collections of soul, R n B, New Jack swing and blues. She also liked the cards game in my computer, which she has been playing for the last six hours having concluded our talk earlier on in the night.

The talk could not go any far, given she has reached the dead end. No men. She is in love with Jesus. If you think you can’t make it with her, keep off her. She will never cross your line.

Now there are many frustrating things in life. Being perpetually broke is one. Having problems with sizeissues is second. Being in a sea of womanity and having none is third. But hosting one until (it is 1.16am) at this point without much headway is the height of a frustrating weekend. You start wondering why she likes love songs. Is it a case of being in love but with a faceless person like my cousin Patrick once told me.

Sample the songs she is playing back to back as I’m on my laptop punching this sob story; Sometimes by Britney Spears, That is the way it is by Celine Dione, Water runs dry by Boys to Men and Not yet a girl, not yet a woman by Britney Spears. Am a trapped man.
Quite frankly, I have inexplicable feelings for her. She gives the cliché ‘one in a million’ a whole new meaning. She is not a prude. OK, she wanted to be a nun at one point. By twelve, she had decided that she will never need men in her life. She vowed never to hug any man in her life. She vowed to remain celibate her entire life. She can never love any man. She neither wants an heartbreak nor does she want to break anyone’s.

So here we are at 1.23am(check on my typing speed)like brother and sister. She playing her solitaire innocently presuming that I don’t have any animal side to me. OK, I don’t have it. At least not without any express, explicit consent. I wonder what is going on her mind. Whatever it is, I hope it is not about me or my person. Which sensible man keeps a woman for seven hours, she playing cards on the computer, and him typing his troubles away.

OK, Naomi is the fewest of remaining types. I suggest she should have gone to the monastery and save men like yours truly the trouble of having it too close but can’t just touch.

And to think that she was never abused when she was young according to her confessions. She says, she comes from a perfect family set up. Mum and Dad are around and still very loving. Dad cooks and she is in love with her mother. This purely the stuff fiction novel is made off. Sometimes in deed facts can be stranger than fiction. But I would so much love someone to help me understand Naomi. She is the object of my fantasy and obsession.

Guess what song she plays next…ALL MY LIFE BY KCI & JOJO

This the stuff that gets Jeff Koinange saying, what a night!, what an evening! a celibate virgin, a lonely yearning man, together listening love songs at the wee hour of the night. Ooo!!talk about a blind person and a deaf person through a maze. A road to nowhere….

 

Types of Sex

Types of sexual flings
Warning: this blog contains highly sexual message and you are warned to read on your own volition.

There are three categories of people who should not read this blog:

1. Pretenders; those whining that Classic FM airs outrageous content. Nobody forces them to listen.
2. Anyone who judges.
3. Anybody likely to be offended. This blog’s aim is to generate that odd smile, that odd laughter amidst our miserable lives.

Having said that, here we go.

Sex used to be a mysterious thing until pornography arrived in the scene. Until women in Nairobi discovered there better things in life than a lollipop. Nowadays sex is a casual affair. It is a feelingless, emotionless experience especially in a fast town like Nairobi. So while at it we can discuss about casually. This is about trivia and your input is highly valuable. Without further ado, here are the commonest types of sexual flings. They are in no specific order.

1. Sympathy sex

This one occurs in the event one partner is relentless in his or her pursuit to sate their pelvic thirst. One partner feels obligated to fulfill the wishes of the other, either to get rid of him or her, or a matter of sympathy after several persistent, often annoying requests. One thing is for sure, the giver will be less interested in the whole affair, and might as well as be reading the Godfather, while at it. It is not very common, but it is very begrudging and the giving party will can be very unforgiving. It is normally brief, no more than two laps.

2. Mandatory
This is obligatory sex. Like for procreation or in the formative days of a marriage setting. It is normal for people in a relationship. It is necessary and we all partake whenever and wherever the opportunity avails itself. Let us talk about other bizarre phenomena.
3. Spontaneous sex
This just happens. No one can explain. One thing leads to another and before one can pres the break peddle, two feet step on the accelerator and the rest as they say is history.
But there ought to be some mutual unsaid attraction that is less communicated with words and more with actions literally. It can happen anywhere. On the stairs. On an alley. In a bushy shrub. We used to call it green lodge love. Wonder what the teens call it nowadays.

