my drUg!

Watching her breasts fall up and down as she inhales and exhales. Even her breathing turns me on…


I always know when she is ready. Ours is a routine I know by heart, although I don’t even consider it a routine; it’s more of a rhythm that my body and senses instinctively adopts when she is around me. A reaction of some sort. I lose control of my head coordination with my body, and the trouble is, I don’t mind it. Having her here, looking at her silky smooth legs waiting, begging for my lips to kiss them. I harden a little more. I need to get out of these jeans, too constricting.

She always sits at the recliner chair next to the bed, facing the screen, leaning back against it, and in the process exposing her neck. I nervously shuffle in my seat. Watching her breasts fall up and down as she inhales and exhales. Even her breathing turns me on. I take a long puff and lean back on the bed, one hand unconsciously resting on my crotch. She looks at me from the side and licks her lips, which dries up even before she is done flicking so she does it again. She knows where my thoughts go when she does that, I have confessed before. I close my eyes as the image in my head overwhelms me and take a deep breath. I see her head poised just above my manhood with her tongue flicking playfully at the head the way she is doing to her lips, her eyes never losing contact with mine. She then bites her lower lip and crosses her legs, letting her skirt dip a little lower. Her hand snakes to pull it up but then just rests at the exposed skin, her smooth shining skin inviting my gaze. She then proceeds to make small circles with her fingers, moving slowly, her eyes on me the whole time, her lips glistening with a fresh wave of saliva and I lose it. I inhale deeply, trying unsuccessfully to get my heat heart under control. Am burning. But I will not give in. I sit up on the bed facing her and have another drag, I know how her lips will mould into mine. I anticipate how they will receive my advances with the same soft pressure that mine crave. How her eyes will close, unaware of it she might be, matching me stroke for stroke, giving as much as she receives, generously, and still probing. Leading. She likes to be in control and I don’t mind following her tempo. As soon as my hands make contact with her skin, her heat making me ache beyond belief, I willingly give in to her. I don’t want to be in control. Her pace is never rushed, each move calculated to entangle my senses in a web that I cannot will not fight. Am a willing prisoner. I go through my existence in a blur because my mind can’t grasp any detail when am not with her. I walk around having conversations with her in my head, listening to her laugh over and over in my head, feeling lost until the next time she is in my arms and it all make sense.

In that moment, I give all of me to her, for I would give it to no other. And when she reaches for my hand at her most vulnerable moment, right before her world explodes, I know am not alone in this boat. I squeeze her hand reassuringly and her hand squeezing mine back is the last straw. I let go with her. Spurts. Stars. Feeling and filling forever in a single minute and loving every instant, with all your nerves exploding in harmonious understanding of why they exist.

Hours later I watch her sleeping in the crook of my arm, thanking the stars for crisscrossing our paths. Being in her is not the climax for me; nor is it my lips exploring every inch of her body, licking, tasting, reaching into every dent, every crevice, wanting her whole being, her very essence to be absorbed into me. That is not the treasure for me, although it comes real close. My paragon comes in the form of her hand reaching for my hand; in the pressure of her hand squeezing mine back at our most connected moment. Our most intimate minute. That’s the instant my life makes complete sense.

Happily Never After!

I sniffed in the air, still with my eyes closed. And then the sound. Bang. Phone clattering. A gasp. The feeling. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Nor know. In those five seconds, with my eyes still closed, I prayed as I had never before. Not for me. Not even for her. I prayed for it not to be her…but i knew!

