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Minx, Secrets
The silkiness of the sheets against my naked bum, softly caressing, rubbing against my warm skin. The scent of the lavender candles, their aroma mixed with a bland smokiness from the wick as it burns turning into ash that settles black against the purple scented wax, dripping, settling and hardening on the beautiful brass holders in my hotel room. 30 purple candles provide the only light, an orange glow, casting warm shadows, laying gently and illuminating everything in a decidedly sensual manner. I could see it, a memory in my mind’s eye, as I lay there, eyes shut, dark blindfold cast over my eyes, silently hoping that the crackling heat I could hear wasn’t the flames jumping from candles to curtains. It’d be a bloody shame to die that way, CAUGHT IN THE FLAMES OF PASSION, the headline would read. Her story as comical as it was tragic. A woman laying in bed, naked and throbbing, waiting, anticipating, then dead, all because the rules said she couldn’t open her eyes for anything. Not even fire! Where was he? Was he there already? Had she missed his arrival as she was contemplating death by fire? Was he watching as she squeezed her trembling thighs trying to calm the throbbing button that was begging for release. No, she couldn’t have missed him, not with her other senses sharpened acutely by the lack of her site. He wasn’t here yet. Would he come? Was he even a he?!
0

Secrets
The last two years have been the worst in terms of my sexual luck. Best in sexual lack actually. *sigh* I know what you’re going to say, girls can’t have dry spells…well, that is one of the myths and misconceptions of our sexual generation. We do have dry spells and they’re way way worse than a guy’s simply because of the stunning variety of men we’re expected to choose from! Yeah, yeah, I know how that sounds. You boys are about to ‘check your privilege‘ me. Girls, I know it sounds counterintuitive but you’ll see why the more wolves you have baying at the moon between your thighs, the less likely you are to be having sex. The problem is the quality of men asking for your hand in marriage pussy. If it were just dick we search for, picking a willing male would be easy as pie. But Nooo, our bodies are built different. It’s not just any old phallus that’ll make us tingle and spurt genital juice in orgasmic splendor. (Isn’t that the point?) No, we need way way more than just penetration, a little in and out action and some clit play. First and foremost, we need to actually be attracted to the guy inserting himself into us. Is it the same for guys? No, the pussy works for him either way. Yes, even when dead, a female will still give some necromaniac mortuary attendant the time of his life. Trouble is that that treacherous organ, pussy, only works for its holder after she’s met some excessively high standards for the man her brain thinks she deserves. Do you think Njoki Chege likes that her body has taken all the dick holders that own blue subarus out of the equation for vigorous horizontal hugging? I’m sure she realizes that there’s some good dick hiding amongst the beer guts in that subgroup. And don’t forget all the men below that subgroup (Subaru group?) she’s inexplicably excluded from her list of eligible cocks to suck. There’s definitely some of that magical fucking she’ll never get to experience á la poor sex. Poor boys just give the best dick. I’m not even going to debate this, all you ladies know that this is the goddamn truth! These guys have literally nothing else to offer that’s as concrete as their rock hard dicks, veins all filled, stiff and pulsing, unclogged and healthy from all the beer and fatty nyama choma they could never afford to feast on, always standing straight, little eye winking at you begging for a little kiss….*looks around* I swear I wasn’t touching myself! Now just imagine that Njoki Chege’s brain refuses to let her pussy partake in the delicacy that is the horny poor boy and enjoy it! Yes, she may part her legs for Johnny wa mtaa after reading the paragraph above, but she will not know earth shattering release because her brain, and ultimately the all important nerves in her coochie will reject him because she craves sex in a Range Rover Vogue! So do not condemn that shallow girl that says she won’t sleep with a man if he doesn’t have a car! Do not tell me that my dry spell is my fault when all my Minx desires is a man that’s in my bed but my brain won’t give up the long distance relationship with a sexy intellectual for nothing! Our bodies are at war people, some more than others. Organs fighting for supremacy. Boys are lucky, their dicks won the war at the beginning of time. The ‘who to fuck’ decision comes easy to them. Girls are perpetually trying to pick the right outfit from a closet filled with clothes that don’t fit! Do not mock Njoki Chege, pity her. It is not her fault that you boys prefer your Blue Subarus to her.