It is easy. Lovely. Memorable, especially if done under difficult circumstances like on the back of a car after a busy day and the two of you had to sneak in. Good thing with this, there are no emotions attached to it. After the zips are in place, the two will walk on this earth like they have never seen each other eye to eye.
4. Make up sex
My favorite part in Tyler Perry’s ‘Why did I get married too’ is when Mike tries to explain why his wife Angela argues with him all the time. He captures it rather aptly,
“Angela argues with me on purpose…because the make-up sex afterwards will always be kinda rough…crazy but better.”
Women like it. I have witnessed cases where individuals quarrel the whole night only for the sobs to be turned into irritating moans. I used to stay with a room mate who fought, quarreled but always resolved everything once the man served his joystick. The following day, the chick, will be less irritable, charming until they begun all over again.
Women like this sort for some inexplicable reasons. But Veronica, a good friend tells me, that is the only way a woman can tell if the man is still interested in her. All the noise is usually about neglect.
5. Dirty sex
I grew up in the 1990s. Back then sex was good. Intimate. Clean. Access to pornography was limited. Women shied away. We didn’t have men women holding us ransom( for that us what we all feel when a woman holds your future in her mouth.). Women were conservative. Beyond the missionary position, only a prostitute could propose an animalistic side.
A decade later, pick any girl randomly in this University and you will be amazed the amount of sexual knowledge they possess. From the food to eat to in order have the energy, the best sexual positions, the required energy, the requisite fore play…
So today, the sex is simply dirty. Outrageous. Scandalous. And we are all playing by the rules that women have set. Are we going American, where women tell you what they want and you must deliver?
Nowadays, you are meeting with women armed with all sorts of gadgetry like a mobile mechanic. All sorts of gels, lubricants, vibrators, scented condoms, pills, aphrodisiacs et al. Talk about sex being the most overplayed thing.
When you meet a 20 year old taking you through a sexaton(marathon for sex) you begin to get the drift. If suggests oral sex, and you flinch, she will label you naïve and never ever set foot on your in your bedroom.
Now women want it form anywhere (in the office, in the loo in the pub, in the packing lot…).They want it in whichever way(any style using all the body organs not even suited for that; the mouth, the anus, the ears)eeh!!!, it seems nothing can stop man from having his fun. Venereal diseases tried and premarital pregnancies, he invented a condom. Just goes to show how serious this is.
Comedian Woody Allen once said sex is the most fun you can have without laughing.
This discussion will on…

Recollections of third year;fourth year resolutions

Third year came to a screeching, climactic end this past Friday. On Thursday, I had a fund raising to help raise tuition fee for my sister Ezinah, who is pursuing her degree with us. The turn out was low, but the outcome was overwhelming. I cried. Never knew the true value of friendship until Thursday. To this we shall return in our future dispatches. First things first.
On Friday 8.30pm, I arrived at KBC to a standing ovation reception from my classmates who had arrived earlier to format. If you are the slow type, let me bring you up to speed. Formatting is the process whereby BA students engage in all manner of activities including but not limited to: alcohol overconsumption, sex, drugs, partying, travelling, at the end of a semester to help forget the semester gone, academically that is. Some do partake in everything listed. I subscribe to the school of alcohol overconsumption.

KBC is a wonderful place. Like all military camps across the globe, beer goes cheap but served warm and the environment reeks unadulterated masculinity. There are no comfortable seats and discipline is highly encouraged. The last time I abused a policeman in the company of a beautiful woman and slaps worth ten tons landed on my face and I nearly lost my eye.

