Your address will show here +12 34 56 78
It had occurred to me that probably the reason most people had unfulfilled sex lives was not because they didn’t know the Kamasutra by heart, or they didn’t have a subscription to Pornhub, it was because of their feeding habits. Oh, you didn’t think that your creamy vagina was depending on what you put in your mouth? (not a penis for christ’s sake).
Sex is like a sport, you need to be well practiced, well rested, well exercised and most importantly, well nourished. Our Generation, though, is married to KFC, with Pizza Inn as the mistress and Kenchic as the rachet ex girlfriend. We feed our bodies trash and this reflects in every part of our lives, then we wonder why ours is a sexually frustrated nation.
So, for your next meal, order some food that will do wonders for your bump and grind. Salads and leafy green vegetables dilate blood vessels so that your genitals can easily be engorged with blood for arousal. This will enhance your prospects for a healthy clit and a harder dick. Unsweetened Tea will also help in blood flow. I emphasize on unsweetened because excessive consumption of sugar prevents the production of endorphins which make you depressed. Nobody wants to have depressed sex! Fruits, especially citric ones improve sperm count and motility.
So, if you are planning on having a family or adding on to the one you already have,stock up on the oranges and peaches (and Huggies,your kid wont shit on Orange peels). Now for the fun foods! Watermelons and Pineapples make sperm and vaginal fluid adapt their tastes! Yes! Imagine eating her pussy and being met with the taste of Del Monte! I will stay there for an extra half hour!! I dare say it will also eliminate the fear Ladies have of swallowing cum. It will be easier if it has a hint of Watermelon to it, won’t it ladies?
So what have we learnt today kids? Eat your veggies and fruits, then proceed to eat out your partner! Dig in, Lunch is served.

The night wore on, the conversation grew deeper. Judging that Kasee would be privy to his hound dog attempts at unfurling the voluptuous package that was Sawyer, Mason suggested they move to one of the couches that occupied the rest of the lounge away from the counter. Mason learnt that she wasn’t from Nairobi. She lived in Kitale, she was in town to meet up with her siblings to look into the possibility of opening a business. Though she was from the countryside, she was obviously well learned and travelled. She spoke of the Croissants sold on the banks of the Seine in France with a nostalgia of a European far from home. In contrast, he was more guarded in his revelations. Telling a woman about your Father’s death wasn’t exactly the perfect ice-breaker. Every once in a while he stole glances at her mocha skinned chest. Her breasts weren’t mammoth sized beasts testing the capacity of her brassiere. C cups he had guessed. Having not yet settled down romantically, Mason had spent his fair share of time down womens’ pants. He knew a bra measurement from across the room. He had put more nipples in his mouth than he cared to remember. Or it could be that he couldn’t remember. “You keep staring at my boobs like they’re showing a football match “Sawyer shot at him. ” Really? Thinking about balls are we? He retorted with a sly grin. “Keep on talking that game Mason and you might have to back it up” “No, you back it up”. The sexual tension spiked in a heartbeat! By this time both of them were into their fifth glass of whiskey. Inhibitions had been drowned out. The chemistry between them was palpable. Sawyer drew closer to Mason. He wasn’t one to be given an inch and not take a mile. He leaned in and kissed her. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him in, searching his mouth with her velvet tongue. The kiss was so deep, she could feel her heart palpitate with every swirl of Mason’s tongue in her mouth. Leading her to wonder what else that tongue could do. He reached for her waist, his hand traveling up to those breasts. Her nipples stood out like pencil erasers. He had to have her. He stood up and walked to the counter. “Kasee, call me a cab. I won’t be able to drive ” Kasee obliged and signalled to the bouncer. Mason walked over to Sawyer. ” Lets get out of here” She got up, her gait wobbly from the Golden Label, took Mason’s hand as they walked out and into the waiting taxi. Mason could barely open the door to his apartment, Sawyer was all over him. Her hand down his pants, grabbing and stroking his quivering dick. Once they got in, the pulling and tugging started. Each trying to undress the other quicker. He unhooked her bra and started to suckle and bite on her nipples. Her moans egged him on. She dropped her jeans to free that thick ass. Mason was hypnotized. He could feel his mouth go dry. He grabbed her  and turned her around, so she could grab the nearest sofa armrest. He lowered her panties, sliding one finger in and out of her drenched pussy. She was so wet. He couldn’t wait to be inside her. He unbuckled his belt, dropping his pants low enough to let his dick out. He slid right in. Her moans