That first time I saw her, she was walking down the stairs, her right hand buried in her pocket, her left swinging with each step, complementing the rhythm of her hips. She was looking down, didn’t even see me as I stood transfixed at the bottom of the stairs. I thought she might have been counting her steps, or the stairs, her face was that in earnest. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs did she look up and for the tiniest millisecond, our eyes met! There were no jolts of electricity, or shimmers of colors at the edge of the eyesight, as I would have expected. None of that. She gave me a nod of acknowledgement; not the kind someone gives you because they know you, or they have seen you somewhere, no, not that kind. It was more the kind of nod that you give to strangers when you catch them looking at you and you don’t want to seem rude or self-conceited; the nod to acknowledge their appreciation of how you were created.
I smiled at her nod and watched her behind as she sashayed past me, every bit as conscious as I was, of how beautiful she was. I shook my head.
God created.
I waited at the stairs, hoping and praying for any small sign that this would not be the first and last time I would see her; am not going to say that I felt something deep, something that was not going to be ignored, that’s too cliché, but I did feel something. I just did not know what it was. So I watched her retreating back waiting for her to turn back, just for a second, but she rounded the corner and was gone. The only sign she left behind of her having passed that hallway being the whiff of her sweet perfume which I figured would be lost in the next ten seconds.
That is how my obsession set in. Might have been the lingering perfume with promises that drove my senses wild, or the way the baggy army pants hang on to her hips and let her slim legs be lost in the excess material that made it a trouser. Might have been her counting the stairs. Might have been her curt nod of acknowledgement, or maybe the mouth that had the look of giving so much joy if left a little bit unrestrained. Might have been all that and more. But from then on, I saw her. I smelled her perfume everywhere. I walked with dreams of meeting her, it seemed like I was always waiting for her to round the corner and walk towards me; unknowingly waiting.
I pictured and imagined our meeting so many times and on so many different scenes that I believed I had covered all the bases. My plan was simple. Bump into her. Step forward and introduce myself. Make her smile. Get the number. Once I imagined walking at night, seeing a silhouette ahead of me which unexpectedly turns out to be hers, I would watch as the moonlight (there’s a full moon in this fantasy) played with her face, its soft light falling lightly on her forehead making it glimmer, she would be cautious as I start the conversation, it being at night and all. Her hair would fall and block part of her face, which she would shrug back with little celebration. I would tell her a stupid story just to keep her engaged, and also to try and see whether her mouth can curve upwards. That should be a beautiful sight, I always think. And from there, we would gradually fall in love and live happily ever after.
But when it happened, it was in a situation that I never saw coming. A situation I couldn’t have thought of because to be honest, how can the love of my life not be part of it? For months, I have been dreaming with the same face, I have walked around looking for it in my wake time. I had hoped that when it happened, it would all make sense, the stars would align in my favor, and I would be rewarded for my patience. I would tell her of how I have been looking everywhere for her and she would be so flattered, and I would possibly get a peck. Hopefully, a date!
It happened in a robbery. Call it a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or call it fate! I was waiting in line at the bank, swiping left and right on my phone like everyone else on the line, which might explain why everyone was taken by surprise. No one saw them coming. But I did! I happen to be waiting for a photo to load on twitter and I was looking up the line when this pair of gentlemen walked in. Dressed expensively and nicely. Like bodyguards. Suits. Gleaming shoes. Top button of the shirt undone. Neat. And alert.
I remember thinking, if I was dressed like that, I would have guns tucked in my trouser somewhere. They looked around. Conspicuously suspicious. The guard had by then noticed them. He walked up to them, holding his soldier stick out in a menacing manner. Trying to look authoritative in the face of such eminent power. Failing miserably.
‘kuna shida gani, boss?’, he asked.
One looked at him and smiled while his friend unbuttoned his coat and drew a gun from a holster, shooting the guard just once on the forehead. He didn’t feel anything. Just sunk to oblivion. He still wore the smile he had returned. His body crumpled to the floor.
Everyone dropped to the floor. Even I. I observed some trying to capture the faces of the culprits with their high definition cameras, which was for naught as all gadgets were soon gathered. Two mores thugs came in and tried to lock the doors but the doors were automated; they gave up and joined their colleagues. The operated like one machine. Never hurrying. Never shouting. Not even using force. They had a plan. And their plan was working out. They were fast but not rushed. Focused but not vindictive. I checked the clock on the wall from where I was lying, only three minutes had elapsed since the first pair made its entry.
The door opened and no one looked up. At least I didn’t. Expecting it to be another thug, I didn’t look up from my position. Dedicating the little time I had to God, promising to move heaven and earth for Him if I made it out alive. And that’s when it hit me. The whiff. That perfume. I sniffed in the air, still with my eyes closed. And then the sound. Bang. Phone clattering. A gasp. The feeling. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Nor know. In those five seconds, with my eyes still closed, I prayed as I had never before. Not for me. Not even for her. I prayed for it not to be her. But I knew. I didn’t have to open my eyes. I felt it. Without looking, I knew. She never knew what hit her. I never got her number… nor her name!

Go Red Crazy!

This being my first post this year, i guess i should start by wishing my readers happy new year, or should it be happy old year, since the first month is already down. I hope you all had a fantastic first month and for those of us who didn’t, lets hope that the rest of it would be somewhat kinder. Mine wasn’t so bad, although it didn’t go as i had thought it would, but then again, what does? But enough about that.