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Secrets
Originally posted on Adventures From The Bedrooms Of African Women here Chuma lay in the dark and tried to stop his dick from rising. He tried – and failed – to stop his ears hearing his girlfriend Amanda disrobe.  First the tud tud of her cloth-covered buttons as they slid roughly out of the button holes. He could hear it slide over her shoulders, her arms and drop to the floor. Chuma pictured the downy, fair hair on her arms. In even the weakest sunlight, she seemed to be covered by a layer of beach sand. He thought about how that blonde hair lightened, became almost white against her orangey skin in the summer. “Chummy? You awake, Chummy?” Amanda whispered. Chuma could smell the heat from her skin, the perfume she applied between her breasts wafted into the still air in the room. He could smell her armpits through the failing deodorant she wore; a symptom of long hours kept at the office. He heard the slight tink that told him she had unclasped her bra, followed by a soft sigh. It joined the blouse on the floor. Chuma’s dick pushed against his trousers. It hurt. Denim was no good when it came to erections, but Chuma could not afford to wear pyjamas to bed any more.  Not if he wanted to be on time for his 2 am graveyard shift at the taxi rank. “Chummy? I know you’re awake.” Zip.  “There goes her skirt,” thought Chuma. His body stiffened. His dick grew harder. Chuma trembled as if from the cold. If anything, he was warm. Too warm. The essence of Amanda took up every bit of room in and around him. “Com’on Chummy. You promised this would be the night.” Chuma shut his eyes tight. He could feel her walking around to his side of the bed. Her jagged pencil heels ripped out bits of carpet as she walked. “Chummy?” Chuma could feel her peering into his face. The warmth from her breasts was like the sun. He was not sleeping and he knew she could see he was not sleeping. “Fine,” Amanda sighed. “I’ll do it myself then.” Chuma missed the heat on his face as she walked away, taking off her shoes as she went. A dip as she got into bed beside him. The duvet moved. Sweat prickled all over his scalp. By the time the slap slap and the sticky squelching began it was all Chuma could do not to cry. Amanada moaned as she fingered herself. Chuma knew all her motions by now; round by gummy round, the slapping, the tweak and pull, one finger; two fingers, up one side; down the other, followed by more slapping. Swallowing his saliva felt to him like eating cotton. He wanted to turn around and grab one of her heavy pink-tipped breasts, making small, farting sounds from where they had fallen into her moist armpits. He wanted to suck and suck and suck and bury himself in her until his balls were high on his waist and covered in her juice. But of course he could not. He would be late for work again. And of course, he was no longer allowed. Not until he was willing to use his tongue on the pink, swollen flesh dripping with thick sap like the broken leaves of an aloe plant. “Chummy! Chummy! Chummy! Oh! Oh! Fuck! Oh! I’m coming!” Amanda screamed in that silent way only she knew how. A shudder went through him as he soiled his pants. It was all over. Amanda mewled like a cat, licking her fingers one after the other. Her harsh, laboured breathing settled into softer moans and relaxed sighs. Chuma waited until she started snoring before he got out of bed to clean himself in the bathroom. Closing the door, he switched on the light and pulled out his dick. The dick which gave Amanda so much joy when they first met on the Tube six months ago. The dick which she now did not want near her when she found out he could not do what she seemed to need the most. It lay half-limp in his hand covered in his sperm like a vomiting snake.  Amanda had crossed her legs and he’d caught a glimpse of the thick pink flesh, like lips through the blonde beard of her pubic hair. He had looked away guiltily but when he looked back she winked at him and crossed her legs again. The men on either side of Chuma nearly expired. One, the dark-haired man to his left, actually winked back at her. Amanda pretended not to see. “What’s your name?” she said loudly over the aisle. “Sorry?” “You heard me.” “It’s Chuma.” “Nice name. Does it mean anything?” “No.” He didn’t want to get into the meaning of his name in such a manner, over the rumbling tube, with eyes and ears paying attention. “Liar.” Her eyes flashed with amusement and Chuma smiled. He knew she understood. When he got to his stop the woman had stood as well. The dark-haired man to Chuma’s left gave him an evil look. “I’m getting off here too. Fancy that,” she said even though nobody asked her. “Which way are you going? Me too!” She said when she heard his answer. And then she took Chuma by the hand and led him in the opposite direction to where he as going and fucked his brains out, half-standing in the doorway to her flat, not caring who could see. Chuma hadn’t even known he could find white women attractive until then. And he hadn’t left her since. His possessions were in a duffel bag in her wardrobe. All he owned in the world; a few shirts, trousers, a flat cap, a pair of trainers which were worn from being passed down. He kept them as a reminder after even Amanda bought him a new pair of sturdy black boots. A reminder of his good fortune in meeting her. Not that he needed to. His colleagues at the rank reminded him how lucky he was every day. They thought him a fool for not acquiescing. “You be fool o,” said Kofi. “If na me, if she talk say make I chop her asshole I go ask if she wan make I put salt!” They’d all laughed because Kofi was as rascally as he was gay. But he’d caught their pitying looks behind the smiles, the curiosity as to what he had that could keep a woman like Amanda. Chuma wouldn’t let her drop in to see him at work. He was ashamed of his status, of how his friends would look beside her. He was also cautious. He did not need anyone to spoil his good fortune. The thought of putting his mouth on that part of Amanda that drew like okro soup made his stomach cold. It felt good on his dick, especially without a condom. But the one time he had tried, he’d clutched his tummy and puked all over the bathroom floor. “Brother, just chop small lemon before you start,” Obi advised. Obi was tall and quiet with a round, bleached Igbo face; a man who had quiet, loftly dreams. “It’s not bad at all. I was even doing it in Nigeria, small-small. Now the thing it sweets me o. And even our women like it, not only for oyibo.” Of course Obi got married the next year, to Shirlee his darling and moved to Hertfordshire where they owned an African restaurant. Obi was doing well. Chuma turned on the tap and rinsed his penis in cold water, wincing as it wilted. He dried it on the hand towel, cleaned out his boxer shorts with toilet roll and tucked the whole thing neatly away.  Amanda still lay snoring. She clutched the tip of one breast in a sleepy fist like a greedy child. Her bras fit Chuma’s head. Her pussy glistened dully in the light from the street lamps behind the drawn blinds. Chuma approached her gingerly, so as not to wake her. He did not want to offer her false hope.  He sniffed her. She smelled of sweat and a bouquet of other things he had no name for, having always washed himself the moment he was done. The heat from her almost singed his eyebrows off. He closed his eyes, stuck out his tongue and gave it a little lick.