and hurried breathing echoed through the silent apartment. His thrusts gathered pace then slowed down. Changing the rythm. He could feel her wetness trickling down his shaft and onto his balls. “Fuck! You’re gonna make me cum Mason” “Cum for me baby” Sawyer bucked and wiggled her hips, Mason steadied her as his dick tormented  to bury her in the depths of pleasure.He was almost there too. He plunged deeper into Sawyer, cumming inside her, filling her pussy until his sperm dripped onto the tiled floor. They lay on the sofa, bereft of energy.Still heaving from the aftermath of what Mason did to her, Sawyer sat up and looked at him. Mason knew that look, he knew what she wanted to do to him, and he was going to let her. Sawyer stood up, his sperm still trickling down her thighs, and took his hand, leading him into the bedroom. She walked, with Mason in tow until she reached the foot of his King sized bed. His den, where many a Woman in sexual want were slaughtered. She sat him down, pulling off his pants, then his boxers. Her gaze fixed upon his. His dick was still pulsating, stains of his cum evident on his shaft. Sawyer, caressed his thighs, her face leaning towards his slumped dick. She licked his soft knob, her tongue went under it gobbling Mason into her warm mouth. She sucked him, willing his cock to come to life. Mason leaned back, the sensations making him squirm.She slobbered all over his dick, her tongue massaging his shaft until it was engorged and filled her mouth. She stood up and straddled Mason, he took hold of his rock hard cock, to guide it into her pussy but she held his hand. She guided it further behind her, into her ass. The look on Mason’s face was priceless, he’d only ever been inside a woman’s ass in college. Tiffany, his then sweetheart was quite the experimental spitfire.Who was this woman atop of him! Letting him invade her sphincter! The saliva on his dick, helped ease him in. Her hole was tight. He worried he’d hurt her, but the predatorial look on Sawyer’s face, said that he was the one in trouble. Her sphincter walls contracted and expanded at her will, making Mason feels as if he was being sucked off. She bore down on his dick, squeezing it with her asshole, as she rose.She took off the bra that had surprisingly survived the undressing. She took his hands and put them on her breasts. He fondled and squeezed those plump beauties. Sawyer gyrated her hips, changing rythm, slow, then fast. Mason could feel it in the pit of his stomach, he was going to cum. He stiffened, shooting his seed into her rectum, slow moans escaping from his breathless mouth. Sawyer cupped his face, giving him a slow kiss. They collapsed in a heap. Mason catching his breathe.She watched him as he slowly drifted off to sleep. When Mason woke up around mid day, Sawyer was gone. Not a note in sight, neither did she leave a number. Most girls did, but then again Sawyer wasn’t most  girls. 4 MONTHS LATER After the initial scandal that had rocked his family in regards to his Father’s second wife Sheila, Mason had worked closely with lawyers to settle the estate affairs.Especially now that there was proof that two of Sheila’s children, were fathered by the deceased.Edward Munga’s agricultural business continued to run under his son, Mason’s stewardship. What was remaining however, was the division of his wealth between his two widows. Mason tired of the legal proceedings, decided to invite Sheila over to his family home so that both families could get to know each other over a meal. On a sunny Sunday afternoon, Mason’s family home was a hive of activity, in readiness for the guests. He spent most of the time in his room looking over the finacial statements ready for negotiations. He’d also called Maxwell, a family friend who was a lawyer, to sort out the legal jargon. He was called from his room and informed that the guests had arrived. He got up and headed to the living room to find they’d already been served drinks. As he walked over to greet them, he stopped. There she was, seated looking straight at him. Sawyer. He knew well enough not to speak.Sheila rose and greeted Mason and introduced those that she came with. Two young men, who were her sons, and Sawyer, her daughter. A whirlwind of thoughts flooded his mind! How in the world was this possible!! Why?? He  could see it in her eyes too. The confusion, the bewilderment. He tried to meet her eyes, but they evaded him as soon as they made contact.The ripples of his Father’s betrayal, reaching out to him even beyond the grave. As lunch was being served, everybody took their place at the dining table,Mason managed to seat next to Sawyer. He could see that gorgeous cleavage heaving, she was nervous. They sat in silence as the rest chattered away. Mason knew he needed an ice breaker. He called over the househelp. “Marie, go into the cellar downstairs and bring our new guest here some Gold Label Johnny Walker”. “Oh, please don’t! That won’t be necessary.” Sawyer’s brother Tom  interjected. “Its no bother”, Mason offered, smiling. Tom chuckled. “I mean Sawyer won’t drink, she’s 4 months pregnant”.

