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FacialKnight, Marriage, Real Life Stories, Relationships, Secrets, Twitter Story

I’m having a very hard time getting a Domestic Help for the house. Juggling our jobs, while taking care of the baby and house chores is quite stressful. I am glad I’m in good company, as I found out that many Men out here are also looking for a Domestic worker, they just prefer marrying one.

Seriously dude?

I have serious concerns about this generation. We are the most technologically and academically advanced generation, to date, in  the history of our nation but our Social nous is straight out of the dark ages. Our conscience is in a proverbial sate of Jekyll and Hyde. Capable of tremendous innovation but plagued by an antiquated sense of morality.

It’s quite the puzzle don’t you think? Allow me to explain to you why such a forward thinking generation can be shamefully backward. It  is because we pick and choose what to advance and what to store in the attic along with Cow hides and Magic potions

You see, Kenyans love status. They love anything that gives them an edge over the next person. When someone goes to school and masters their field of study, they are held in high esteem. That’s why we refer to each other in professional terms. Daktari, Wakili, Engineer, Boss. It sets you apart from the rest of the herd, makes you feel special. The same goes for our various cultures. Can you imagine if everyone was made equal in our traditions? No man would ever thump his chest by virtue of what dangles between his legs. There would be nothing to give Men an edge over Women. That is why no matter what postmodern era we are in, people will always gauge a Woman’s inherent value by her ability to carry out domestic tasks. Tasks which, going by our own cultures, are beneath Men.

I remember reading somewhere, that Men  were taught many things, except how to deal with empowered Women. To an extent, this is true, how many times have our Aunties/Uncles asked our Ladies to tone down their overt shows of financial independence all in the name of “Nani atakuoa ukifanya hivo”. Lets not forget the famous Christmas Carol “Bado hujatuletea mtu?”Followed closely by the smash hit “Utaosha aje sufuria za mtu wako ukieka hizo kucha?”

Understand though, the aim of all this demarcation of labour with domestic work being the sole jurisdiction of women, is to safeguard the fragile Male Ego. In relationships, women who give in to this social order do so to avoid heartbreak. You see, there is always a stronger, more handsome, richer Man eyeing your Woman and if you can dull her beauty and power by reducing her to your mboch, then the competition won’t see her. 

“A Man who marries a beautiful Woman, is like the farmer who plants maize by the roadside”

Most Men see it as a matter of inevitability that she will be stolen or taken by a much more deserving Man! The Male ego is a trip!

Ukweli tu usemwe, wa kukuacha,atakuacha. Akue kwa shamba ama Business Class ya British Airways na hakuna kitu utafanya mjamaa.

Taking the above into consideration, don’t you think it’s incumbent upon you fellas, to make sure your Woman is firing on all cylinders? Don’t you want to the world to see that you bagged a sexy as hell bombshell? I love when a Woman is the best version of herself, when she is following her dreams, when she looks and feels her best, when she is truly happy. Men crave the loving of a good Woman, not realizing that what makes her good is meeting her full potential. 

As Men, we need to ditch this archaic bullshit and cultivate relationships based on Honesty, Respect, Understanding and Love because those are the qualities that will outlast any traditional notion you might have.

Now, harusi tunayo!??


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”.

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?!

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.