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Cheating, Minx
I have a married friend. Just one. Yes, we’re just friends… I have this rule. An anti-married men rule. It’s not because I’m particularly moral, we all know I’m not. (If I was hung on a tree I’d be a Christmas whorenament) My rule is as a protection. Everyone knows that married men are the biggest heart breakers! 80% of my girlfriends are dating or have dated married men. I realized this a few months ago and it’s led to my questioning thoroughly my friend picking techniques. Am I attracted to people that have no respect for the institution of marriage? We all know I don’t believe in cultural or governmental ties to a person. Was it birds of a feather or nah? Then I realized this, ‘good girls’ are also magically drawn to the taken guy. The allure of a commitment phillic guy is universal. We all want this ‘supposedly’ loving and responsible guy for ourselves. In this age of guys picking PlayStation 4, Xbox, iPhones, Subarus and hipster events over their rachet begotten offspring, who could blame us? Responsible men are a black grain in an ocean of white sand. I thought I’d found the answer for sure. That we’re just deprived of good men and we must inevitably fight in the ulimate competition, for the few good ones! Whomever cannot keep her ‘prize’ happy must suffer the consequences of losing him to a more worthy opponent. All’s fair in love and war. This was war. (cue in evil laughter) Hahaha! But…but….but… There was a thought hanging on for dear life at the edge of my consciousness. My mind was made up, I had my answer – women are predatorial beasts fighting for the only chunk of good meat amongst tonnes of rotten flesh… – but there was this idea that refused to let go. A troubling question that sent me digging. What of those girls that got lured into these traps without ever knowing of his marital status? They didn’t know of his responsible nature or his propensity for commitment, so why were these girls enough in number to warrant a thought into different theory? Well, my research showed me the light! Girls. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT!!! You are not the sluts in this thing! Your judgement isn’t flawed! Our generation isn’t just a bad one. WOMAN! You are not conditioned to be a second wife! MAN. Your kind isn’t all bad with a few genetically modified good specimen. Nah…you’re just evil, using a natural law of nature against the females of our species. Once a man is hitched, that faint smell of desperation that hung on him during his bachelor days disappears. He’s got regular pussy, a constant companion, someone required by government and society to love him even when it’s near damn impossible for even his mother to. When his balls start aching for offspring he’s got a willing womb at his disposal, ready and willing to bear him heirs to his beaten down jalopy. Ah! The wonder that is marriage. The married man does not need you hussies. He’s got his beloved building a home to go back home to. He may not need you but this doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. For the first time in his life women are flocking towards him, he doesn’t know why (I do) but he’s not wasting the opportunity to prove to himself and his boys that he’s still a major stud. He isn’t. So what’s happening? He is simply no longer desperate. Women love this! Men are always such sniveling pigs, coming after every skirt with the drool hanging precariously from their lower lips, threatening to land on our bodacious backsides with a shake of their heads. The taken man does none of this disgusting drooling after women. His calm and confident demeanor often has women doing the chasing after him. He has that bad boy ‘I got bitches’ aura. We can’t resist it. We are all attracted to the taken man. I won’t deny it and you shouldn’t either. For the majority of women, finding out that he’s someone else’s immediately turns the attraction off. He becomes disgusting to think about. Others don’t have that luxury of an off switch though…either they do not have it, and lucky are they to feel no guilt after the inevitable married man freaky dicky happens OR they weren’t given the chance to use the off switch at all! We all know married men do not like to admit they’re unavailable. It’s a cruelty I tell you! To deny a poor woman the chance to tell you no, and leave her the guilty mess that’s an involuntary home wrecker! Tsk tsk! Stop doing this btw. You are being Hitler on small scale. It’s not nice to ruin a woman’s psyche for the purpose of ego building. If you must have an affair, do so with a willing female. If there are none then sex workers exist for just this purpose. Tafuta langa akugawie. It’s not that hard to find a willing fuck aye. Here’s a good new year’s resolution for all our readers to follow, BE A BETTER PERSON Start with telling babes you’re taken you incorrigible flirt!
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Secrets
In society single mothers are viewed as either saints or whores. Yes, I understand that it’s much the same for other women, but I assure you that for mothers, the judgement is much much worse. When your womb is fresh and the skin of your abdomen supple and unmarred with unsightly stretch marks, it’s acceptable for you to move from one man to the other with just the excuse “he wasn’t right for me.” Provided you don’t dress like a lady of the night or drink like a Scot, society will brand you respectable and laud your man hopping as the mark of a serious girl that knows what she wants.
“That one is not in a hurry to get married. She wants to be an established, independent woman of means before she settles down and gets children. She wants to have lives her life and had her adventures before she becomes a monther. Hana mapepe.”
