Thursday, 26 February 2015


He wore tights. He really wore tights.

She was unsure if she was supposed to be impressed by this or the many other mundane things he’s been saying to her. She wanted to tell him how this was a total waste of time and there was no plausible reason she would even agree to see him. But you know that force of nature? Or is it just how it happens? It was more like she didn’t care; she just didn’t stop talking to him. A bit of a welcome distraction? Maybe?

He was relentless.

And tiring. At the same time. She knew he was staring at a road with an obvious dead end, wasted energy he could be expending on another potential, on another road that might just lead him to where he wanted to be, but instead she was enjoying one of the many temptations she so desperately did not care for. She assumed he had one of those mundane reasons for talking her up. Chief amongst them, obviously was the sex. She was sure, almost absolutely sure that she wasn’t a top ten prospect and she wondered why he was even trying. But then, she didn’t stop replying. Every sentence seemed to elicit a reply. It was like a game of miniature chess. One, desperately probing. The other, tactfully dodging. Sometimes, her own thoughts seemed to confuse her. She wasn’t sure if she just wanted to fuck him, or just enjoy the thrill of the game. Or just be entertained. Sit down and be amused. All day.

All night?

Because, you know, sometimes, the sex can be amusing. On top of you. Huffing and puffing. And then you have to respond to the lowly thrusts and the need for a fair settlement by responding with fake moans and shit. Hilarity. Or just take the best of the amusement and run? Or like how when you respond with sounds and he takes it as a cue to go faster? No, fucker, I’m moaning because I like what you’re doing. Now. Currently. Keep doing it. Obvious science. But the male psyche is intrinsically foolish and amusing, and she knew she’d have to deal with it. Sometimes, she wished he’d cut the crap talk and tell her what he wanted to do to her. Sure, the crap talk was slowly morphing into more than crap, but the slowness of the whole story line was itchy. He’d sent her flowers, and she decided to meet him.

When he met her, they were both drunk He walked towards her, his gait slow and steady, unsure in it's approach, yet familiar and confident in the same sense. Was it the crap talk? Funny how crap talk can make you seen like you know someone. He had been here before, she knew his type, she had heard stories about his type, looking for one quick stop over before their next conquest. Yet this history wasn’t going to stop her from what she wanted to do, it only served to spur her on. She watched him, curiosity had built up this moment to be greater than it needed to be, he had confirmed her original prognosis of his character, and the satisfaction left a tingling sensation down her back. It might've been the liquor laced hopping in her cranium and maybe her chest creating those physical impressions, but she felt in control. But, was she just fucking this one? Or was he the one fucking her? She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing him to see a nice portion of her chest. Nonchalance would win this battle, most men are hilarious in their predictability, and that was the only true power she had over all. But was this a battle? Why did it have to be a battle? Was it her penchant for pulling things apart and putting them together again? She murmured, eyes low, peering at his brown skin, mentally chasing kisses up and down his neck. His lips were moving, but she hadn't heard a word he had said, and he looked at her expectantly as if awaiting a reply.

“I wasn't listening.

“You’re drunk?”

“No. I’ve had just one bottle.”


His accent was amusing. Not sure of how it happened, but light kisses replaced words. His hands clutched the back of her neck, drawing his mouth to hers and she felt the blood rush to the tips of her fingers. He moved his lips down the right side of her neck, and she threw her head back and thought, this was not miniature chess. She would run. She caught her breath as his warm tongue caressed her already erect nipple. He looked into her eyes, and she saw a flicker of exultation. He ran his hands through her hair. He played with her left ear, grinding his waist unto her already liquid middle. She parted her legs and wrapped them around his back. His already stiff maleness brushed against her sex. As he traced out a pattern down from her throat to in between her breasts with his lips, she felt his pulse pick up. Or was it her pulse? The touch from his tongue was so fucking light, she almost pressed her body against his tongue. He never really went straight for her breast, like most men do, he merely skirted around it, almost teasing, almost annoying. Flirting.

Like chess.

Never going straight. Moving in circles. Round her recently shaven sex. The prickly sensation combined with the roll of his tongue around her nipple created a lumpness in her throat, a lumpness she decided would never show in her eyes. Or escape through her mouth. Her core melted as his tongue followed a pattern against the same prickly hairs. Lightly touching on the tip of her sex, she gave away a tell tale shudder. She felt him smile, even though she could not see his face and she almost laughed at the hilarity of it all. He had smiled against her sex and she knew it. Without seeing his face. Combining the wetness of his mouth with the already liquid space between her legs, she arched her back against his mouth. She would let him win this one. Afterall, it was chess.

Small Losses, Big Victories.