“Don’t ever make me jealous” He says. I nod, too confused to speak. Flashback on the events that preceded me being tied up and teased into submission. image He is screaming blue murder as he rams his fist into Jack’s face over and over. I am screaming, begging him to stop as the people from the party rush out to see the commotion. Some guys finally hold him back. Jack staggers onto his feet, his face is bloody. “WHAT THE FUCK BRO?” he shouts at my man…I tell him to get back in the house to avoid more chaos. The host is angry because the neighbours have started calling her asking about the whole melee and in that instance I get sober. He scares me when he gets angry, it’s a part of him that I avoid at all costs. He is seated on the hood of his car, his body visibly shaking in anger. I walk towards him, slowly.
You…damn.YOU HAVE NO SHAME” he shouts.
I’m crying.
You call me up to pick you then i find you and him frolicking right outside the gate…Zero shame
Our gazes are levelled now. He is breathing fire and brimstone. “Your tears don’t move me.” I try and touch him and he slaps my hand away. This is bad. By now everyone has gotten back to the house for the initial housewarming party and its just us two outside in the cold. The cold that I don’t even feel for the fear that fills me to the core. “Babe, please, he didn’t touch me!!!” I cry! “I don’t care, I have warned you about that…boy enough times” he says voice full of pained disgust. “I’m sorry!!!” I beg and hug him forcefully. He stands there like a boulder, unmoved. I hold him like a vice as I sob into his chest, hoping the tears will quench some of his thirst for vengeance. They don’t. “Stop it!” he is calm now.”I said stop! Here, my hands are hurt, take the keys…some lessons need to be learnt in a manner that you will become accustomed to, let’s go home.” I know what he means and that my body cannot withstand that torture. As I drive down from Kitengela I keep on apologizing hoping to deter him. He just rubs his sore knuckles in silence. We stop at South C’s Oil Libya and get a bottle of Famous Grouse, he opens it on site and takes a huge gulp. That’s it, he is still angry. We get to his place, I suck at parking  so it takes a while, but then again it could just be stalling tactics and he calls me out on it. He leads me towards his apartment as he takes more gulps. I know what this is, we’ve been here before, but am afraid of him and what he might will do to me. image
Don’t ever make me jealous!
He is peeling of my dress roughly and tearing my thigh high stockings. “Sit!” he orders. I comply. He takes another gulp from the bottle. “Part your legs!” He is treating me like a whore…I cry. ” Whaaaaaat?” he is removing my bra and pulling my nipples roughly. The pleasure and the pain have my body in disarray. He kneels between my spread legs and pushes me back to lay on the bed. “I won’t share this,” he kisses my inner thigh. I squirm in pleasure. “Relax woman!” He is leaving  a trail of kisses down my thighs then takes a pause to look at me and desire rips me apart at the seems. “New panties,” he says as he playfully tags on the hem. I nod. “I like them.” He kisses the little triangle of fabric then slowly removes them and buries his head…there.That tongue, those lips and ultimate surrender to his lusty nature sends me cumming in ways that are unknown. image He is on top of me now, biting my ear as he rams me endlessly. Too rough. Aiming for his own pleasure. He stops and looks at me “Will you let him touch what’s mine??” I shake my head. His look softens, placated, and he goes slow as he looks at me dead in the eyes. We watch each other as we get consumed in that fire we know all too well. We swear our love to each other as we climax and go limp. I know that it has just begun, he is a marathon man and that was just the warm up. image