See, for single mothers dating in this form is unacceptable. You cannot go from man to man, leaving them ovyo ovyo just because ‘it didn’t work out’. That’s flimsy and will brand you the most feared of all tags, ‘Bad Mother‘ *shudders*. How dare you expose your children to your whorish behavior of loving and leaving men just because you’re not compatible in any way? Your problem is that you keep on picking bad men! Why do you think it’s acceptable to introduce your child to three different men in before he/she has turned 18? Raising your child in an unhealthy environment, for what? Sex? Si ukae bila mwanaume! Take a break from men. Funga miguu ulee watoto wako! Who’s raising your kid as you go spreading your legs for every man that calls you his fierce tiger (your stretch marks are beautiful) and your hole is super tight – like a virgin’s…? Who do you expect to look after your kids after you catch a disease as you prostitute yourself and die? Eh? Tell me? Why can’t you just stop with the dating and concentrate on your kids? All these questions! From well meaning family and friends who think your child is going to need therapy just because mommy has a healthy sexual appetite and a standards scale that won’t allow her to stay with a man who declared during the first date that he wants to marry her, just because he wanted to get into her panties that much faster. Yeah lads, we see right through that ploy. Just because I’m a single mum doesn’t mean my clit throbs at the mere possibility of a wedding to legitimize my existence as a mother. I don’t need a ring to raise my children. You feel awkward that I pushed a life out of this vagina that you want, before getting married, I don’t. So don’t come at me with the
‘you’re marriage material, these unattached girls aren’t serious enough for me, yes, I think I will marry you if you make me happy, can I meet your son, he’ll love me, he can call me daddy if he wants, how’s our beautiful daughter, did she get better from her flu, tell her daddy says hi…’
on the first, second, third date. It’s way creepy! If I’m going to sleep with you I’ll do it regardless of whether you take an interest in my child, if sex is what’s on the table. Superimposing yourself into our lives and deciding without being asked, to be the dominant father figure in my child’s life just to get pussy is presumptuous, disrespectful and very weird. If I do sleep with you after all that, I’m doing it, IN SPITE of not because of your weird seduction methods. Single mothers are people. Horny people. Emotional people. Imperfect people. We are going to date. We are going to have sex. We are also going to fall in love and have that relationship go to shit. My mother was a single mum at some point in out lives. That was the happiest time of my childhood because she was happier than she ever had been or ever would be, in those few years of ‘freedom’ from marriage and the shackles of men. She dated, she brought the guys home and they proceeded to take us out too, to impress us. I loved it! Awesome outings, expensive gifts, a happy fun loving mother! She was honest with us about her life. Telling us everything that was going on in an open manner easy for kids to understand.
‘I cannot be with him anymore because he smokes. He cheated on me and I found out. There’s no way I could stay with someone who I wasn’t in love with. He got too clingy and that can beget a dangerous obsession if left unchecked.’
I have never again been so connected with my mother. Instead of breaking me down and ruining my childhood, those years made me a better human. I have the emotional stability of a Buddhist and the sexual self confidence of a renaissance madam. I learned that it’s ok to want to be happy. That it’s ok to be yourself and have people respect you for it. I learned that the only way to ensure stability in my family life was to be honest about the goings on in it. Children are part of a family too and truth should be the source of your stability, your family’s foundation. Kids aren’t stupid, they know when things are wrong, hiding it from them only makes them feel insecure. So be honest with them about what makes you happy, do not hide things from them for the sake of respectability. That bond you formed during breastfeeding goes both ways. Your kid will know you’re lying even before your mate does. Your child will sense your unhappiness beneath your smiley facade. Growing up with a depressed mother is a nightmare! Then they’re told by friends how you used to be crazy happy, spontaneous and adventurous and they can’t shake the fear that it’s their fault you’re so unhappy. They will grow up insecure because you just couldn’t give in and get some. When society tells mothers to ‘slow down’ we realize that we are far off from total liberation from repectability politics. We are saying that girls are allowed to be ‘wild’ and free but it’s not acceptable to teach our children that it’s ok for them to be so…
Of course it’s alright for a girl to be sexual…just not in front of the children! *gasp*
I’m always saying that the things common to every human being are the things we never put to voice. Sex is one of those things. We not only do it, but also, it’s is the reason for our being. We live through sex. We live to sex! We are born sexual creatures, by our mothers, who are also sexual creatures. Why is it that we decided as society that these would be the last people to be allowed a sexual personality? It is unhealthy of you to raise your child in an environment devoid of sexuality! There! You will raise an emotionally stunted child that clings to your image of sexual purity and who will come to think of the sex act as a dirty depraved thing. So go ahead, single mother. Decide to live your life without men. Ignore your body and it’s needs. Become bitter, say all men are dogs and stop dating altogether, because you got tired of the lectures on man hopping. By all means, shut your legs and see if your kids give you a thank you card because of the occasional uncontrollable fits of anger and melancholy you get because of the frustration brought on by lack of sexual release. Sacrifice! Oh yes, they will be grateful to learn of real life relationships from Alejandro on telly instead of from their saintly virgin mum who would die before she let a man touch her down there before her kids are all out of the house. Forget that you shape the world view on women and instead become the version of us you wish you didn’t have to be. I know dating is hard but it was hard even before you got a child. Yes, men are pigs but…ok siezi watetea… You deserve happiness regardless of how much your last kid stretched you out. There’s chubby chasers out there that thirst for your tyres. There’s men out there that’ll only ask to meet your baby after a year plus of dating and will never presume to replace its father. There’s guys out there with mandingo dicks that’ll make you grateful you’d passed a human through your vagina before meeting them. There’s so much adventure and love to be had if you just found the courage. It’ll make you better, I promise. A better human, a better woman, and most of all the best mother you could ever hope to be.