FacialKnight, Fiction
image The pelting rain diluted his steady stream of tears. The crowd dispersed after the casket was lowered. He was left standing there alone. His were a concoction of emotions. He was devastated after the loss of his Father, a man he’d idolized his whole life, the one who had taught him how to ride a bike, how to make a woman smile and most importantly, how to be a man. His admiration was threatened by the news that had emerged soon after his father’s passing. An unknown woman had showed up at their home, alleging to be his wife. He’d always found such situations hilarious! Kenyan funerals were littered with such occurrences but to have it at your doorstep was to rub salt in an already festering wound. it wasn’t funny at all. The proof was in plenty. Joint bank account statements, holiday photos, most painfully, some items of clothing that the deceased’s wife had bought him on many of his birthdays. ‘The times he was away at a company retreat in Nyali must have been spent with her,’ Mason thought to himself. His sister took it hardest of all, the perfect picture of her hero, tainted. He was human after all. His mother, sort of always knew. At a certain age that intrinsic female intuition became as good as a forensic report. But she loved the man he was, a husband, a provider, a monument to his kin. His shortcomings were of little consequence to her. He was the star-crossed love of her life. Mason stood there in the rain, wishing it would wash away the smut, and the leave that loving memory, that he was desperately trying to hold on to. As the last of the cars exited the cemetery, Mason willed himself to walk away from his father’s grave. He didn’t want to accompany the family back home. He wanted, he needed to be by himself and gather his already wandering thoughts. He walked to his car and got in. The one place he thought of heading to first was Mo’s, a small lounge in the Business District. A double shot of a 12 year old Macallan would do him good. He also remembered that it was Saturday, Jazz night. Leonard and his band, did a wonderful rendition of “Over the Rainbow”. Eager to balm his injured soul with drink and song, Mason turned on the ignition. The vintage Mercedes 190 series roared to life, his tail lights disappearing into the now torrential rain. He was understandably a million miles away in thought as he entered the lounge, because he didn’t see Kamau, the bouncer nod at the bartender. He sat at the counter. The music from Leonard’s Sax wafted through the dimly-lit ambience of Mo’s lounge. He was jolted from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find the tall figure of the lounge’s proprietor, Mo stretching out his hand to greet him. He shook his hand. “I was saddened to learn of your father’s demise Mason. I lost my father two years ago, so I know how you feel. Pole sana. ” “Thank you Mo” Mo motioned the bartender over. “Kasee, tonight Mason’s drinks are on the house, sawa!? ” ” Sawa boss”, Kasee replied, at once reaching for the top shelf where all the premium stuff sat. Mason nodded in gratitude at Mo. Grief had a twisted way of bringing the best out of people, as Mo had never exchanged two words with Mason, but had empathized with him as though they were inseparable from the same womb. Mason sipped his whiskey, the oak notes caressing his taste buds as the warmth trickled down his throat. The evening crowd wasn’t a large one. Jazz had a distinct audience, the unassuming patron who came for the art, not the noise. The real cool kids. He stared into space, memories of his father reeling in his mind like one of those old silent Hollywood movies. For every tear that teetered at the edge of his eyelids, he took another swig. In his peripheral, he saw the next bar stool move, but he couldn’t be bothered tonight. “Johhny Walker Gold label, neat” image Mason turned to look at the person who had ordered the drink. He’d never heard a lady order such a sophisticated whiskey. Most dames were busy chugging Guarana like there were keys to a Range Vogue at the bottom of the can. The once over he usually gave girls, wouldn’t fly here. She wasn’t one to have a gander at once. The thing that caught you off guard was her eyes. Large, almond shaped eyes, her irises like large brown marbles floating in milk. The pouty lips looked like they were always begging for a kiss, Angelina Jolie would be green with envy at these. Her biker jacket was open, her breasts peaking out of a low cut T-shirt. Even though she was seated, you could make out that her derriere was ample enough to bring tears to a donkey’s eyes. Her hips were thick, raring to rip through the seams of her denim pants. For a fleeting second, his sly dog instincts took over. The growing bulge in his pants reminded him that even in times like these, the comfort of pussy was a welcome distraction. “Gold Label huh? The only gold most women know, they wear around their necks,” Mason spoke whilst staring into space. She looked at him and smiled. “I’m not surprised you said that. You look like the kind of man who thinks he knows women.” Mason chuckled. Feisty girl! He now shifted in his seat to have a clear look at this sassy lady, who he now put squarely in his cross hairs. “My name is Mason”, he stated, offering her his hand. She looked him dead in the eye for what seemed an eternity, then calmly shook his hand. “My name is Sawyer” And so it begun. image

FacialKnight, Real Life Stories