So, I was making a comeback. The environment was humidly warm. The mood was palpably enthusiastic. The who is who in our class was around and I have never seen a table so dirty with beer bottles. The laughters were throaty and unpretentious. There were no women around to inhibit the refreshing jokes that were uncensored.
No sooner I sat down than they started on me. Apparently, someone let in a secret that I have hots on some pretty-faced chick at in our class. For the next one hour, I couldn’t enjoy my drink. My dating and seduction skills were subjected to scrutiny and found wanting. The comical blunders on my part are inexcusable. Unforgivable. Suffice to say that my writing job was said to be of no use to me since I know approximately 2097 women in the University and can’t just bed them as regularly as expected.

See, the act of being a man is about how many women you can sleep with if you have the opportunity. So unless you are in prison or a celibate priest, you have no reason of not sleeping with as many girls as possible. Since our lives sometimes are under public scrutiny, especially for someone like me who cuts a deceptive political look, and who works in the media, individuals are always in the lookout for whom I have been shagging with.
When they fail to know, they derive conclusions, patently questioning my sexual orientation or my preferred means of getting the steam out. Wet dreams? Making love with my hand? Or do I visit the brothels?

The lashing went on. The sexual lifestyle of my object of affection was scrutinized and boy, wasn’t it unsettling? All my plans were sent scuttling. I was the laughing stock of the evening. Not that I cared. Personally, I participated in the self-deprecating exercise. Somehow, I like it when people poke fan at me. Simply, because they don’t know a thing about me. Usually the stories are hyperbolically exaggerated and one is supposed to play along, so as not to kill the humor, which essentially is the reason we go to drink.
The evening came to a rather bad end when immaturity settled in and guys started arguing which car is better or whose father works where? They exchanged fists and I had to leave. Next stop, Spree. One drink, the DJ is boring. Next Bettys, the place is too crowded and the class the club initially possessed is gone. We went back to sleep.

Saturday it happened at club Sound where I stumbled upon a very pretty chick in her mid twenties but so annoyingly conscious of her looks that it was boring. She had a very sexual smile that can turn on even a 93 year old father. And she had a figure, so shapeful and the dress she wore was full of erotic promise.
Trouble: she was in company of her girlfriends, purportedly sisters.
Problem: They were buying their own drinks. Beware of women buying their own drinks.

Crisis: They were about to leave.
Dilemma: I was fidgety and she could notice.

Anyway, she agreed to give me her number, but gave me a wrong one. That of her sidekick.
Boy! I can give anything to see this Margie again. So basically, that is how my third year ended.

Now I’m a fourth year. So far, so good. The going has been tough. I have had my best and worst moments. Embarrassing and enlightening. My time is up and I’m reasonably anxious. In the next seven months, the conveyor belt that is the university will be vomiting me. At that rate, I need me some rent and a woman to start life with.

Now getting a woman from the university is increasingly becoming elusive, given that women have now interpreted equality to mean, equal cheating rights, equal lying rights, equal arguing rights, equal going out rights, equal dressing rights, and it is getting a tad nauseous, especially for guys like me who prefer the old type of life.
Call me a chauvinist, if that will give you an Org***** but truth be told, the generation of women we are raising is a chaotic one. They will be the bane of a chaotic social order in the future.
Come next year, I will be now a full man, taxpaying citizen. That means, that the next six months will determine whether I will be a loser or not. I pray that all of us make it, and get jobs so that we can contribute to building this economy.

So friends, let us try and get ourselves a job and live to hope that we are not graduating to a life of misery. Get yourself a spouse if you can. If not go out to a different college or from the village. I believe that there are still good men and women out there. Go ye get one.

The job just begun.

A man from my tribe? Hell no!

A man from my tribe? No, Thank you

A popular FM station had one of the most instructive debates of this decade recently that got yours truly thinking. It was about women hating men from their tribes and instead preferring men from Kenya’s other forty odd tribes. The debate patently degenerated into the chest-thumping on matters sexual as it is common with the now famous breakfast show.

The debate touched on the collective national social psyche. Lately, more and more women are getting dissatisfied by men from their tribes. This might prove a blessing in disguise, the short term setbacks notwithstanding. Women might be just the solution to our crippling tribalism. See, if we all could intermarry, we will water down chances of ethnic strife for the fear of killing our nephews across the boundary. But to positive attributes later.

