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Do not eat when you’re hungry because you’ll end up eating junk. My mum keeps telling me that. For a really long time I thought it was torture. One of those things thin girls and thin girl wannabes do to themselves that never really make a difference. I hate being hungry. So why would I stay hungry to avoid junk food, which tastes really good in normal circumstances, but reaches incredibly unusual levels of absolute deliciousness when you’re starving? Huh? Nah, that’s for the skinny and the skinny at heart. I’m neither. So what changed my mind? Well, extrapolation of that principle to fit other areas of my life. There’s too many hungers in this life and too much delicious junk waiting to be consumed. Nowhere is this more apparent than in sexual hunger. The junk available to fulfill your every sexual need is ridiculous in its abundance. What? You don’t believe me? Why? Your dryspell says I’m wrong? Fair point. You’re wrong though. There’s years where your sex life is crazy! The rainy season if you may. Where all sorts of good, wholesome, genetically blessed – in both brains and beauty, people want to have sex with you. You’re usually already in a stable relationship, having your fill of some delicious pilau dick/pussy daily, to your fill. Pilau is a balanced meal in one. Starch, protein, vitamins and roughage come together in a beautiful combination with some spice added on to forever entice your taste buds. Your pilau mate is well balanced, perfect for you in every way. If they weren’t you’d never have commited to this one meal. You’d probably be doing that ugali/nyama/kachumbari combi that’s the perfect recipe for sexual gout (read: STDs). Multiple sexual partners isn’t your cup of tea anymore. The hitch comes in when you can’t taste the spice in your pilau anymore. It becomes boring. You ask around and ypu’re told to add some chilli to your pilau. That’s not interesting enough though. Not when there’s so many other good foods. You’re a consumer of means and your acceptance of commitment to one meal is attractive to other nutritious foods out there. It’s your rainy season after all! Hapa na pale you find yourself indulging in some nduma dick or ngwaci pussy, that nice girl from your office you’ve been flirting with or a fling with your boss on a weekend out of towner. It’s all good though, they’re all healthy alternatives to your pilau. Then it’s the burgers and pizzas of the sex world, celebrity booty, met them at a fundraiser or something, they were too gorgeous to pass up. Pilau will definitely understand that it was a BOGOF weekend, of celebs fucking down the social ladder. Some sausage choma, chapati madondo, roast maize, mutura, boiled eggs and rave smokies later you find you’ve downgraded to rachet foods. It’s all good, yeah…still got healthy pilau at home. You’re not all bad. One time though you realize, it’s too expensive to maintain classy pilau and keep your ratchet diet going. No time or money for both. You’re single now. All you’ve got is all that rachet junk food to fill you up. Beautiful, bountiful, why should you ever be tied down. All the food of the world is yours to have now. For how long? Who cares?! Your bad eating habits mean that you have no more access to all the good food of your rainy season. They don’t want your dried up cheating ass now. All you’ve got is that chips/sausage funga to tide you over day by day. Your body can’t take it though. Not for long. In a little while, without the roughage and vitamins you’re bloated, constipated and constantly fatigued. You need to stop. No more junk for you. Hearken the dryspell. Your famine is nigh. No more junk for you and the organic whole foods section is no longer available for you to select from. All you’ve got is rachets and they’re ruining your sex life! You can’t even cum anymore! You’re hungry for some release. You want some food. You need some! Badly. Your desperation is visible, like a green disgusting aura that surrounds you. You stink of it! Desperation makes you look like this (pic of gang green gang) to anyone you approach. They’re all asking one thing, why is he/she so hungry? What’s so wrong with this person that they have no one? Why doesn’t anyone want this person. You know they’re all thinking it. Or you tell yourself that they are, and this only makes you more desperate. This cycle of hunger, desperation and rejection is what I call: Dryspell Mania. You want someone good to settle down with and you want them NOW! Too bad, no one wants you back. This is the perfect time to go all Buddhist Monk and stop eating. If you don’t, you’ll end up wifing/ hubbying (??) rachets because of your fear of being alone. So be alone. Stop eating. Even when the hunger is so great you’re pawing at your genitals so hard you’re practically married to your hand, just wait it out. Wait until that point where you don’t even need to self defile to get through a day. Wait until you don’t drool every time you see the naked pizza that is Meagan Good’s nudes (those boooobs!!!). Stay hungry until you’re not hungry anymore. Take a lesson from Wiz and Kanye. We all agree that those females are fine AF but even Ares accepted Aphrodite’s rachetness. You cannot be a goddess and faithful. It is against the universal code. Divorce and heartbreak is what awaits when you eat at your hungriest. It’s the obesity of the relationship world. It’s what you get when you’re so desperate for love you go around falling for strippers.