Cheating, Humor, Mofeas, Real Life Story, Secrets
It is said the road to perdition is paved with good intentions. I’m afraid i’m about to become a poster boy for this saying very soon. My end is nigh but if I’m to serve as a cautionary tale I’d rather it be in my own words for the sake accuracy. You see I’m not a relationship expert, I don’t do counseling. That’s the sphere of shrinks. However, my magnanimity disposes me to offer my assistance in whatever way possible when it is sought. My efforts towards that end are not always appreciated and the circumstances that led to me being a marked a man are a testament to the unthankful nature of homo sapiens. A lady colleague turned to me recently with her marital woes. To my credit I did warn her that I’m no guru in matters marriage having yet to encounter a lass crazy enough to gaol my ass for the rest of her existence. She insisted though, saying another colleague who has graced my coital abboitre had spoken highly of my slaughter skills. This perked my interest, I do indeed know a thing or two about inducing multiple orgasms. Now we were in Mofeas zone, I was all ears. Apparently her hubby of a few years was stale and monotonous in bed. He was a one trick ninja solely versed in the kendo technique of stab, stab, stab, collapse. She wanted to take charge but her inexperience in the coital arts prior to marriage meant she had no idea how to spice things up. She was also not about to ask for help from her girlfriends since that would be akin to issuing a press release on her deficiencies – her words, not mine. She needed discretion and had decided she could only confide in and find succor from yours truly. I couldn’t help but oblige after such a passionate plea, at last my porn stash was going to be an educational aid apart from serving its higher purpose of as a fap aid. I took sweet little missy to class ardently. I was determined to make make a bedroom warrior princess out of her. I took her through literature studies ranging from 50 Shades of Grey and Cosmo to the Kamasutra. We had marathon sessions on premium Pornhub and old school role play porn, you have to know how to instigate a rough pounding from mundane activities like doing the dishes. I had her doing pilates, kegels and gag reflex control routines till she was doing things to a banana that would amount to criminal abuse of flora. Boy was she a good student! In a fortnight’s time she could comfortably accommodate my king sized kong down her throat and look sexy as fuck as she swallowed every drop of jizz she’d coaxed out my grapes with her skillful tongue. After running the gamut of all her orifices, I felt my work was done. I was such a proud tutor. I issued my seal of approval with a good rimming and reluctantly with a tear in my eye and a throb in my gonads gave her power to practice all that pertains to her new prowess on her husband, the lucky bastard! I felt good about myself, no one would ever say I have never done a selfless act after that. Next morning, I’m in the office bright and early eagerly awaiting feedback. Madam walks in looking disheveled and out of sorts. I take that as a good sign, she must have rocked ninja’s world a good one yester night. Then the saga unfolds. So ninja had come prepared for his usual swordplay but he had another thing coming. Madam had taken over and unleashed her new found kata moves, this wasn’t going to be the usual one man show. Ninja was surprised at first but soon seemed to take it in his stride, after all no one can resist the linguini executed with a touch of reverse cow girl. In fact ninja was putting up a decent fight for once. His sword was miraculously transformed from a weak alloy to one made of valayrian steel. It endured bravely for four rounds only finally honorably bowing out when madam sheathed it in her posterior outpost, hemispheres it had hitherto never experienced. Ninja was thoroughly worn out but spotting a stupefied grin by the end of that pelvic combat. As they lay there panting, he sat up all of a sudden and grabbed madam. She was pleasantly surprised still revelling in her afterglow thinking another round was forthcoming, but woe unto her. She was served three abrupt kumanyoko slaps. Apparently, it had just occurred to ninja that her transformation from expert in kifo cha mende to Nefertiti come to life could not be a miracle. He went ape shit cray on her demanding to know where she had learnt the extreme stingos she had just pulled on him and self preservation led her to blurt out that I was responsible complete with my address. She was walloped a good one and last she had seen ninja he was assembling an arsenal of crude weapons while singing war songs and chanting the various varieties of heinous acts he was going to perpetrate on my person before dispatching me to my maker. I’ve been forced into hiding hoping reason will eventually prevail and he’ll understand that I was actually doing him a pro bono service. In the meantime, I can’t go back to my day job so I’m offering coitus improvement classes for y’all lasses stuck in missionary land. All you have to do is feed me and hide me. A man’s got to eat and if i’m to die then i’ll have done my bit for society. Holla. Posted from WordPress for Android

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.

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*

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.

Real Life Stories, Secrets
Ooooooh, sooooo good! Oh, God… Fuck! (Keep going.)
I am buried in her, well, I am trying to bury myself in her, as she seems to have buried herself in me. This, for me, is more than just a fuck. I give an actual fuck about this one, more than I ever have with any one. The energy ebbs, for an instant before resurfacing with a vengeance, the ecstasy cools, then burns. I am almost there. She places her hands gently on my hips and pulls me towards her, big earnest eyes, pleading.
Keep going. Don’t stop.
So I do, responding to her every instruction, thrust after thrust. This is no longer physical. I am reaching for her very soul. I find a slice of heaven instead, somewhat painfully. The beautiful pain of pleasure? She smiles, satisfied and almost smug, as she watches me.
I love your fuck-face.