I recently traveled in bus from a funeral, full packed with men mostly from my tribe. Men from my tribe are boorishly patriarchal and presumptive that a woman is place is unquestionably second. As the stereotype goes, we beat women up, we are hopelessly unromantic and plain suffocating. A debate was started and we had a terrible lashing. But one woman won the argument, simply by arguing louder than us and highlighting her failed relationship with men from my community.

Boy, it was a heated argument. She hated, nay loathed,nope-get me a much stronger term than that-men from my community. It got me thinking about how weighty an issue it has become.

First the stereotypes. Each community in Kenya has been assigned certain social, sexual, political, economical and culturally stereotypes, some of which are evident. The Luos are said to be intelligent, arrogant, proud but with unmatched romantic skills. The Kikuyus are known for their near morbid preoccupation with everything money. Their entrepreneurial skills are incomparable, but they are also famed to be lacking absolute interest in matters bedroom. The Merus and the Gusiis are known for their legendary anger and so forth.

These very stereotypes have been the bane of relationship within tribe. Exposed women feel that they can always get better, elsewhere. The Kikuyu women are better known for their financial independence and are now looking West(read Luo, Luhyia or Gusii) for spouses. Many women from my tribe (Gusii) are demonstrably rebellious once they step out of Matoke land. They found our domineering attitude towards women quite stifling and have increasingly looked elsewhere. Yet Kamba women find our hustling ability and the climate (it rains almost daily in Kisii) very inviting.

So much for stereotypes. For a woman who has made her mind never to date someone from her tribe, the decision is final. They hardly change their mind. Such women have certain set standard that their men must meet before they can settle down. Bu even a cursory glance at inter-ethnic marriages are driven more by certain financial, sexual and romantic expectation. It all depends what a woman has. If she is an independent woman who earns her money, she will be looking for love and vice-versa.

I have observed that their loathing is normally born out of real life experience. It could be that horrifying incestuous liaison at the hands of the uncles. It could the first lover of their life who answered to all stereotypes traded against the communities. It could be that, they believed these stereotypes just too much. And too bad.

While it is a good step forward, women should not blanketly blame men from their respective communities for their woes. Each community has its own inadequacies. I submit that these labels play an insignificant role in a relationship that constitutes mature individuals who know what marriage is all about.

It is about fidelity. It is about trust. It is about tolerance. It is about compromise from both parties. It hardly matters which tribe, race or nationality one dates if one has these qualities. So women should spare us, these shenanigans about men from their tribe not measuring up. They do and that is the sole reason communities exist.

Silas Nyanchwani

Of good sex, love and women

Of love, good sex and women

Among the women I have dated, was a recklessly naïve young lady called Lucy. Lucy was the village beau. And Boy, she had a body out of this world. She was no more than 5’5 and she had an ass that could heal any skin disease with one simple touch. It was fleshy, sizeable and could easily be the ‘most absolutely round’ thing you gonna see anywhere. She had golden yellow thighs that made me nearly sink my teeth into them many a time.

Lucy had one fatal weakness: she was a certified nymphomaniac by the age of 18. At 18, she could transform a simple sexual encounter into a lurid bedroom into a study in pornography and she had slept with many men, patently taking advantage of her vulnerability and her infinite love for sex. She also had a number of incestuous escapades that are common place in the village.

I was part of the crowd, but with a difference. She sort of adored me, in spite of her intolerably proclivity to sex which I always disproved. And I honestly sort of loved her. I wanted to keep her, have those succulent, sweet, edible thighs to myself (by the way legs are my fetish in things women, I can easily be a cannibal). She wanted me prospectively to be her boyfriend simply because I was in university and could converse in some good sheng’. I think also my height did play a role.

I was never available for her. We did exchange a few calls, but I was invariably wary of her wanton sexual escapades. Every other day, gossipy men in the village, were calling to tell me who did what with her in the village. I lost interest in her, her great body notwithstanding. For if you have to date such a woman, you must accept a simple fact: she must cheat on you.

Lucy later got a green card, went to States and the photos on Facebook, have made me want back. I once stumbled upon her on the chat line and started a simple chat that went on to be a revelation. After expending with the usual social amenities-lets just call them greetings and pleasantries-I asked why she left without even telling me.

