Premature ejaculation, supporting Arsenal and being interested in a woman who is not interested in you must be the three most frustrating things for men of my generation.
Premature ejaculation is a universal enemy of all men, and women. But it happens all the time. There is a foolishness about it that that really frustrates men. Women have learnt to be sympathetic with men who give false hope and false starts in the bedroom. There is that embarrassing silence that ensues when the two individuals involved discover that the sound went ahead of the lightening. Men with such a problem are called one-hit wonders. One-minute men and while women can be patient and understanding, they drop such men faster than their speed of ‘cumming’.
There is a helplessness about it, a vulnerability that a man cannot defend himself at all. For the woman, it is the height of being shortchanged. For the man, it is failure in manhood where it matters the most. It is caused by performance anxiety, going for long spells without sex and sometimes, it is just an inexplicable biological failure. Often the woman might be too hot or otherwise getting the life juice out rather prematurely. The silence after it is too awkward. Women are instinctively wired to sympathize with men who fail and can try to make the situation feel like it is right, and even fake an exaggerated moan, just but to cushion the fragile ego of men.
Supporting Arsenal has become a nightmare. Most guys 8 2 acknowledge that they have been poking fun at us 4 3 weeks. Whoever who makes up these puns deserves something to be shoved up their a****. But unlike the women who have the luxury to change the teams they support in as many times as the number of men they date, we don’t have that luxury. I have been supporting Arsenal since 1998 and might be forced to support it until it is relegated.
But trying to get the attention of a woman who doesn’t feel you ought to be the most frustrating thing I know. In campus, there was this chick I was so obsessed with that if I gave you my notebook, you can easily tell that something invariably went wrong with my handwriting. As soon as she stepped into the lecture hall (always deliberately late), my writing became ineligible. The ineligibility was directly proportional to where she sat. If closer, it would be completely indecipherable.
I liked her. I liked her fashion sense. She scarcely possessed any sex appeal but there was something about her that turned me on. She must have cast a nasty spell on me. I was high-school infatuated about her. My friends who just saw a plain girl in her never heard the last of it from me until sometime in third year when I summoned the kind of courage that David must have summoned when he took on Goliath.
I pulled her into one of the class rooms told her my predicament that involved nearly being run over by a speeding truck. As I poured my highly fluid heart onto her laps, she seemed least interested in my confessions and impatiently dismissed me with the all-time clichéd dismissal of ‘these things happen’ .Boy, I have never seen a woman so full of herself. But if I overcame that cancerous Crush, I think I can overcome anything. Until of course you run into another woman of her ilk.
A couple of days ago, I was in van with seven strangers headed to North Eastern Kenya for some undisclosed assignment. It was my first time to the Northern part of Kenya and I had taken up the opportunity to go and explore one of the most enigmatic places in Kenya.
I had joined the six individuals, two men and three women and the driver. The two men had assigned themselves the two garrulous women and had left out the prettiest of the clique to herself. Given they work together, I presumed there were special reasons. This lady was the assumed team leader and sat with the driver quietly reading one of those books with titles such as ‘Habits of highly successful people’. I am sure one such habit must be, ‘Never hang out with individuals who have wear loser faces like mine.’
The driver I assumed lacked the intellectual faculty to participate in the conversations. The two men and women seemed to have clicked so well that my X-rated mind even foresaw some group sex amongst themselves. There was some magic alchemy about the interactions and they seemed to be sharing highly perverted memories. My object of desire on the other hand seemed lost in the prose she was reading and here I was basically doing nothing.
Facebook had suspended my account, my Idiotic Ideos(a valuable treasure, I must confess) can’t keep the charge long enough for my unbridled tweeting and the journey was too spontaneous for me to pick a Nelson de Mille novel or the Marilyn Monroe’s bio that I’m currently reading, posthumously admiring her sheer beauty and guts. So I had only my thoughts to engage in. It is that time where you let your imagination wonder, what my colleague Mwati called psychological masturbation recently.
I was interested in this lone ranger. Ruth was her name. Hell, nearly all the Ruths I know have issues. For crying out loud, we were both alone and lonely and naturally, we needed to pair up, even for the sake of the trip. But she was so much into herself. If a genie gave her a wish, I strongly believe she would request to be the axis upon which the world rotates. I tried all the antics in the book but she handled me professionally and answered all my questions monosyllabically, really frustrating me. I hated her.
She was the most beautiful of the three. She had the most perfect set of teeth, where are the Aquafresh guys? She had a perfect figure with hips and a bum that will even the Pope looking her way before questioning the way women dress nowadays and i couldn’t help wondering where were the Kenya Airways guys are? Seriously. Her skin was flawless, how come the Nivea guys have not noticed her? Her braids looked just expensive and I thought I saw the name Ashley’s written all over it. But she was irresponsibly selfish with herself.