Happy New Year to all you purveyors of boner inducing, clit tickling literature!! Can’t wait to see what 2015 has in store, or if you’re in Ethiopia what 2008 has in store (poor bastards, as if traveling back in time wasn’t hard enough). During the Christmas period, in a humanitarian effort to aid your blossoming relationships, I had sex. Lots and lots of the stuff. Sigh, I know. Tedious thing that. I humped, spanked, licked, sucked all for you guys (group hug) It all ended the same way in numerous occasions, lots of calling the good Lords name, emptying of seminal fluids, changing the sheets and tears. Same old, same old. The thing with relationships though is bae is sort of obligated to fuck you. It’s an obligation if unmet, would result in them getting your orgasms from another source. So at some point, you become a chore to your partner, they have to fuck you or you’ll fuck their friend or worse, leave. As if that wasn’t enough, since you bring more than genitals to the relationship, ie money, they also have to suckle your knob to keep you around. That holidays in Zanzibar won’t pay for itself, get on you knees little girl. Put a dick in ya mouf! That isn’t good enough for me though. I have an ego large enough to butt fuck a Dinosaur, I am no one’s chore! I decided there must be a way to make sure bae isn’t thinking about which bracelet I’m going to buy her for Christmas instead of screaming her brains out for me not to stop during coitus. Took the usual route, watched more porn, read more articles, talked to my female buddies, and in all those inquiries I came across three vital pieces of information. First, women produce a hormone called Oxytocin when they orgasm, scientists call it the “bonding hormone”. Meaning when they orgasm, they feel closer to the person that made them cum. Second, women love being spoilt, dotted upon. Why do you think they are obsessed with being princesses, the attention and care royalty receives. Third, women love bad boys. Bad boys are conquerors, they ooze raw power and distinction, they are man in the purest form and nothing excites a woman more than a powerful man. The conundrum was, how was I going to incorporate those pearls of wisdom into my dick game? The first was a given, you have to make your woman cum. Apart from pissing, this is the sole use for your dick bro. I had that covered. I was however skeptical about the other two. You can’t be Mr. Lovey Dovey and still a Ruffneck at the same time, or so I thought! A female friend of mine regaled me with tales of how she bathes and feeds her conquests after sex! Fuck! I know man! That’s some Japanese Geisha shit right there! Then the next morning, she tosses the buggers out onto the street in the wee hours, when it’s still dark out! The poor sod is so confused because no other woman treats him that way, so he keeps on coming back for more. Reward and punishment in equal measure, does things to the human brain you couldn’t possibly conceive. It germinates a craving for approval from this person whom you first deem worthy, then unworthy of your affections. Unfair, but effective. I decided to put this trick to the test, after all, science demands an experiment. Started with the bracelet (yes, I bought it) then sat through her favourite girly series that I always refuse to watch. Made her a few cocktails (is it just me or does that word make you want to go put some cock into some tail). When we got to the bedroom, I was down for some Miguel and Alejandro shit! French kissing the pussy, slowly, working that kitty tenderly like I was prunning the wings of an Angel. Toe sucking, caressing and soft whispers of “I love you”. Strokes were easy, orgasms gradual. I was going to get a Nobel because I left that girl at peace. After a small break of pillow talk and tickle fights, round two beckoned. This time was more like the Desolation of Smaug! Ass grabbing, deep thrusting! Shit went from 0-100 in the twitch of a clit! The back shots were so real, I was going to call a lab to do forensics afterwards! Pulled that hair and dug her face into the pillow, her muffled screams urging me deeper and harder. Before she knew it, she was trembling and digging her nails into the sheets. The second time she came, she took my nut with her! I pulled out, didn’t say shit, wrapped a towel around my waist and left her twitching on the bed. Went to the living room and turned on the playstation, then won the Dutch league with FC TWENTE. Bawse. Moments later, she came to me with a ham sandwich and fruit juice. That’s what I’m talking about!!! A round of hi5’s are totally acceptable here gents. This may seem like a case of manipulation, and it probably is, but in every relationship there has to be an Alpha. It’s not even wrong if the Alpha is the girl. That’s cool. But lust is an irreplaceable component in a romantic relationship. You have to cultivate that lust, it doesn’t come that easy! It’s 2015,a new year, a time for new realizations. So, are you a bawse or a bitch? *Drops Mic*

FacialKnight, Threesome
She took another swig of the beer bottle. I had never seen a girl down Guinness that fast. I hate Guinness. She finished. I ordered another for her. Even the waiter was aghast at the display of alcoholic machismo at our table. I didnt care much for her. Damn i didnt even know her second name! I wasnt attracted to Evelyn. She had a limber figure. ‘A’ cup boobs and nothing to boast about at the derriere. She was like a boy to me. I tolerated her for one sole reason, she was to be the third wheel to my Rickshaw that night. Oh, incase you dont speak “literary genius”, I mean Evelyn was going to join my girl and I in a threesome. Yes fellas, a round of hi5’s is totally acceptable. I dont have the historical nous to tell you when the first threesome took place, but if Spartacus, the TV series, is anything to go by it’s been happening for centuries! You, and two females, or three guys, or three females, or the devilish two guys and a girl. It comes in any manner of scenarios (no, a tryst with a hermaphrodite doesn’t count). The point of a threesome is the more the merrier. If you have ever been in one you can attest to the fact that if executed properly, it is orgasmic on an infinite level akin to nothing your base senses can ever comprehend. So, after drinking and dancing and threeway kissing on the dance floor (yes, that happened), I suggested we ditch the joint. We got into a mat and 10 minutes later we were in my girl’s house. The tension in the air was palpable. We all knew what we were here