“You had stopped caring about me.” She curtly replied and cut herself from my list of friends. This touched me and left me defenseless for the next number of weeks. All my friends in States, who knew my relationship with this woman, didn’t make things any better. They felt obligated to update me about her new world acquisitions to my chagrin. Back then, I was evidently envious and mad about my indiscretion of having to let her go. I have since gotten over it and want only the best for her.

Lucy is perfect case that can explain the dilemmas that the modern woman subjects us in our everyday life. The modern woman cannot distinguish between good sex and love. At any given time they are switching goal posts at a frequency that is dizzying to say the least.

You meet a woman, you have a fling with her, she particularly enjoys the way you deliver the goods and she will not get over you. She will call, text, sext and crowd your space to a point of suffocation. Quite frankly, good sex is a rare thing out here. Forget about us men thumping our chest about our sexual prowess. We serve our stories with gallons and gallons of salt. We garnish them with all spices and in the end we become heroes in our own eyes.
Many women would rather keep quiet about their sexual lives.

Those who talk can lie too. They can paint a very rosy picture about the whole thing when for many of them; the word orgasm is simply another word in the dictionary under O. It is no wonder that one of the famous authors of the Mills and Boons classics, who wrote some of the raunchiest novels in the series, died a virgin…..at a 66.

Good sex is just as mysterious as sex and human life. It is relative, variable and inconstant. It is dependent on three things, size (both male and female), skill and experience. For men, size is a complex issue. Women have argued that size does not matter, granted a man knows his plumbing well. But this is a blatantly lie. The fact still remains, the bigger the better. But one must equally know how to wade, the desirable rate of thrusts and all that.

And men on women’s size, ‘the smaller the better’. And personal hygiene is important but we are not going there. Back on track. When a woman founds a man who does the right thing that takes them there, they construe it as love.

Men with good sexual skills are ostensibly like rare tacticians in high demand and thus must expend their skills to as many women as possible.

They have been referred as bad boys, Casanova, Lotharios et al. It pains me to see women insisting that such men must remain monogamous. It is sheer diabolical, nonsensical, ill-advised, misguided, cantankerous, stupid, silly, mad, unrealistic, immature, unwise, awkward (add the rest) of women to have such expectations. It takes a woman with a sexual prowess that corresponds with his to tame him, which is as regular as the solar eclipse.

Relationships are not about sex and when these women sooner discover that, they change the tone. They say, they want a man who will be there for them. My cool buddy, Charles recently pointed out that sometimes, they want money and can overlook every next broke man on the streets. But once you get the money, they want your attention. Unbeknown to them is that for one to have a consistent income, he must be ready to work his ass off, often sacrificing time for the relationship.

Next when they get a man who is not good in bed but can accord them their due attention, listen to them bitch about their careers and hectic times in office, they will lead a contented life. But this again becomes a tad boring. Soon they will start comparing his performance with the previous lovers, insisting that the man must up his game. Talk about having your cake and wanting to eat it too. They will claim that the man is lovable, but chances are they might be tempted to cheat.

Apparently women want the best of both worlds. It is hard to come by a man who comes in full package. You have a cool, hunk guy, very fashionable but hopelessly naïve between the sheets. You have a man with an indescribable shape of the head who is well hung down there and can wreak an orgasm after an orgasm in a woman. Many a time, they are the security guards and shamba boys who now expend conjugal duties in many middle-class families.

Thing is, you cannot have it both ways. Relationships are about three things: physical attractions, emotional security and financial dependency on either sex. Physical attractions and financial dependency precedes the ambiguous emotional security. And it seems to me that we are raising a bunch of unlovable, emotionless women. And it is not funny.

We conclude with Lucy once again. She got all the sex she wanted but more importantly she wanted love and some genes from me. How convenient?

But I loved her candour. She was very honest with me and I can give everything to have her. She can cheat and say. To me it is so much better than being caught and the only explanation is ‘OH MY GOD.’
You can YouTube that Busted classic.

 

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