1

Secrets
I fall in love in the first 3 words he says to me. Always. He doesn’t actually have to say them. Not in this internet age. I only have to stumble upon a status update, a weird tweet or his amazing blog and in that moment, in his next 3 words, I am his. Words are liars though. I’ve learned this over and over again. I can’t trust anybody’s words. I wish that stopped me from falling in love. Or at least falling in love with the unattainable. I wish I could meet a guy the normal way and like him. The normal way being through his voice or his clothes. A glance. A touch. A smile across a room. Drunken dancing in a bar with his hard member rubbing against my plump ass cheeks. Ah to be normal! Yes, I do meet men like this. In offices, shops. Walking about town. In church, when I go… I have moments of madness where my heart tricks my mind that…no, my mind tricks my heart…no, not that way. I don’t know which body part decides first that I can be normal. But it’s always trickery!!! Thinking about it it’s probably my vagina weighing in on my partner choices with the bad advice to go normal. That bitch always wants variety in dick. My intellectual choices are never good for her. Must be her. All the men I meet through words. All of them. None of them have left me sexually satisfied. None! Zero! I’m sure you’re thinking, oh they’re intellectuals! Geeks don’t know how to fuck!!! And that could be true. Whether small or big dicked, geeks generally should not know how to lay a person. It’s scientifically impossible for a geek to give you good shag if he’s not your ‘The One’ (everyone knows The One is a sex god for his intended) For one geeks are porn addicts. Yes, all boys addicts at some point but geeks! Weh! These boys are on some Super Porn Lord level of Porn wizardry. They’re naturally open minded and this gives them agency enough to delve right into the deepest darkest recesses of the weird porn industry. You DO NOT want to search through the rotten imaginations of these depraved geeky minds. Unless you’re me of course. I’ve been told I’m crazy, by trained professionals, I am turned on by these crazy porn addicts. Especially if they’re in the recovery stage. Because what did he see that made him realize he needed to stop? How far down that rabbit hole, falling through endless loops of big titties, granny porn, hentai, bestiality, hermaphrodite shenanigans etc etc, did he have to go before saying “Fuck it! I need my humanity back!” No way someone that’s spent their sexlife beating off and not talking to real women would know how to fuck a real life pussy. But that doesn’t matter to.my mind or heart. These weirdos with their extreme intellect, endless debates about the nature of consciousness and their super porn addictions, are my drug!!! I love these people! But they never want to have sex! Not with me. 🙁 I have had romantic relations with geeky people of the opposite and (sometimes) same sex. They’re fun. Way too much fun. As I said, I fall in love every time I meet one. In the first three words. We talk, a lot! We impress each other -or at least they impress me. We sext, send nudes, talk about the future, especially our future boning but none of it ever materializes. Me and my obsession with words! I can’t stop making them mean things. I can’t stop listening as others use them to make me hear their meaningful phrases and sentences, as they share their thoughts with me. Their ideas of the world, of themselves. Their ideas of me. These words have me in an overly extended dryspell. Words can’t have sex with me! They’re not tangible! But people make words. They speak them. All the time! People have genitals. That could mesh with mine as their mouths regale me with the most gorgeous of lies and tales… Ah to be so lucky! No, I have resigned myself to a fate of listening to endless beauty without hope of ever fulfilling my fantasies of bedding a word genius. My P, is now the decision maker, having cast aside the dryspell happy heart and brain. She decides when she’s had enough of sweet, clit throbbing sounds and where to take all the moisture she’s created in readiness for penetration. My vajayjay doesn’t care how smart whoever enters her is. Besides, she reasons, at the point of entry he might as well be Mr. Bean for all the rational thought he’d be able to manage without adequate blood supply to his brain. They’re all stupid once the little head fills up, so why not just pick a stupid one in the first place. It’s sex not TED Talks! Well Minx, when was the last time we had pillow talk so good we wanted to shag him again immediately after? Answer, 2011 and only because it was revenge sex and the conversation was about destroying that bitch… So, I want a geek! I need a geek! Why won’t a geek shag me though? *tears and a gulp of wine from a box* Fuck you Life! You’re such a collossal bitch! To give me a sex drive that could power a second moon landing and then make me attracted to people with no interest in coital relations! Such cruelty! Aye Life, what? Are you married to Genghis Khan or something? Sleeping with Hitler huh? Wait, threesome with Nero and Kony? Evil bitch!