Why do I get the feeling you have more fun when I cum than I do?


Stroking my back gently, her warm soft hands reach up to my neck. She lingers at my ears, and presses them to my skull, turning her hands slowly to caress them with her wrists.
You like that, huh. (Yes, I do. Keep going.)
Stroking my hair now, the back of my head,
You have a good barber. Your hair is soft and I like the way it fades downward.

I’ll tell Maina you said that. (Arsenio Hall, baby!)

We are done for now. We have chased the dragon and we have caught it, it now lies writhing and sated within us, resting until the next… Until the next. I get off heaven’s stairwell and lie on her left. Our mouths, naturally, search for each other. This is the one Usher sang that song for, this woman.

Can I kiss you?

Of course. You don’t even have to ask.

Hot, wet, barely restrained, just barely. She is eating me, and I gladly offer myself up. She stops.

I could kiss you forever. (Keep going.)

Some part of my mind throbs, and will keep pulsating, for a long time, with that misunderstood of all feelings, the one that seems to creep up from the shadows and hold your heart and your sanity hostage. You know the one. I dare not speak it out loud, lest I spook her.

Wah, you are good! (Keep going, baby. Stroke this ego.)

I will not believe her. Humility becomes me, with her. In this, anyway.

You’re great too! You weren’t lying, yellow ngwacis are the best! Hii ni diabetes tu, nakuambia!


We sure are not talking about sweet potatoes. I love her laughter. It is pure. I smile in the darkness. In my conquest, it seems, I have been conquered. I wish I did not have to leave for so far, for so long, in the morning. This is more than just fucking. I hope she feels the same way. We whisper to each other, I tell of dreams and falling-outs, she of fears and setbacks. She is real, human, no frills, no chills. Who would not be enamoured by her? I kiss her fervent honeyed lips again. She searches it out, my tongue, and sucks on it, almost tearing it from its base. Is that blood I taste? No, that is heaven.
Eat me, take all of me. Keep going.
She brings tears to my eyes. Her hunger is pain. My pain. I stop her, gently biting on her lower lip, sucking on it, then biting a little harder. I am turned on again, but this one will have to wait. Tomorrow is for our fires. We draw close, her head on my chest, and she pulls up the blankets into some adequate enough cover. She will move away at some point in the night (morning?) I burn feverish, for some reason, superb for cold nights. This is not a cold night.


Our eyes crack open at about the same time. “Good morning”, we both say, and grin like idiots (we probably are). Kiss.

You feel nothing for morning breath.

Nope, and…

Slithering down, her thighs part gladly, willingly. I taste her softly, then nibble hungrily. Breakfast of champions.

Ooooooooh! Whaaaaaaat?! And you eat ngwacis in the morning!? (Keep going.)

Sweet sweet yellow sweet potatoes. Not for too long, just long enough, then… I am seeking for her soul again, inside her, half-deaf and hallucinating (this must be the diabetes.) Where did this goddess come from? Is that a phone ringing? No. We keep going. Then, a slight glance to the right, on the bedside chair. Hers, it is glowing. She turns my head back and stares… forces me to stare into her eyes. I could look into them forever. It stops ringing. Then starts again. Fucking annoying things.
Now what?! I have to take this.
As she does, I keep going. I love watching her trying to keep a straight face as she listens, then she mouths,
What?! Now!?
Pure irritation. She stops. Her change is dramatic. I stop completely.
That was my bro. They are coming over with my sister.

Where are they now?

They’ve just left church in Buru.

My bro drives fast… Like a maniac.

FUCK! Instantly limp and peeved, I slide out grudgingly and head to the shower. She tries to hold me back.
But, you didn’t cum… (Don’t stop. Keep going.)

I cannot.