Tag Archives: Sex

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.

Sexual redemption

I feel the warmth of your pussy on my glans
how pleasure swathes my nerves
and swirls thereabouts,
a wave of emotions taking leave
short breathes
legs shaking
Oh, sexy, hold that waist down for me
I want to savor the glory of your mons,
swim in the waters of your orgasm,
baby baptise me anew,
the sinner that I am needs redemption

 

How Mandela Taught me about women

When Nelson Mandéla told me he was more scared of mosquito bites than Akoth’s parents, I knew I’d sweat that night. It was 9 in the night, and I thought it was too early to fish the girl out without being hit by a bible.

Damn!

I was scared of that shit. It spelled death. Nobody we knew had endured the wrath of 66 books and lived. I was scared.

Rumors had it that the guy who had tried to fish Akoth’s elder sister had been struck by lightning just a few days after the Pastor hit him with the bible. It was a suicide attempt getting those girls.

I was scared but we had Mandela, the antidote to every huddle we had getting ’em girls. Mandela had curious genitals, so he began sexing ’em girls while still in lower primary. By class 7 he was sexing the teachers. A bad bad guy that one.

With Mandela on your side, you were sure to get laid. You had to be ready. If you could meet Mandela, then you’d know how sincere men are when they tell you they tripped and fell in a vagina. Mandela had the charm that swept girls off their feet, swirling them in the air and gently resting them on your genitals.

It was magic.

You never saw it coming. So we’re on our way to get this girl when out of nowhere somebody passing by on a motorbike calls him.

The guy is giving him details on how Belinda and her sister have come back the very evening. I didn’t even know Belinda, nor her sister, but I could hear the yearning in his voice when he interviewed the dude.

So when he said we head to Belinda’s place, I knew things were getting thicker. Maan, it’s only with Mandela’s connection that you can introduce yourself to a chic you’ve never known and 20 minutes later you’re banging pon the sofa. Nelson Mandéla, may God bless you.

And Yo, I’m the first person who evaded the bible and lived to tell the tale.

Of Poets and Whores

She’s a girl who’ll be known for her balls
Whoever she encounters she hardens or breaks
She shines with the moon
Arresting the glory of goddesses
My chest heaves at her expectations
Sure, to get laid is a given
But to satisfy a woman is an art
She isn’t your everyday whore
She’s a liberated woman
feigning arrest by hormones
Everything takes shape in her wake
She gobbles my man like a hungry tigress
Yeah she is hungry
She hunts and thrills at her kill
Tonight I’m her prey
She takes her time
A sinister smile spreads on her lips
“This way”
I obey
She rides at top speed then slows down
Then accelerates
Then I die
She’s gone like smoke that leaves no trail
Somebody find her
I swear I would trade my mansion in heaven for the thrill of her ride

Maybe She Wants

I watched her fidget on the seat
Her thighs exposed
And her lips moist with seduction
And her eyes craving for below-belt adventures
She’s a girl who’ll be remembered
For her breasts; younger than dawn
She raises her bust exposing that cleavage
She’s savage
Biting her lower lip eliciting
Sensuous pleasures
Maybe she wants, maybe she doesn’t

The night was young,
The breasts were firm
And her mons wet and inviting
She shakes her thighs
Opening and closing
Ying yang
Ying yang
Maybe she wants, maybe she doesn’t

But I can’t wait anymore
Things are stiffening down here
The stiffest part of me is nodding in salute
So I’ve gotta indulge in this
Illicit pleasures
No guilt
I just wanna get some satisfaction
And calm my hormones
But,
Maybe be she wants, maybe she doesn’t

I pull her to my bed and she obeys
Clothes peeling
And hearts thumping
Up in here, shoot that deeper
Skin ravaging skin
And lip feasting on lip
The grip tightens
As dick bulges
And she scratches and uproots my locks
Suddenly she’s lost
In sexual euphoria
She trembles and takes breaths in fits
Silence…
Still, up in here, shoot that deeper
Moments later
“Thank you”, she said
So glad
That my erection lived long enough
To write the eulogy of her orgasm
On her lips…

Finally….

il_340x270-1156039259_4gb3

I swear she overdosed me with patience
The waiting was long and torturing
With hormones rising
Beyond control
Dominating my thoughts
My actions
And leaving me swathed
In lustful rage
The nights were long
Bedsheets were thick
With sexual annotations
Days were lonely and fruitless
No poems,
No gigs
Just wishes and yearnings
For a passionate ‘sexcapade’

Finally, she showed up
In short skirts and broad smiles
Her breath a blend of innocence
And eagerness to indulge
As she moved closer,
I stood my ground
Her hands reached out for my face
As kisses and whispers became deafening

The pants ripped off
Skin to skin musings
As mouth sought mouth
Wetness ensued
And thighs parted
Revealing cleanly shaven soft-centre
She gasped in pleasure
As she took it in inches
Flinching time to time
Groaning
Scratching
As feet knotted on feet
Her splash came up
Messing my pubic hair
And she pulled my hair
Scratched my back
Till it bled
I felt something build up
Something huge, voluminous
I heard myself moan
And Alas!
Her face half contorted as mine,
She received the lava in convulsive fits
As I wiped the lava off her mons
I knew Nirvana dwells in orgasms

Truth Sucks

She owns her world
She deserves it all
A husband, pretty kids and finances
She reaches out to grab what she lacks
Spreads he thighs to get it in rare proportions
She says how sweet I ‘am
She calls me honey
She told me she felt like she was born anew
After hours of thrusting into her
She licks my ears and gently bites my pinna
Her muffled groans drive me crazy
My strength in bed is something I take pride in
But she takes me to greater heights when she orgasms
She grabs my hair, plunge her nails deep into my back and screams my name
She says no one does it like me
I reach her depths
I goad her edges
Before spraying her insides with wonder sap
We pretend we love
We indulge, losing ourselves
In throes of passion
And truths surface
I’m the missing equation in her marriage
A fruit salad after a lamb chop
And I loathe myself
The worst you can do to a man
Is reduce his existence
To the length of his penis
And how long it can stay before turning flaccid

She has left

Nyalego has left
She has gone back to her father’s home
She couldn’t stand all that shame at the market
Even children now know who she really is

She was caught naked on Odhiambo’s bed
A boy who was still in primary Eight
How could that bed bear her weight?
Nyalego has spoilt this village
Her husband says she has been into sexual pilgrimage
For a long time he hasn’t touched her pants
Kumbe Odhiambo was the one fulfilling her wants

The neighbors complained the bed squeaked so much
And the boy was rarely seen outside
He had a lot of inside job
The neighbors had long forgotten the color of his uniforms
And the path to school no longer knows the might of his steps

Nyalego has charm
For how could she bewitch the pastor’s only child?
For weeks the boy hasn’t reported to their home
Nor does he ask for money for upkeep
The pastor will drop Jesus and pick a machete
Nyalego should never come back

Odhiambo is still very young
To be learning reproduction practically
He said he only poked it with his finger
That’s how they do it digitally

Now Odhiambo has been expelled
Nyalego is out of sight
He is the only one,
Who’ll bear the weight of shame

Pick the call, Please

I’ve waiting too long
To dance to my favorite song
Your breath of fresh nature scent
That drowns me in euphoric sexual vent
Your bosom a pair of miniature pillows
Is a vessel to the fantasies filling my hollows
With forget-me-not your tongue wrote on my lips
As I suffocated on the flesh of your yummy tits
The nib of my tongue wrote love notes on your nipples
And that was a night of ‘heartquakes’ and skin ripples
Pick the call please
your silence bites like fleas