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Minx, Twitter Story
https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531462995499843584 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531463468302745600 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531464214012235776 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531464603679866882 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531464938968334336 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531465381362540545 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531465711118712832 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531466185062490112 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531466514403442688 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531467366782476288 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531467737827409920 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531468140941950976 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531468471834787840 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531468773275226112 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531472292845727744 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531472652184338433 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531473094947651585 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531473387693301760 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531473834202128384 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531474401469165568 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531474822015225856 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531475292263809025 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531475604940808192 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531476152259727360 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531476617424818176 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531476953237569537 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531477314434248704 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531477644035235841 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531477810746232833 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531478581927747585 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531479385363464193 https://twitter.com/Swaggattraktion/status/531479975946616833 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531480222986932224 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531480545289859072 https://twitter.com/Swaggattraktion/status/531480649925132288 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531481382254809088 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531481732399505408 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531482161543925762 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531482623399698432 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531483149940060160 https://twitter.com/SiriZetu/status/531483559778082816
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I have been told that I fap too much by concerned friends. No, they didn’t do it intervention-style, but they would have if they knew each other no doubt. Aye, alcoholics out there, the best way to avoid an intervention is if your friends and family never meet each other. Hii mambo ya introductions muachie the sane, drug free, non addiction prone members of our society. So, back to my nether activities. Well, for those who haven’t been paying attention, I only learned the joys of diddling my nubbin in a few months ago. Don’t get me wrong, I already knew what an orgasm was, and not just from the Mills And Boon stories of my youth. No, a flesh and very hot red blooded male from my past decided to ruin sex with lesser mortals for me about two years ago. His extensive foreplay, lots of vodka and not so substantial equipment, made me see stars. I had the universe behind my eyelids for what felt like a fleeting second but he says I was down for almost a minute, shaking and making sounds he describes as a cross between that laughter that comes from deep within the stomach, and the crying of paid Luo mourners. I couldn’t even be embarrassed. I’d just experienced heaven and I was obsessed with recreating that sensation. Years later, I have given up on the male species. None can recreate that feeling but he who induced it that first time… Yes, I did it with that guy again and no, he didn’t make me cum. With that evidence in hand, I concluded that Eros possessed him that day. The charm, the care, the absolute romanticism of that day, no, it could not be the work of a human. Only a god can make you see heaven. Logic people! Logic! So, until Eros possessed some man out there and ravages me once more, heaven was barred to me. I became celibate. This year, Aphrodite, my Minx’s personal god, felt it good that I learn to pleasure myself. And so it became. My clit for some reason gained about a billion nerve endings and man was I grateful!!! One random day reading through Literotica and feeling myself up without expectation I experienced an intense heat in the pit of my stomach that made me moan like an animal! I was shocked! I wanted more. So I did it again, that light touch across my extremely engorged clit that made colours spin and my legs tremble. A few more and my world shattered. It was magic! Well, months later and I now know that there’s a few types of orgasms out there. There’s the little ones where your pussy tingles and the sensation travels as far as your knees. There’s the medium ones that cause you to tremble all over a little bit and last for about 10 seconds (yes, I have the discipline to time them, for science, for you!) And there the huge ones! These are the kind that make your legs weak and if you’re unfortunate enough to experience them while standing, well, you’ll be very acquainted with the floor when you’re done writhing around in absolute wanton pleasure. One big one actually made me cry…a little. It was one tear! I had a mini black out and when I came to my cheek was wet. It was surprising but that’s one of the best I’ve ever had. I’ve squirted FYI, it was once, at the beginning of my experimentation, and I had done an insane amount of research over the internet on how to make myself do it. 90% of the blogs were written by men: How To Make Yourself Squirt by Some Man. smh. I’d totally get it if the guy was telling other men how to make their woman squirt but noooo, he’s of the balls decides to educate women on their bodies. It’s like a woman writing: Scrotun Care; A Complete Guide On How To Scratching Your Balls. Absolute nonsense! One lady wrote an awesome guide on squirting and as soon as I duplicate my first result I’ll definitely give you the lowdown on that. My fapping adventures continue though. I can’t stop now! I’m basically a teenage boy right now. My 15 year old ‘penis’ won’t let me stop touching it. Besides, Aphrodite and Minx have given me the gift of orgasm, it may not be heaven but it would be rude to throw it back in their faces and stop fapping. So, I’ll keep diddling my kambosho thank you very much! Feel free to call me an addict. All I am is a girl in love with her pussy.