for. They disrobed and took my clothes off. I asked them to dim the lights, as I was sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my cool after I saw what they were about to do. Evelyn laid my girl down and parted her thighs. She started kissing her lady lips slowly, then she asked me to enter her from behind. I had like 10 condoms! I put one on,and slid right in. Her pussy was so tight! Good thing the Scotch whiskey i was high on had dulled my senses. I wasn’t going to cum soon. My girl had started moaning, she started trembling as the waves of ecstasy took her higher. Evelyn was also about to explode, they did so simultaneously. My ego was the size of an Elephant’s nuts at this moment! The girls decided it was my turn. Evelyn removed my condom and took me in her mouth, I could feel the back of her throat. Her head game was criminal! I started drawing breath, to pace myself. I whispered to her that i wasn’t going to melt in her mouth. She put another condom on me, pushed me down and straddled me. It wasn’t long before her back was convulsing and arching. image Her second orgasm brought on that fast by the eroticism of it all. My girl sat on my face and she too rode my tongue to a mind numbing climax. image The thought of two women cumming was enough to send me over the edge! We all lay there, spent. Puling off a threesome is basically rocket science. Women don’t like to share.That night, I was the one who was invited to the act. Had I initiated, I would’ve been accused of being unsatisfied in our relationship by my girl and also of being attracted to Evelyn. Back then most people would’ve have had to pay for a threesome, I was lucky. But times are changing. Nowadays there are sex parties, girls are more adventurous, people are coming out of the closet in legendary fashion and campuses are a den of inequity of biblical Sodomic proportions. Its a new age. I for one recommend a threesome. If not simply for adventure, then to spice up a stale and ageing relationship. We are human and it is human to want to experience something new. Keep plenty of condoms, willing participants and of course girls named Evelyn that guarantee that is Rickshaw one hell of a ride!

The Californian assembly has passed a law that requires all performing actors in the adult entertainment industry to wear condoms. This was passed after aggressive lobbying by an Anti-AIDS NGO. They argued that the porn industry exposes participants to a high risk of AIDS and other venereal diseases. Understandably this has driven down production, forcing production companies to relocate to neighboring Las Vegas which has less stringent laws governing the adult entertainment industry. It seems porn actors are not the only ones shirking from prophylactics, just last week a survey determined that girls between the ages of 15-25 don’t use protection during sex. Driving up sex related infections at a deathly rate. I’m not baffled. Not at all. Have you ever had sex? Unprotected? If you haven’t, let me give you a sneak peek. When your dick is enveloped in her fleshy folds, and her wetness coats your phallus, you will know unbound ecstasy. When you grab hold of her thick hips as you disappear into her plump ass and she trembles from pleasure, that will be the moment every sinew in your body will shoot into the stratosphere. That is unprotected sex. I understand why these American porn stars are miffed. They get to screw some of the most beautiful and sexually-wanton women in the world, why would they want to ruin that with a condom? Porn is hard work, try NOT cumming when screwing two Latino bombshells for an hour straight! They might as well enjoy it without a rubber if you ask me. I have no qualms about having sex without protection, my concern is though, is it worth it? The world has changed. Its a far cry from the free love age of the 70s. We are victims of our era. AIDS, Chlamydia, Syphilis, Gonorrhea, and most recently Ebola. These are the assailants of our private parts in the quest to have an orgasm. These have killed scores upon scores. How are we to win this war when these diseases are attached to the human sexual instinct? Its not like we can have it surgically removed. Some have medication, the most dangerous ones don’t. Preventive measures are the next best thing. Chief among them, condoms. Our American porn heroes are against condoms because they have stringent testing measures put in place. They must be tested every two weeks! Reputable porn production companies won’t let you work without proof of testing. Save for a few isolated incidences of infection, they have largely been successful. For the rest of us, that is a measure we have not adopted. Yet we are the first ones to drop our pants in the dark alley behind the club for the hot guy who could Skelewu better than Davido, without asking if he has a condom. Ours is a generation come of age. While the Western nations had centuries to come to grips with their sexuality, we have just arrived at the realization that Sex sio tambia mbaya as our beloved parents led us to believe. Couple that with the ever expanding reach of the Internet and we have ourselves a combustible population ready and willing to do anything to get off. Diseases not being the only by-product of condom less sex, unplanned pregnancies are also in tow. Giving birth to another generation that won’t be taught anything of value by the preceding one, paying directly for the sins of the father. And the vicious cycle continues. Tupac Shakur, thug-extraordinaire spent most of his life running from the police and dodging rival gang bullets, and even he wasn’t oblivious to the dangers of not wearing a condom. Rapping “Pack a vest (jacket) for your Jimmy in the city of sex” on the song California Love. Its been over two decades since his demise and you can tell safe sex isn’t a Noughties fad. It would be such a shame to lose your life, indulging in something as mind blowing as sex, and anyway, even a pencil has a rubber on its tip.