Tuesday, 7 February 2012



I’m smiling. Or am I? Its been long. A million, no a gazillion thoughts swirl in my head, as I attempt to type. I’m sitting in a church, and a smile is stretched across my face as I think of the epic contradictions that are taking place. A house of worship, or is supposed to be, me and unbeliever sitting and typing blasphemy with my fingers and mind… the beclouding contradictions serve as a sort of high. What have I been up to? Besides getting bored by my lecturers lifting whole copied class notes off the internet, Elle Varner and Amy Winehouse’s voices competing for their space in my heart, welcoming my cousin to live in our home.. Its been a joy ride. Full of questioning, thinking, and the journey. And oh, I’ve had nigga’s sending me stuff to edit. Keep making a bruh feel like a G.


So. I have mad respect for someone who can see past my stupidity into the depths of my being. That means we're of like minds. I'm all about like minds, about souls of the same nature. Not even on a romantic tip, on a human being tip, those type of people are trust worthy, those are the type of people you can learn from, the type that won't lead you in the lair of bullshit. I don't like to mess with that lair. It's not really my cup of joe. So I was going through my old facebook pictures, a year can make a very large difference, growing up and then realizing you've grown up are completely different sensations you know? It's scary, going back to the same place, but knowing that you're a completely different person. I'm not gonna feel the same way I did about things a year ago, I've seen a lot, I've learnt a lot. Still, some parts are hard to wean off. You know, I desire levity yet emit a degree of severity. I want more levity despite my severity. I am a puzzle I cannot solve. Confused? You’re welcome to try. In actual fact, I’m plagued by this fact. That many people flippantly claim to know me when I’m not quite sure I know myself? Is there something I’m not seeing?
I try to follow my heart, to follow my own compass. At the same time, I try not to follow blindly, but pay a very close attention to where this heart of mine is leading me… I fucking like to question everything. Even my heart. Even the best of intentions. Of myself. Or everyone. I’ve come to see that behind even the best laid intentions, there is always a silver lining of selfishness, or drooping slivers of dripping hate. Its tepidly amusing eh? Every day, I wonder if I’ve reached that infernal point of no return, when I will find myself staring at the abyss, and triumphantly dive in… All I feel now is the sagacity that is my life in this period that will hereafter be known as the “yearning years”… I think I’ve lost all sense of good and evil, I mostly feel like good and evil is fused into one and that in every supposed evil, we can find the utmost good, and in every pure deed the most diligent dealings of evil. Black and White is boring. Gray is Key.

I’m ranting.

I'm not sorry.

So I've been in school for about 1 month now and unlike my last real semester here I have been as serious as possible, my entire life has been about work, school and "her" because I am trying to build a future. I rarely go out, I mind my own business and I keep to myself, completely out of the lime light, that's if you don't count the working and the writing, but at the same time that falls in line with my career so I cannot be judged because of that.
I have been a relatively good boy, a freaking monk some might say, at least compared to what I could be doing, at least compared to what most of YOU are doing. I’ve missed twitter too. Basically because I missed the epic “wisdom” that would have shone forth during the Fuel Subsidy issue. Haha. I can imagine. And per usual, I had an opininon, not necessarily about the fuel issue, but about the crap and totally bullshitty idea this is (was) “Occupy Nigeria” and the whole “Youth Awakening” bullcrap. See, I detest bandwagon activism more than anything in the world. You see peeps chatting about eating pussy 5 minutes ago, and in the same breath talk about a great Nigeria. Seems blatantly obtuse to me. These same folks don't have the depth and understanding to articulate a balance between Western Idealism versus reality versus private interests' influence on the democratic system, as well as the inherent tensions between a true democracy and a representative republic political structure. This is the problem with activism. How can people who have never studied about petroleum economics, have a tinge of understanding about the laws that guide the NNPC, have never really sat down to study the intricacies of Nigerian Politics try to even have any opinion on the Internet. Enthusiasm is not enough.

People who want to change the system don't understand the system, what they are fighting for, or against. The majority of the country has more interest in Occupying bullshit, than fighting the people bankers and brokers who really Occupy Nigeria. Our stupidity was on display for the world to see. If you want to come to the table and have a grown up discussion, you have to do the grown up thing and do research and find facts and understand the issues being brought to the table. Otherwise, shut up when grown folks are talking. The uninformed might bring popular attention and focus to the issue quickly, but does this change the plans of the government or their motivations? The biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves, and the powers that be see just how uninformed, ignorant and disorganized the opposition is. Like the pop saying? The only thing that history teaches us is that we never learn from it.
Narrow bands of ideology are almost impossible to sustain, because they require intense energy to sustain. If you ever put up Occupy Nigeria as your status, I’m talking to you.

Who’s laughing now? The funniest part is you don’t even know the answer to this.