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Transcription Reke gwire, my dear, arume matiendaga mundu wa kanitha, urehage ukanitha nginya uriri. Muthuri arenda gukugarura, arenda umuigire itina wega, na we urehage ukanitha waku hau ati “Hutia kahora”. Riu “hutia kahora” ni kuuga atia? Kai atare ukaiga maguru mothe at ease, ukamunengera kiria arenda nginya mundu ucio akonaga ta wena ngoma, e nginya kumuinirira ukamuiniria piu! Ui ta, nkt… Wee ni kii uruiga wee… Noo nyende ni direrehe mundu wakwa ukorwo wee hau wee onere gwiko ni kuuga atia. Ni ukahe mundurume nginya akiiciiria kana ni anaheo githemba kiu, riu akoona “Hapana!”, na gutire gwa kinya muthenya angitaganirio maguru githemba giki, na tuu gutagania maguru. Ni ukarekaga nginya akahutia akaigua “Yes, ee theinie”, na ti ithero ri huu, ni wera wee huu. Reke giikwire, ukanitha dwendagwo uriri. Tiga kurehaga ukanitha uriri na meciria maingi uriri na stress uriri, ni kio urathie ukahoria. Wa maanisha ni guthie ku-meet mundurume, thie u-meet mundurume na ngoro yaku yothe na utwite itua na meciiria maku mo? Mothe! No bure wakuua stress ciaku ciothe utware uriri, Ma Ngai, gutire hindi uka-enjoy maisha. No reke ngiguteithie, my dear, arume twena o thaa ici marenda mundu uramakenia. Ungekorwo ndungehota gukenia muthuri-gwo thaa ici, ona nieguthecaana na thie kundu kungi. Nie muthuri wakwa anjeraga live, “Kui, si ati sijawahi jaribu wanawake huko nje. No ngeragia ngaremwo.” Ati mundu muka ni athiaga akamurutira thuruari oguo, arora keino oguo, akarekania na kio. Bwana yangu hanifichangi chochote. Anjiraga, “Kui mimi najaribingi ku-date wanawake huko nje nikijaribu hata kuwatoa suruari hivi, inakuwa ngumu. Ndingehota.” Coz urathie… Anjeraga… Kama siku ingine alikuwa ananiambia, “Kui nitakuambia kitu na usione ubaya…” Ati athie, muiritu amuthumburete muno agithie gwake. Ati arutire muiritu ucio thuruari, athie gukoma nake oguo, ageririe kuinirira akiigwa muti niwaheha, tundu una muiritu daregariora, amuigerie uguo akee kana anoga atige, nginya akirigwo ati fata wa muiritu ucio agitiida akimuuma thutha an ndari na wira aramuteithia ni wa kii? In fact, onandacokire kwa muiritu ucio renge. Na ilim-take time kuniambia hiyo story. Mpaka aliniambia… Aliniambia, Gai, Kui, tiga gucooka kunjekaga madharau tundu ni utumaga nyingere magereinio mange nditendete.” Gimwera, “Kindu gi fata no ndukandehere murimu.” Muthee wakwa, una wona tukehetania, ni mugima munu. Akinjiira, “gai, ni remwe…” Ni nie ndamwekete madharau ngimwigataga live an nindaninire mweri mugima ditegokoma nake. Reke gekwire, arume ni mathiaga nja, no reke gekwire, ukuro niwigaga muthee wako uria kwa kwagiriere, umuheaga itina riki, ona angithie eeke malaya fifty, akili ciake irihoraga oo wee. Ona athie akore malaya kana mitego ihana atia, akili yake… Muthee wakwa nginya ahureire thaa mugwanja, “Kui, ni ma ngeretie gukoma ngaremwo.” Ndiramwera, “Ndukahota gukoma tundu ni uramenya ndi kuraihu. Reria nyuma hau hakuhe, urekaga ciana madharau.” Tundu, nie tuhetanagia gwika ciana madharau, akarega kuhe ciana indu iria irenda. Nie una ti nie muno endete muno, ni ciana. Reu ni urona reu ndungehota guikara hau werorere ciana ikiria thena, ni huu tuhetanageria nake. Noo, reke gekwire my dear, maisha mendaga mundu active, atwiki active maundoini mo? Mothe ni uku-enjoy life. Translation to: Kiswahili / Sheng’ Wacha sasa nikuambie, my dear, wanaume hawatakangi mtu wa kanisa, ati ulete ukanisa hadi kwa kitanda. Mwanaume anataka kukugeuza, anataka umwekee matako vizuri, na wewe unaleta ukanisa wako ati “Nishike pole pole”. “Nishike pole pole” ndio kusema nini? Si ni uweke miguu yote at ease, unampatia kile anataka mpaka huyo mtu anaona ni kama unakuwanga na wazimu, unamsugua unamsugua kabisa. Wee ni kama, nkt, wee ni nini unasema wewe… Naeza taka nilete mtu wangu ukuwe hapa uone kudinya ni kusema nini. Ni unapatia mwanaume mpaka anashindwa kama amewahi pewa hivyo tena, mpaka anasema “Hapana!”, na hakutawahi fika siku atawahi panuliwa miguu hivyo. Ni unamwacha ashike mpaka anasema, “Yes, iko ndani!”, na sio jokes ziko hapa, ni kazi iko hapa. Wacha nikuambie, ukanisa haupendangwi kitandani. Wachanga kuleta ukanisa na mafikira minig na stress kwa kitanda, ndio unaenda unazima. Ukiamua ni kuenda kupea mwanaume, ni upee mwanaume na roho yako yote na fikira zako zo? Zote! Bure, ukibeba stress zako zote upeleke kwa bed, aki ya Mungu hakuna siku utawahi-enjoy maisha. Lakini, wacha sasa nikusaidie, my dear, wale wanaume tuko nao saa hii wanataka dame atawafurahisha. Kama huwezi furahisha bwana yako saa hii, atakutomba na aende kwingine. Mimi bwana yangu ananiambianga live, Kui, si ati sijawahi jaribu wanawake huko nje Lakini, mi hujaribu ninashindwa.” Ati dame anaendanga anamtoa suruari hivi, anaona senye hivei, anamalizana nayo. Bwana yangu hanifichangi chochote. Ananiambianga, ui mimi najaribingi ku-date wanawake huko nje nikijaribu hata kuwatoa suruari hivi, inakuwa ngumu. Siwezi.” Coz unaenda… Ananiambianga… Kama siku ingine alikuwa ananiambia, “Kui nitakuambia kitu na usione ubaya…” Ati alienda, kuna dame alikuwa anamsumbua sana akaenda kwake. Ati alitoa huyo dame suruari, akiishia kumtomba hivi, akajaribu kuamsha, mti ikakuwa baridi, juu huyo dame hakuwa anajipundua, ati anajigeuza hivi anampea akae na akichoka aache, mpaka akashindwa haja ya huyo dame kushinda akimfuata na hana game inamsaidia ni ya nini? In fact, hata hakuwahi rudi kwa huyo dame tena. Na ilim-take time kuniambia hiyo story. Mpaka aliniambia… Aliniambia, Gai, Kui, wachanga kunifanya madharau juu unafanyanga niingie kwa mashida sitaki.” Nikam-show, “Kitu ni bora usiniletee ugonjwa (HIV).” Mzee wangu hata ukiona tukikosana ni m-adult sana. Ananishowingi, “Gai, siku moja…” Hata ni mimi nilimfanyia madharau nikamfukuza live na nikamnyima mwezi mzima. Wacha nikwambie, wanaume hudinyana nje, lakini wacha nikushow, kama unawekanga mzee wako vile kunatakiwa, unampatia kuma kabisa, hata akienda adinye malaya fifty, akili zake zitakuwa kuwa tu kwako. Hata akiwekwa box na malaya ama akaliwe chapati, akili yake… Mzee wangu mpaka alinipigia saa sita usiku, “Kui mi hata nimeshidwa kulala.” Nikamshow, “Hutaweza kulala juu unajua niko mbali. Siku ile nilikuwa karibu, ulifanyia watoi madharau.” Juu mimi na yeye hukosana juu ya kufanyia watoi madharau, anakataa kupea watoi kile wanataka. Mi hata sio mimi anapenda sana ni watoto Saa unajua huwezi kaa hapo uniona watoi wakikula shida, hapo ndio huwa tunakosana. Lakini wacha niku-show, my dear, hii maisha inatak msee ako active, active kwa kila ki? Kitu na ku-enjoy life.
