Imaginations & a boner

Never joke with the power of imagination yo. I knew the mind works magic after I broke up with a Kamba girl. No, it has nothing to do with kamuti. I think karma was just fucking with me yo.

The Kamba lass was beautiful, probably the most beautiful girl I’ve sexed with consistently, but I was young and stupid.

To date, that’s the lady that I have mistreated most, even as a kabu kabu. I’ve never been violent, but I was indifferent and blind to her emotions. I wasn’t available emotionally, neither was I physically outside the house. twas just sex. I dropped her the keys from the balcony, and never walked her out. She found me in my house and she left me there when we were done shagging. She’d hustle, make some money and call me with plans for outings, but I crushed them yo.

When we part ways, I took 8 months without flicking a bean yo. It was devastating. I’d make arrangements, talk to ’em girls wakubali, hadi wapande mat, but they never arrived😂.
Mara ooh, nilifika but simu ilizima, oh gari imenipitisha and it was late so I came back home.

That happened for eight full months–a long time since the Kamba girl had got me used to hitting the thing almost daily. So erections became my nightmare, and the boner would find me in the most inappropriate situations; kwa gari, kwa njia, in church, and even while on stage performing. Twas becoming a serious ailment that I had to find a cure for and that’s when the imagination tricks began.

Mostadem didn’t work, but one worked, and if you’re waiting for it I warn you it is nasty. But it worked. When cornered by boners and desires I couldn’t quell, I’d imagine worms crawling outta pussy😢. I have never seen anything like that, so the image was hard to hold still for long.

Luckily, I didn’t have to meditate pon it for hours like monks. It worked almost instantly. It deflated the erection within seconds. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done with my mind, but it survived me. It took an X I hadn’t spoken with for years to end that spell. These days, I just talk to it nicely; calm down please, calm down yo, and listens.

Still, this post must be shitty because I’m here shitting with my comp pon my lap. And my head isn’t stable cause I haven’t spliffed for 18 hours.
What’s the worst imagination trick you’ve done to calm a boner?

Beautiful endings

Enjoy things while they last, because everything ends. Death and the nature of humans promise just that, endings. My grandfather lost my grandmother at old age, he had three wives, but he wept for losing one.

Still, that was a beautiful ending. I love beautiful endings. Pray for a beautiful ending, not eternity, because that doesn’t exist.

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We had late-night kush sesh. The balls are so stoned like victims of mob justice.

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You can choose where to stand, but as for me and my balls, we’re unapologetically Luo

Sermon in bed: cursed is the man who eavesdrops on the SExscapades of another Man’s genitals

You men, who think it’s wise to make gossip a career should respect balls. If you can’t respect your own, don’t rubbish other men’s. There’s just so much to talk about that it baffles me why someone would find fulfillment in eavesdropping on people’s sexual lives.

When the dust settles, you ask yourself what Edgar has solved with that Jalas and the boys’ story. Just another clout chaser. It was bad, it was happening, but having exposed it, how has it helped the victims?

Now the women in those convos are in worse mental state, possibly could be depressed even, so the man who so many people think of as the hero of the mayhem has actually done more harm to them. Look, the photos, the videos, and the chats were in a private group, safe from the public eye until Edgar happened. Now the girls are everywhere, naked, and I hear mofos asking for videos, what makes you any better?

But you also forget that sex is also transactional. Abled buyer, willing seller. And terms of the transactions is only binding to the two parties.

Say what you wanna say, but Edgar, a man who finds pleasure in bringing down people is no fucking hero. Sex happens in all its illicit hues; married man fucked who in the parking lot, she’s fucking with the shamba boy, look at this intern riding her married boss, now Clinton is fucking with Lewinsky…it happens every time.

But riddle me this, would married men cheat if there were no women willing to be cheated with?

Yo, unless it’s rape, violence, pedophilia, or undue influence, let people live their lives, however sexually weird they might be.

Though I find what these boys did juvenile and wrong, It’s appalling that nobody cares about the women in those chats, or maybe, just another collateral damage. Now go back to your tired life. You’re dismissed, mongoose.

Are your balls forgiving?

It’s humbling the shit I’ve put these balls through, yet they still cheer me up with their good mornings. Look at them, how calm, how composed. A man can be so broken, but as long as the balls hold up, life continues in all its beautiful shades. Good morning people, kind regards from me and my marbles.

Search Party for Balls

Folks, it’s been devastating these past days. Juzi, I left the balls hanging on the cloth line. I had washed them, and they were pretty happy about it. When I came back past curfew, the balls were gone.

 

So yesterday I reported the matter at the Dagoretti Police Station. They gave me an OB, but they’ve done nothing to help me get ’em balls back. I suspect my neighbors. And I don’t trust the Babylon boys with ’em pair of tongs.

 

I hereby send a solemn plea, can I get just 3 people to join the search party for ’em marbles?

 

I try, but it hasn’t been easy yo!

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Morning, no fighting spirit left, but the balls are bubbly like a puppy.

I’ll light another joint

I’ll light another joint
The weed in my head needs company
The pain in my chest needs numbing
and the reality is too bright it hurts,
I need a blinder
I want to smoke my memory away
I weighed both of them and the dark ones won
Let me hit this spliff and shut ’em thoughts

I’ll light another joint
The weed in my head is overwhelmed
I’m getting back here,
Where faces smile
and voices sing mellow songs
but the wreckage within rusts
eroding the will to live with it
Let me hit this spliff and live, till the next puff

I’ll light another joint
The weed in my head is getting angry
Why so many games?
Why so many pains?
Why do good people do bad things to smaller people?
Why do people claim people’s bodies and label them theirs?
Betrayals and lame friendships
Concern, no, I meant curiosity;
You didn’t call because you cared,
muhfaka you just needed the story
Let me hit this spliff and see you for who you are

I’ll light another joint
The weed in my head wants to rant
About things that we do that degrade people
Why do we teach kids how to hate?
Why must we bend others to fit in our locked cages?
Don’t we know wild flowers don’t know vases?
Let me hit this spliff and remind myself of what I was before your cages

Ah, the good joint,
don’t you know how to flap your wings!
Let’s fly to a world of our folly
Yes, you can be stupid, it is allowed.

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I’ve woken up lightheaded and exhausted, but the balls are happier than yours.