FacialKnight, Rape Culture
The only place that didn’t have these incidences posted on them was probably on the back of cereal boxes. The videos were everywhere. Social media outdid itself in this regard. You couldn’t switch on the internet on your phone without having your WhatsApp notifications going off the hook.We have been subjected to all manner of emotion. Anger, pity, apathy, abject disbelief, at the scenes of women being stripped and sexually abused with such fervor that you would be excused if you thought that this was our national past time.I am ashamed to be a man in this country. I hang my head in embarrassment, only to lift it begrudgingly and have a wee look at the horizon, hoping to find an answer in the amber sunset of human decency in our nation. After the protests, hash tags and reluctance of the government to take a stand on the matter, we are all still left wondering, where this beast emerged from or whether we have been housing it all along. A couple of weeks back, I was in a debate with my sultry partner in crime, Minx. She was of the opinion that most men have an innate violent predisposition towards women. She pulled out the stats, quotes from victims, a very compelling poem. It was a very spirited argument. Though I saw the sense in her statements, I was quick to counter that it wasn’t all gloom and doom, that some men are evil the same way some are good. She wouldn’t have it! In the end, we agreed to disagree. A couple of days later, the first stripping took place. Then another followed, this one more fatal as the victim lost her life.I called up Minx and apologized. She was right. Are we the barbaric nation we have been portrayed as? Or is there something a miss? I contend that we are in this cesspool, because we are a very sexual nation but are trying our best to deny it. As a country, we are on the verge of being over sexed. Look in the dailies, not a day will pass without some thick-assed girl posing as the new It Girl in town. Our news presenters are more models than they are anchors. When I’m watching the news, I wonder what is more breaking, the news or the anchor’s bra straps as it struggles to maintain that cleavage. Porn is sold “chini ya maji” by those guys still selling 50-in-1 DVD collections. Lets wander into social media, if you’re a girl and your avi doesn’t scream “Impregnate me!”, guys are unfollowing. They don’t have time to waste bundles on grandma panties and below the knee hemlines.Schools are closed for the year. I cant step out to go to the shop, without having my neck turned by a 15 year old, very buxom girl dressed like a statutory rape charge waiting to happen.The music scene just sells sex like peanuts on the road, the only difference is they now cater to the ladies too. Cue six-packs and gyrating male hips. With all these sexual scenes bombarding our eyes and loins, it’s lost on me how we don’t walk around masturbating or with dildos sticking out of our vaginae. Its a mad house! I’m not going to stand here and preach water then sip Guarana, I’m a big fan of naked women. I support their skin movement, wholeheartedly . What I’m finding increasingly tedious, is the insistence of this society to promote the sexual liberation on paper and in deed, then turn around and scream that it goes against our core African traditions! Tradition?? I think you misspelled “Hypocrisy”. Our Forefathers dressed in skins and furs. The ladies walked around half-naked. It’s only when the white man came into town that we were taught to be ashamed of our beautiful bodies. Our fathers were spot on with the nudity. They placed a higher value on the character of a person more than what garb they chose to cover their genitals with. Those stripping women in the name of guarding our values, please go jump off a cliff, and leave me the parachute. Had you done what you did last week,during the olden days, you would be skinned alive and your skin used to make a skirt for the aggrieved girl. Some men are unwilling to admit that a new age had dawned upon us, but are more than willing to reap the fruits. They’ll pay for a prostitute, stick their dicks in anything resembling a vagina, leer and spank any ass in sight. The only way they would be able to do things like those is because Women have decided to take their sex lives into their own hands. They aren’t bogged down by what a patriarchal society has outlined for them. We aren’t going to make better opportunities for the girl child to learn, become a Wangari Maathai or a Margaret Kenyatta, have her travel to distant lands and fly our national flag high so that she can come home and be told what to wear and whom to fuck. A long frock doesn’t a saintly woman make, and a micro mini doesn’t relegate a girl into the depths of whoredom. Its 2014,we are putting space probes on comets, we have a black man in the most powerful office on earth and I can dial-a-diaper!I think it’s time we came out of the closet. It’s OK to be horny. It’s ok to want to have sex indiscriminately with whoever you please. Coitus doesn’t turn you into Hitler, and being aware of your sexuality don’t make you any less African.It also looks like we don’t have much of a choice anyway but to adapt. The brutal scenes last week, scream of a male population obsessed with the female body. It arouses in them such feral desire, and since they don’t know how to express themselves in a more appropriate manner, they finger and spank the stripped woman under the pretext of safeguarding morality. Everything about a man is designed to please a woman: the strength to protect her, the mouth to talk to her and make her feel beautiful, his courage, to woo her. Even our dicks fit snugly inside her, all to please this queen. And as servants to royalty, we have failed our liege and disgraced the kingdom. A woman was formed from man. So you can’t hate women, because it ultimately means you hate yourself.