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afrisex3 Let me taste you, just a little. But you are tasting me. I like it so very much I want more. You can’t have it all at once. You’ll die  of awesomeness poisoning, and we can’t have that. Ha ha ha! Ok. I’ll bite 😀 No, I’ll nibble. Nibble away, baby. Slowly….. Slowly. Put it here. *Puts it there.* A lick and it’ll go even slower. A lick where? Wherever you want it. Behind my ear. I’ll lick it then blow gently into the wet spot. Your turn. Where do you want this tongue to play? On my lips. Touch them with just the tip. Just the tip of… what? Your tongue. Alright, let’s start with that. So, I run my tongue gently along your lips. What do they taste like… Honey and pepper. Then you… I part them slightly and the tip on my tongue tastes yours a little before I shut my lips again. You taste of nuts and cream. I pull you closer, close enough to fell your heart thumping through your chest. I inhale you, then I bite your lower lip… I sigh out loud and you take advantage of my parted lips and kiss me deeply. I wrap my arms around your torso and push myself up, into you. I grab your arse, hard, and kiss you full-on your moist supple lips. I can feel you hardening against my front. I bite your lower lip and widen my legs a little… Soft flower, ready flower, I can feel her pulsating moisteness. She is ready. I can barely remember our clothes coming off… She is ready, that heady musk hits my brain like a train. *LONG INTERMISSION* Sorry, phonecall. Oh timber. I call timber. Warm, strong, poised. Iron. Ready for me. Heated. Rhythmic. Pulsating in time with my fleshy folds.   afr ero   Heaven, this is what it is. Hell, these thirsts seem unquenchable. Are you the one to sate me, free me in your chains? Can you find satisfaction with one intent on increasing the depth of your longing? Can you be sated? Because I never want you to feel sated so long as you’re intent on invoking this deep, heated… Can satisfaction come from an increase in hunger? Isn’t that we’re here? To figure that out? What if we never do? What if… What if… What if… What if we do? What if we do and it’s all boring from then henceforth? We love or we learn. Forever doesn’t have to happen but we can search for it. Even a slice of it is more than many people will ever experience. As I said, perfect :-* :-* :-* Perfect is flawed. Beautifully. Painfully. Give me the beauty, give me your flaws, give me all your ugly and your insane. All the rage and your pain. I can find light all on my own. It’s your darkness that I want. You’ll have it. I used to run away from myself and it’s tiring. This is me. Warts and desires and dreams and fears. Thank you, for sharing myself with you. Ha ha, I should thank you. I can be naked with you. And you have been naked with me. I think there’s space enough for both of us to be thankful. afrhm What are you afraid of? You’ve been so busy thinking of all sorts of kinky things to do with me you’ve forgotten 😉 Ha ha ha, no. You’re afraid of disappointing your parents. What else? I’m scared of not doing anything with my life, of being a loser, of failing to live up to my potential. What are you afraid of? I’m afraid of being forgotten. Of never accomplishing anything life changing, not for me but for others. I want to be remembered a thousand years from now. I’m afraid of death, of loss in general. I’m a hoarder of souls. I don’t like to let go. These last two, I can relate to. I hate losing friends. I can’t imagine that all that emotion expended was for nothing. I know! Have you ever been at a point in your life where things just seem so undecipherable and nothing seems to be working? And then one thing or one relationship males sense and works? Then you find yourself grasping at it and the harder you grasp, the more it slips? Yeah, in my last relationship. That’s what it was like at the end. School and life in general. Nothing makes sense any more and trying to unravel it all….. When everything’s going wrong and you’re clinging to just that one relationship, it’s probably the reason everything is wrong in the first place. I agree. But what if there’s nothing to grasp? Like you’re floating in a vacuum? You let yourself float then the universe gets a chance to decant you from the mess of a life that’s not meant for you. Haven’t we floated long enough? Yes, but this fluid we’re in isn’t as viscous as the last. I’m finding it easier to navigate, to ground myself. I’ve never felt more lost. You’re a stranger and I’m baring it all to you. You can only find something after you’ve lost it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been waiting for me, you don’t sound like a stranger at all. It does feel strange, to some degree, after a lifetime of wearing masks. ….And that’s one hell of a pick-up line. Smooth 😉 Is it scary? Thank you 😉 Not any more. What does one really have to lose, being completely honest and open? The best interactions are based on this, so it’s a great place to start. I wish I could see your face as you say these things. Just to witness the intensity of all these revelations. Very few people can stand this intensity. Are you sure you’re ready? I’m not just ready, I’ll match you heat for heat, emotion for emotion, promise for promise. Let’s dance, let’s dalliance too. I like that. No. I love it. Give me more. Slowly, mami, slowly… I’m impatient for you 🙁 Show me, how do you look today? Scruffy, like the writer stereotype :-/ I have a thing for writers. They have a thing for you too 😉 There’s only one I’m interested in 😉 *blush* Evening walk. Catch you in a bit. Keep your panties on. I didn’t wear any 😉 images-2
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