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I’ve done the dirty to all sorts of music. Ragga, dancehall, rock, death metal (got chocked that time), house, dubstep and one very weird time, Beethoven. I’ve never liked this music and most of the time I didn’t insist on silence because I understood it needed to be loud – to drown out the grunting, hawing and heaving of my partner (I don’t moan, when I do I’m faking it, sorry all my exes :-/) I like quiet sex. Then I don’t have to spend 10 minutes of coiting trying to ignore Konshens telling me to bubble and concentrate on the pulsing of my magic button. Only once did I like the music played during and that resulted, quite honestly in some of the best sex I’ve ever had. His name is irrelevant but I named his D, ‘the one that got away’. You’ll see why in a bit. We met when I decided to turn up for my cousin’s birthday. I showed up at Buffet Park as they were watching the UEFA cup finals and first thing I said to her is, I hope you brought dudes because I need to get fucked tonight. She laughed and laughed until she realized I was serious and showed me who to keep my hands off. Everyone else was fair game. I picked one guy, dark, skinny, short. Just my type. A few minutes of very interesting conversation and he was relegated to the ‘too funny’ category. Everybody knows that funny guys have small dicks. No? Well…I wasn’t there to get the short end of the stick. I stuck to Mr. Funny guy though, he’d be my entertainment for the night. Penalty shoot out, Drogba scores. Chelsea wins, game over. Off to Psy’s LA where we proceeded to dance the night away. I met him there. He was part of our group, a friend if my cousin’s boyfriend. I’d ignored him because despite being short, he was wide and light skinned. Not my type. I wasn’t his either but after we’d both surveyed the area and abandoned all hope for finding prospects that met our sex mate standards, we mutually lowered the bar and deviated towards each other. A little dancing, a few black ices and lots of embarrassing motorboating pictures of him and I (delete those pictures cuz!) later, we left the club and headed straight to his place. He took a shower, we smoked a joint then we got down and dirty. That’s when things got interesting! First this one had the biggest D I’d ever seen and… and… and then he put on Sauti Sol!!! Whaaat! Drunk, stoned and horny I was in pussy heaven! Forget moaning, I sang along to everything!!! Missionary, Lazizi. Legs on his shoulders, Row Your Boat. Doggie, ah that doggie…Awinja ‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’, Bowane Lelisu eeh ‘Eh! Eh!’, Coming…comin…cumming Home. It was beautiful. *wipes tear* We blacked out and I woke up with the most beautiful feeling. I started plotting on how to get a repeat performance out of this sausage funga. Unfortunately, despite all my machinations he was adamant. No repeats, no surrender. I fear in all my singing I’d failed to impress this beautiful dick man and now he did not want to put his penis meat inside me anymore. I learned two lessons from that encounter: 1. To stop laughing at couples that jiggy to love songs from the 80’s. Those songs just get a girl in the mood. In all my cynicism against love, I’d failed miserably to grasp this point during my sex education. 2. The more you do to impress the person under you the less likely they are to reciprocate during that first encounter. If I wasn’t as awestruck as I was that time I probably would have killed it and he’d still be begging for some of this. Well, I probably will never get to taste his sweet D-elights ever again (punished him by never returning his favorite hoodie *evil grin*) but Sauti Sol are still here for me. Never disappointing. They even heeded my unspoken dream of a fap song. Video, lyrics and rhythm perfect for my yellow pages moonwalk within my mother’s union undies. Who needs a man when you’ve got Sauti Sol and sturdy fingers?    
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