I have been going through a not-so-easy time and that is why i haven’t written for so long. That and also the fact that my network connection had a problem with my laptop. Or something along those lines, am not gonna pretend to be a tech savvy chick. To all my Manchester united readers, take heart, Arsenal was there for eight years and their patience is finally paying off so, hold on tight, the worst might still be on its way. And speaking of the worst, valentine is around the corner, more or less. The streets are starting to turn a red shade and its still weeks away, and to top that off, couples are starting to appear from all corners. Today i took a walk around campus and it felt like it has become a crime for anyone to walk alone. I didn’t get that memo! And PDA has taken the front seat, almost puked like four times before i decided to terminate the walk idea. It’s like a bug has bitten and bitten hard, although that seem to have skipped me too. Smh!

Am not a valentine hater. But am not what i would call a lover either. I would never be confused for St. Valentine or anything like that. I think the only part i like about the whole business is the color ‘red’ business. Its an amazing transformation. Overnight, everything goes from being dull and normal to red and….red! It’s like a Christmas but instead of snow, its red! The hawkers also keep up with the calendar, and decide that since its valentines, who would like to buy any other color beside red? and they go red crazy! From belts to shoes to plums and apples, some even start hawking meat just because it is red. I have nothing against red, i have a red belt and two pairs of earrings to prove it, but i feel valentine kinda stretches red to the limit. I bet if it were alive, it would sit in a corner as from January and cry everyday of every hour just thinking of the upcoming month, and then after Feb, or rather, after 14th, it would go on a holiday to Jamaica or the Caribbean  just to recover till December! That has to be my stupid thought of the day so just roll with it 🙂 .

Well, come Feb 14th, nothing much will be happening in my corner. I had thought it would be different this year but it would seem that i counted my chicks before the eggs hatch, turns out the eggs i held were Easter eggs! I had not imagined flowers or chocolate or anything like that, but i had thought it would play out differently from the past valentines. Somehow, i feel cheated. But then again, i hear valentine is about celebrating love because some priest died for it or something long that line of thought (yes, i could Google and confirm but i won’t! its too much work and also because i think dying for love is quite funny…haha funny!) but yes, its about celebrating love, and i have also heard that it is quite specific about the type of love that is to be celebrated but because am a bad-ass, i will choose to celebrate love in general. So in that spirit, am planning to wear a green velvet dress (or drab) because i love nature and i want it (nature) to know that someone cares about it and its color. And also cos I need a reason to wear that dress. Its really hideous! 

But for the rest of you main-streamers, am sure photos of flowers, chocolates and teddy bears will be flooding my homepages on social media but because i don’t want to gorge my eyes out and shoot them, am going to avoid that tirade of red crazy and go catch a movie or something. Besides, the one person who might have convinced me otherwise is in the neighboring country and will be there for the next four or three months. Long after red has gone on holiday!

Happy Valentines people! Go red crazy!



The Right Words!

“……baby if i told you the right words, uuhh at the right time, you’d be mine…..” that is the song that’s going through my head. Right now am in a situation where am wondering whether it would have made a difference had i expressed myself differently. Whether if i had said the right words, my situation would be different. If i had a second chance or if i got a time machine and traveled back in time, would i do anything different? Would i seize the moment and say all the things that i have bottled up inside? Probably not.. methinks i wouldn’t do nor say anything different. 

I keep thinking that if i actually said the words “i need you” or “i love you” or even “i don’t want you to go” once, just once, i wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. But then if i did say the words, that wouldn’t have been me. You see, am too proud to actually come out and say such to a fellow breathing person, because then, it would mean that another person would have gotten under my skin to the point where i was ready to admit it to myself and to the said person, which might happen but i would never admit. The thing is, the ‘might’ turned into a reality and a person did get under my skin. I wish i could say ‘it just happened’ or that ‘i did not see it coming and it caught me completely off guard’ but it did not. It didn’t sneak up on me while i wasn’t looking. No, i saw it coming. At first, it was like when a train leaves a station, slow….so slow that you could chase and climb aboard, or jump off. That should have been my cue to get off but no, i didn’t. I stayed and watched as it gradually gained speed. While in the past my mind would have wandered when my head lay on his chest, i started to focus on the heartbeat in my ear and i would let that sooth me. While his kiss felt weird and awkward at first, i learned how to mould my lips to his. While my eyes focused on everything but him in the beginning, i started to drink in his sight and memorize his features for when he wasn’t with me. The creepy smelling of my hair got sensual. His lazy stare over me turned me on, and i cherished his secret glances when he thought i wasn’t paying attention.