We got to the North, did the things that took us there and I have never seen a much more professional team. For two days, I worked with the group where my professional expertise was required and spent the rest of the time idling and suffering from being overlooked by this woman.
I hate guys in the age bracket 26-28 with the stable jobs and disposable incomes. They bore me stiff and part of the reason I was so vexed had to do with this. But this woman was a real headache. I was once described in campus as the most forgettable person and I have come to believe this. Thank the heavens we made it back to Nairobi, Facebook lifted my suspension and I had a cold Tusker.
On arriving in Nairobi on Friday, I called on my wicked friend Caleb who sells plots (not pieces of land in Ruai and Kitengela) but weekend plots. Like where some house party is or how we can create one. Where guys can drink and of course get women. At our age, we can only outsource from campuses. Caleb is Luo gentleman, quiet to fault but with the most wicked brain I have ever interacted with. He can avail just about anything in Nairobi. He drives and that means every weekend he comes in handy. And he was in deed this gone weekend.
On Saturday, his friend had a cut and was throwing some little toast. One must admire some of the guts that Luo guys can exude. Here is the thing, our friend is nearly 28, had just received a cut and was celebrating it openly. He told us about the decision as he was proudly excited about it, entirely motivated by the research that it lessens the chances of contracting HIV/AIDS.
At his house, he leads a decent life. With poshy leather chairs, a 48-inch plasma TV and a thick carpet. Bachelor pads don’t come out neater than that. He brought a bottle of Viceroy from the refrigerator and I was given the graces of opening it. After the small rites that involve honouring our ancestors we toasted for friendship and for the reason behind the party before checking into the rides and took to a club.
And here is my where my beef with Luo men begins. Luo men make almost all men from other tribes feel inferior, insecure and stupid. I have lost three prime catches to Luo men. My closest pal, Griffins once danced away with an exceptionally beautiful lady incidentally who called herself Pretty two years ago. They took to the dance floor and next thing I saw, they were kissing and I have never felt murderous. Were it not for the Cigarettes, I would be serving time somewhere. Good thing, she disappeared and I never saw her again.
My wicked friend Caleb has escaped with my two catches under disturbing circumstances. These things leave a sour feeling in my mouth. Sourer than the beer on the table. Before you think that I am an insecure prick of a man unable to defend myself from the randy Luo men I hang around with, just know that I can be funny and these women do listen and feel my vibe, up to until a Luo dude shows up and water down all my efforts.
Where I can buy beer, they can provide wine. Where I can buy a simple birthday gift such as a cake, they show up with big cards and an electronic gift of her choice. Where I present myself as a simple dude since women like simple men, a Luo man shows up very complicated leaving in their wake a very offended Nyanchwani. Since in my circle of 15 close friends, more than half are inevitably Luo it means that I must get me a woman of strong character not easily swayed by alcohol or material things. But as many women as possible in their 20s lack these necessary traits.
The unreliable women in the 20s
The third reason I loathe Luo men is that virtually all the most beautiful women from my tribe of about my age have a special liking for Luo men. Whenever I take issue with them, they tell me and men of my tribe to style up and get a few elementary romance notes and then approach them. And indeed Luo men hug like their hugs give more life to women. Can spend on a woman, often to unreasonable extents and can in deed love a woman rather terrifically. But while at it, they have this ability to spread and share the same love with as many women as possible. Not to say that there are no faithful and responsible Luo men.
My real beef emanates from the fact that sometimes they treat the wrong women rightly. I have seen them squander valuable money on expensive gadgets only for them to be dumped the following day. I find this to money abuse and one should only spend appropriately with the intentions one has towards a catch. But if you meet Nyanchwani with a beautiful lady without a NO software, slice me, two days later on her birthday you are showing up with a billboard size birthday card, yet she is willing to sleep with me and a dozen other men for less, I get irritated.
While I entirely blame such kind of women for being lured easily by simple things, my beef is when a man decidedly overspends on this woman but gets annoyed when he discovers how unfaithful she is. So to my pals, PO, the two Pauls, Caleb, Chris, Odhis, OT, be careful on how you spoil a woman. A round of drinks is decent enough. A lunch treat is reasonable. But a laptop for a college chips funga who stuck is reckless irresponsibility.
As for my sisters who love the Luo men, it is your right to be treated like a queen and you deserve. I acknowledge that virtually all Kisii, Kikuyu, Kamba, Meru, Kalenjin and Luhyia men missed classes on Romance, but mine is a word of caution; don’t get mad and demand a comeback once he dumps you for the next woman. Take it in good stride, sing along Whitney Houston & Deborah Cox’s Same Script, different cast.
To be continued…