I’ve done the dirty to all sorts of music. Ragga, dancehall, rock, death metal (got chocked that time), house, dubstep and one very weird time, Beethoven. I’ve never liked this music and most of the time I didn’t insist on silence because I understood it needed to be loud – to drown out the grunting, hawing and heaving of my partner (I don’t moan, when I do I’m faking it, sorry all my exes :-/) I like quiet sex. Then I don’t have to spend 10 minutes of coiting trying to ignore Konshens telling me to bubble and concentrate on the pulsing of my magic button.
Only once did I like the music played during and that resulted, quite honestly in some of the best sex I’ve ever had.
His name is irrelevant but I named his D, ‘the one that got away’. You’ll see why in a bit. We met when I decided to turn up for my cousin’s birthday. I showed up at Buffet Park as they were watching the UEFA cup finals and first thing I said to her is, I hope you brought dudes because I need to get fucked tonight. She laughed and laughed until she realized I was serious and showed me who to keep my hands off. Everyone else was fair game.
I picked one guy, dark, skinny, short. Just my type. A few minutes of very interesting conversation and he was relegated to the ‘too funny’ category. Everybody knows that funny guys have small dicks. No? Well…I wasn’t there to get the short end of the stick. I stuck to Mr. Funny guy though, he’d be my entertainment for the night. Penalty shoot out, Drogba scores. Chelsea wins, game over. Off to Psy’s LA where we proceeded to dance the night away.
I met him there. He was part of our group, a friend if my cousin’s boyfriend. I’d ignored him because despite being short, he was wide and light skinned. Not my type. I wasn’t his either but after we’d both surveyed the area and abandoned all hope for finding prospects that met our sex mate standards, we mutually lowered the bar and deviated towards each other. A little dancing, a few black ices and lots of embarrassing motorboating pictures of him and I (delete those pictures cuz!) later, we left the club and headed straight to his place.
He took a shower, we smoked a joint then we got down and dirty.
That’s when things got interesting! First this one had the biggest D I’d ever seen and… and… and then he put on Sauti Sol!!! Whaaat! Drunk, stoned and horny I was in pussy heaven! Forget moaning, I sang along to everything!!! Missionary, Lazizi. Legs on his shoulders, Row Your Boat. Doggie, ah that doggie…Awinja ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’, Bowane Lelisu eeh ‘Eh! Eh!’, Coming…comin…cumming Home.
It was beautiful. *wipes tear*
We blacked out and I woke up with the most beautiful feeling. I started plotting on how to get a repeat performance out of this sausage funga. Unfortunately, despite all my machinations he was adamant. No repeats, no surrender. I fear in all my singing I’d failed to impress this beautiful
man and now he did not want to put his penis meat inside me anymore.
I learned two lessons from that encounter:
1. To stop laughing at couples that jiggy to love songs from the 80’s. Those songs just get a girl in the mood. In all my cynicism against love, I’d failed miserably to grasp this point during my sex education.
2. The more you do to impress the person under you the less likely they are to reciprocate during that first encounter. If I wasn’t as awestruck as I was that time I probably would have killed it and he’d still be begging for some of this.
Well, I probably will never get to taste his sweet D-elights ever again (punished him by never returning his favorite hoodie *evil grin*) but Sauti Sol are still here for me. Never disappointing. They even heeded my unspoken dream of a fap song. Video, lyrics and rhythm perfect for my yellow pages moonwalk within my mother’s union undies. Who needs a man when you’ve got Sauti Sol and sturdy fingers?