I watched it all grow and in every step of the way i kept thinking, i should say something. Let him know how i feel. Let him know he wasn’t alone in it. That even when i said nothing, i thought and felt everything. But still i kept mum! How did i expect him to know? Well, i found songs with lyrics that said everything i wanted to say and sat with him while we listened. i thought that he would take that as a sign…he didn’t! I thought ‘there’s no way he could miss this message’ and to reduce chances of him missing it, i replayed such songs endlessly and exclaimed how much i loved the lyrics and how the came from the heart. But as the current situation sinks in, i realize just how wrong i was for thinking that just because i played a song that went on like “….stay with me, baby stay with me….”, he got the message. He missed the message and when the time came for me to ‘speak’, i smiled, picked up a blunt and asked, ”shall we?”

Now that he is gone, i am left here, listening to the songs and wondering why he isn’t seated beside me, and am thinking, ‘if only i had said the right words….’


P.S i wish you were here!

Accidental Motherhood

my mum and little sister ❤

Last Sunday was mother’s day and i wanted to write an article about it but because of circumstances that couldn’t be help, i couldn’t. I did, however, jot down a few ideas and saved them in my drafts except when i got around to finally expanding them to comprehensive thoughts, i couldn’t find them, which led to the conclusion that my phone sucks. But i got over it with just a few curses and some mean looks directed at my phone. So motherhood, that’s what i have been thinking about. No, i do not want to be a mother, at least not now, so that’s not the aspect i have been thinking about. But in a way it is. Accident motherhood…..that’s what i have been thinking about. Some of you might have heard the song by Nas, i think its about three months old or something, Accident murderer. i wont lie, am not all that sure what that song is about but the few lyrics i had the sense to listen to tells me is about killing accidentally, or lets say that’s what came to mind when i heard that song. So my title is inspired by that particular line of thinking….accidental murderer~~~~~accidental motherhood.

Most ladies have this plan in their head, and although some may not admit to having it, they do. The plan is quite simple; go to school or college, wrap all that up, get a job, get a husband, get kids….simple, right??! Wrong! Not simple…..well, when you just think about it in your head, its the simplest plan ever. But what girls never do, is consider all the factors that can interfere with that plan, boyfriends being the worst factor to not consider. Or rather sex. Or intercourse…i do not know which sounds more profound. With sex, comes responsibilities and those responsibilities almost always fall to the girls’ shoulders. Woe unto you if you happen to have small shoulders. Intercourse (settled on that one) is not bad, well, technically its a sin if you don’t have a band on your finger but am not gonna talk about that now, fornication is a topic for another day. For those with small shoulders, shit happens and before you know it, you are not only counting the days to when you think your menstrual should be, but also when you last sinned. That’s the time in a girls life that guys are cursed to hell and back, Adam and Eve are called really nasty names, the snake that lied to eve is killed seven thousand times and all in different methods, each more painful than the previous one. And when all that is exhausted, God becomes the focus. He is cajoled, begged, bribed, at some point even blackmailed, offered sacrifices, reasoned with and when all that is done and she is feeling more confident, in herself and in the deal(s) she has made with God, she takes THE test. And by that i mean the pregnancy test for those who might not be following my line of thought. Sometimes, God is merciful and the test becomes negative and well, sometimes, God wants to show you there are bigger things in this world besides your plan, and it turns out positive. That’s where the dilemma becomes real. Before that happened, she would have been so sure what she would do in that situation but now that she finds herself there, all thought and sense flees….reason escapes her mind and she becomes a mass of walking confusion. She deteriorates health wise and she loses interests in everything and all because she doesn’t know which path to take. There are usually two paths for the girl, one is to get rid of it and the other is to accept it has happened and move  with it.

The weak minded and weak-hearted will go for the first option without much thought. Reason behind it, it was an accident….deal with it like an accident. When the legs were spreading and the ‘screaming’ was literary tearing her body apart, it never occurred to her that this might happen and now that it has, there is no reason to let it ‘ruin’ her life. She will go, spread her legs a second time and her ‘little problem’ would be taken care of and in no time she would be back to her normal self. I don’t know if they ever forget it, if they get over it, or if they never think about it again. Only they know, cos some never even tell the guy who got her there, they just deal  with it!