He said He’d give us good women in all corners, then he made the world round Then laughed his ass off without making a damn sound I speak to a chick, she think my shit is profound Then I make her cum so many times that she lose count.

First its hi there, and its nice to meet ya Scope the pedicure then her backyard features If she keep stroking her hair then I’m a hit that Till that pussy red like the wrapper of a KitKat I’m equal opportunity but I like it if her ass fat.

So when she sits on my face I’m breathing like I have a gas mask If she call me and get rejected that means I blocked her They get possessive coz I eat pussy like it was prescribed by Doctor When she blows me, she gagging I throw her some Cofta Then she suck it till she’s all blue, Diego Costa.

Sometimes they need instructions so I’m like “You gotta swallow it this way” So before she rides, she spits on it like Shetani Ashindwe After four rounds she get tyred like Kingsway I just made her pussy creamy like chocolate swirl Then make her call two of her friends now its the Powerfpuff girls Mess up their self-esteem and Yaki Brazilian curls.

They say that D built like a bruiser Coo at my girl and tell her she lucky I chose her. In her campus dorm I hit it before she does her homework like Eve D’Souza. Sure baby you can play a love song And fantasize. She want me to wear a rubber, I didnt know they made protection in my size So when you’re hearing her sharp cries I’m on the 51st shade in between her thighs.

Its the Knight that gives you a facial Been in love with the Kardashians so I’m trying to do it interracial Thats three sisters and I, you gotta love the ratio My verses are Classic like that station on the radio.


FacialKnight, Nymphomaniacs
As the most qualified member of the male species to offer them representation (quit giving me the side-eye lads) I’m here to re-negotiate our contract ladies. It has come to my astute attention that some of my brothers have been subject to the most gross of human sexual abuse. The kind that hasn’t been witnessed ever. Yes, even since we realized dicks and pussies were bff’s. Ladies, I thought we had called a truce. Did we not agree to live in peace, strip each others clothes off and boink like bunnies as a sign of prosperous times? I even signed the peace treaty, look on the dotted line, the semen isn’t even dry yet. Granted some of my brothers have been acting like neanderthals, but the punishment must fit the crime. But no, you had to go ahead and unleash on us the plague, best known as Nymphomania. It sounds like a dream come true, doesn’t it gentlemen! A girl who is always horny, all the time! The fire brigade couldn’t put out the fire in her pussy if they tried. Always ready for another round, always wants your dick in her mouth, and her pussy on your mustache! Need some vaseline guys? She is the complete opposite of the normal lass who has to be coaxed with sweet nothings and lots of money, into sex. Acting like we super-glued that vagina between her thighs purposefully to spite her. Always has a headache. If your chick has a regular headache, get that girl a CAT scan or get the f*** out, she don’t want none from you! Or bonyeza ushinde a lifetime supply of painkillers. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, and according to Spartacus, the Romans loved to fuck. The nympho was sent to earth to serve the interests of a male species whose brains gorge on sex and the female form. Or, were we sent to serve her? A friend of mine started dating this girl who was sexy as fuck! Her eyes just oozed “come fuck me” and her ass was so round, I swear it had a horizon. She made us drool! Lucky bastard. After a few weeks of hitting it, we started to notice he was always sleepy when we hung out. Eyes half closed, struggling to stay awake. At first we urged him to stop putting in so many hours in the office, all work and no play you know.Then one day he just spilled the beans. That she was fucking him too much. Like the old RnB songs, she actually made love all night. Was she was going for a world record? She wanted to fuck at noon, at 6 p.m, then at night – fuck from 10 p.m till morning. Then repeat! Everyday. Fucking, fucking, fucking. I got exhausted just listening to him. Some of the other guys looked like they’d just had sex on his behalf. You know it’s bad when your friends have that post orgasm yawning after your sex tale. We all looked at him with the pity befitting an Arsenal fan after a game with Chelsea. At some point he came close to asking her, “Wewe nani amekutuma! Rudi umwambie siko!” We saw his obvious distress and advised him that this was a three man job. That he should search for two of her exes and if he could only find one that would have her back, then he’d just have to dump her. Yes, I realize our clique isn’t exactly the Einstein Brain Trust, but what else were we to tell him? I personally thought he should man up and die an honourable death, inside a vagina. And be buried there too, save us the funeral costs. No one’s going to truly mourn any man that dies in pussy anyway. Lucky sod! Ladies, whoever in your camp came up with the nympho idea, needs a raise, a lifetime of gratuitous oral sex and a star on the Hollywood walk of fame. Apart from it being an act of terrorism, it’s a stroke (hehehe, stroke) of genius! If a man spends most of his time having sex and working, when will he have time to chase other skirts, or drink himself into a stupor with his boys? A man’s mind is surprisingly single tracked. Either we are getting money, or getting fucked. When we take a break from getting money, we want to enjoy it by using it to get us laid. That’s where the dating and prowling for girls in bars falls in. However, if there was to be an abundant source of good sex, anything else would struggle to get a time slot. So that idiotic 90 day rule is best used to wipe the mud off your heels ladies. To all prudes, prim and proper girls who have “class” and also not forgetting the migraine enthusiasts, please, open your legs and your mouths so that you tire this man into submission. Do you think you have the time to go through a pond of frogs to get prince charming? Turn the peasant into royalty. Fuck him to an early grave, give him a warrior’s death.