But this post is about the the strong minded, they ones who dare to accept their fate and live with it. The courageous ladies who never think twice about becoming mothers. The ladies who took that accident as a blessing and decided to storm it out. They look at it from a different perspective. “So yes, it was an accident, and yes, i regret it but who am i to decide whether the child in me should live or die?” These girls have a conscience which wouldn’t allow them to just get rid of it. They were raised in church (most probably) or are just selfless. They will leave school if they were in school, they will be humiliated and talked about in hushed whispers which never say anything good about them or their situation, some get banished from their homes, and others, others never go home cos they know what awaits them. Some depend on the guys that got them pregnant and some decide to face it all alone, but whatever happens to them, they stick to their guns. They hear the whispers and cry on the inside but they still walk with their heads held high. They take the abuse and the hostility, they accept their humiliation and get embarrassed and in all that, they get joy and peace of mind knowing that they are doing the right thing, that they are going to be mothers. They struggle through it all and at the end of it all, they make the best mums, cos they know what they have been through and they share with their babies, they never want them to forget the hardships they went through just to get them here. They teach them the ways of the world from a different perspective…….they become heroes in their kids eyes. And at the same time, they tell them to live and let live, to not judge and to always remember, a coin has two sides. My mum told me that…a coin has to two sides and it ceases to be a coin without the other side. I never got the meaning then but as i live, i get a glimpse of what she meant.

Am not an avid supporter of abortion and i don’t agree with it but i agree with the motto, ‘its an accident, deal with it like its an accident’. But would i deal with it as such if i were to find myself in that situation? Frankly, i don’t know. I have a conscience and my mum, who has taught to be strong when faced with life changing decisions. She is my hero and i don’t need a specific day to tell her that, i let her know every single day cos i never want her to forget that she is my inspiration in everything i do. So, cheers to all the ladies who had an easier path and instead, chose motherhood. Accidental or not! Cheers to my mum!

<iframe width=”640″ height=”360″ src=”; frameborder=”0″ allowfullscreen>

i would say yes….

i would say yes…

This week’s post is about me….and the constant fog in my life that has finally cleared. Not all of it and definitely not entirely, but i can see a path….and although am not sure if its the right path, am going to take a leap of faith and hope for the best.If you were to ask me to be your girlfriend, my answer would be yes. I would love to be your girlfriend. And not because you are a rebound cos you are not. Not because am lonely, which i admit i sometimes am, but its not the reason i would say yes to your proposal.

Had you asked three months ago, i would have said no and not spared an extra thought on it. Its not that i was that cold or heartless, i was just very engulfed in my keeping my ‘personal space’ and getting to ‘know’ myself that i wouldn’t have wanted to break that. But now, i know that i don’t have to lose my personal space just because I’ll be your girlfriend. Now am ready to share myself with you wholly without wondering if am missing something better out there.

Had you asked a month ago, i would have told you to give me time to think about it. And in that ‘thinking about it’ time, i would have weighed all my options (and they are many). I would have looked at the picture we made to the world, and see whether it was the picture i wanted to portray. I would have talked to my friends and asked their thoughts on you and me. I would have listened to what the do not like about you and asked myself if i would let their thoughts count, and most likely, a month ago, their thoughts would have played a big role in my eventual answer, most likely a no.

A week ago….well, a week ago i would have just smiled and asked you “what took you so long?” but in my head i would have been screaming murder. I would have sat with you and ‘listened’ to you talk while i breathed and struggled to keep breathing. I would have thought with disbelief, ‘why now? why ruin a thing that was going so great with such boundaries?’ I would have wept on the inside for the loss of my freedom. You might ask, why would i have said yes if my feelings were that detached from my answer? Most likely, i would have said yes cos of the good times we have had. I would have said yes because you make me feel like a woman in all aspects of the word. I would have said yes because i might have heard some girl say she had a crush on you and you were acting all interested in her. I would have said yes because, although i wouldn’t have wanted you to be my boyfriend, i wouldn’t have wanted you to be someone else’. So i would have said yes a week ago but for the wrong reasons.

What could have changed in a week you ask? A lot! A lot has changed. Within me and also without me. The way my eyes saw the world is not the same way i see it now. Now i find my mind wondering to a moment shared without inhibitions or thought. To a moment so perfect, i wouldn’t want to relive it for fear of losing something.

I would say yes now because you make me smile, the thought of you make me smile.

I would say yes because you look at me and you make me wish i could see myself the way you see me, cos in your eyes, i redefine perfection.

I would say yes cos i don need to use words around you, my thoughts and yours just connect.

I would say yes because when you kiss me, you close your eyes and kiss me as though your life depended on it. You kiss me as though its the last thing you will ever do.

I would say yes, cos you smile and the only thing that comes to mind is “i have never seen such a lovely heart”. I see your heart in your smile when you smile at me.

I would say yes because you smell my skin and i can feel your mouth curving to a smile on my shoulder. As if you know something the world doesn’t.

I would say yes cos i do not care what anyone thinks of me, but you. I do not know what this thing called love is but with you, i get the feeling that this is it, this is love.

I would say yes because not only do you accept me and all my seven personalities, you love me without reservations.

I would say yes, because you make me feel beautiful, and you chase all my insecurities away.

I would say yes cos at this juncture, my life would suck without you. You make me want to let go of everything and just love you.

All that i discovered in a week. So what can a week change? A lot……it gave me fresh eyes. So, take your time and don’t rush on my account, i will wait for when you ask me to be your girlfriend, and be assured i will say yes.

What is your Number?

The most awkward question of all time “how many guys/girls have you been with before me?” I know almost all of us have been faced with that question and I don’t know whether there’s an answer that can satisfy me as a girl. I mean, I’d rather think of myself as THE girl than have to confirm that yes, before me, he had a life. And in my defense, it comes with being a girl to be affected by such, and for guys who get affected by the answer to this question, man up!

I don’t know why it’s important for people to know how many guys a girl has been with, I mean, so what if I have been with five guys or ten, how will it help you as my eleventh boyfriend to know there were 10 predecessors before you? Will it make you feel manlier that you are with a girl who has handled 10 guys and now she is handling you? Or will it make you feel threatened as a guy? Or maybe still, it’ll make you wonder what she has seen in you that all those other guys didn’t have? This question is usually a detonator to insecurities. Some guys might act like there’s nothing wrong and in reality, there isn’t. The problem is that the image that’s usually in the head of this guy will change and most of the time it doesn’t change to a good one.  As a girl, I guy telling me that am the 20th girl he’s been with can work two ways depending on my moods at the moment in question.The optimist in me will be like “he has had a lot of experience” so in a good day, he can get lucky after telling me am the 21st. The pessimist in me though, that shit won’t cut it! I’ll be like “the 21st? Are you a gigolo/prostitute?”

Anyway, this post wasn’t to complain about the question being asked or not asked. Is about what number is acceptable for girls and dudes? And by number I mean of the girls/guys you have given it too. For a guy, having slept with 20 girls can be seen as an achievement of some sort and when they tell you such a number, it’s usually with pride and yet for a girl, that would be an abomination. I mean a girl having slept with 20 guys? And not for money? It sounds like a crime. But it’s not a crime! What is wrong with a girl having slept with all those guys? It’s a search for experience (am no justifying it).

My question being, what number is acceptable to the society? I know that being a virgin will be the most acceptable but ‘the virgin’ ship sailed a long time ago and it’s never coming back. Is 2 or 4 too little a number to give? And is 20 or even 25 too large a number? Most guys would never believe a girl who would say “ I have been with  only 3 guys my entire life” and this is not an assumption, I have talked to some guys about it and according to the seven that I asked, only one said he might believe it (might being the keyword). On further elaboration, some admitted that it could mean two things, she either doesn’t like sex or she’s just trying to appear innocent (pretending)! So I asked about a girl having been with 20 guys, the looks I got were enough for me to get the point. One even went ahead and asked, ”kwani ntakua nimeenda koinange kutafuta dame?” which loosely translates to “why would I go to a brothel to look for a girlfriend?”

[linked image]

I can understand why most would consider such a girl a slut but 20 is not such a big number? Experience is the best teacher. And besides, vagina is not like soap that it gets a little finished with every use (again, not trying to justify). But why would it be alright if a guy has slept with as many girls as 20 but not a girl? Double standards….!!!!!

So in my quest to find the acceptable number, I found out there isn’t one. According to guys, more than 7 is slutty and yet less than 5 is a lie. For girls, a guy who says he has been with less than 7 girls is a liar and more than 12 is a braggart! Not my words. In my opinion, it shouldn’t matter how many girls or guys you have been with, in the past. So it can be 20 or 30 (just making a point), the main point is that it’s all in the PAST! And besides, all those sexcapades means she picked up some really great moves along the way, I mean, 20 is not quite a small number as I might have made it to be. And all she learned, she is to use on you if you play your cards right. You can never gain anything by dragging the past to your future.

What do you think? And should the number matter? Share your thoughts…..