On a recent episode of Scandal, resident heroine, Olivia Pope, went toe to toe with her Father who happens to be a feared spy master. Her Father, with all his vast resources and the support of the United States Government behind him, could not match his daughter. She stood up to him and told him, “I have weapons at my disposal you couldn’t possibly imagine” The weapon in question is the tempestuous affair she has with the President. With one phone call to her Democrat lover, Olivia managed to convince him to make a decision, that put the President in direct conflict with her Father. The fate of the nation, was decided by a woman’s promise, of possible sex. Sounds stupid? Probably, but not if you’re a man! I don’t mean to portray men as helpless, sexually wanton idiots, but we kind of are. If a man knows there’s a possibility that he is going to open the thighs of his object of desire, see that lovely rose gleaming at the petals with wetness. That he is going to dip his dick in this elixir of pleasure and abandon, while looking at her face to see the ecstasy glazed on her eyes. The moment he knows that, mountains become molehills in his quest to accomplish that. History is littered with instances where passion played this part. History might as well have been written on the lips and folds of pussy! Adam and Eve, we all know how that went. The war of Troy, was fought over the beautiful Helen of Troy, the face (more like ass) that launched a thousand ships. Samson and Delilah, the girl started the first Kinyozi, but for very murderous reasons. David and Bethsheba, Solomon and his 900 concubines, the list is endless. Pussy is God’s longest running practical joke on mankind. We are told he created us in his image. If we are created in the image of the most powerful being in the Universe, it makes sense that he would’ve created a fail-safe, a kill-switch so that we, marauding monkeys that we are, wouldn’t destroy his creation. He did create one, pussy. If we are in possession of such an astounding weapon, what have we done with it, that can be left as a legacy to future generations? Well, let’s ask the holders of the weapon. Let’s see now, countless abortions, fucking dogs for porn, participating in 100 men one pussy orgies (yes, that happened), exchanging pussy for Guarana or cab fare from the club, going to raves and becoming pregnant without knowing who the father is. The more evolved ones, use birth control at least, but only when it suits them. If it’s more profitable to get pregnant, they will. To fleece a man of material wealth, or imprison a married man. The most powerful instrument on earth, and they use it so that they don’t have to pay fare in the Umoinner. The reason, sex is so powerful, is because women are born nurturers. They were given the ability to create something out of nothing, nurture it to full maturity, then go on and do it all over again. The reason this world is in such a muddle, is because we relegated the woman to the kitchen. When men took control, women had to have their say, and it was through the only thing men can’t live without, sex. So it has become a currency, that comes into use whenever a woman needs something that at the moment, only a man can give her. A nd this happens a lot! The reason women haven’t changed the world with this power, is because they find it hard to rally behind each other. Jealousy and envy are their worst enemies. They imagine that the next woman will have a higher position than them, and that becomes the point where they vote for the male competitor. I don’t need to drive this point home, look at our political landscape and the female players are more often than not, nominated. I assure you right now, were women given the task to end world hunger, we’d all be obese. Just look at the work or regal First-Lady had put into ending the Maternity mortality rates. So impressive is her work that she received an award from the UN. Often have my friends remarked that they would’ve voted for her, had she run for the highest seat in the land. You could burn all the guns in the world, destroy all the nukes in all the silos and disband all militia in war-torn countries, but if you can’t destroy pussy (pun intended) you would’ve been better served twiddling your thumbs and singing Kumbaya. It is a double-edged sword that carves out its marker either with blood or royal ink. The world is clitoris shaped, we just need to convince these ladies to rub it the right way.