The things you think I think


You probably think that I’m addicted to you. That I long for you like a long lost  lover even though it’s just been a day apart. That my heart and body aches for you all day long, my pussy throbs for you and my lips quiver at the thought of yours wetting and parting mine.

You probably think that im insatiable. That my desires are dark and too erotic. That I need you inside me constantly. That my whole body is an erogenous zone. That I touch myself whenever I miss you, whenever you call me and when flash backs of you fucking me haunt my mind.

I know you think I’m selectively shy. That I can’t look at you straight in the eye without blushing, gigling, looking down and getting wet. That I only look at you; when you’re on top of me, choking me and feeding me those deep, slow strokes that bring tears to my eyes…when I trail my lips from your ear lobes, to your neck, nipples, chest, navel, down to your manhood and balls…when you cup my face and stuff my mouth like Christmas turkey with your dick, shoving it down my throat in deep rythmic motions, fucking my mouth…and when you’re sound a sleep beside me, counting my lucky stars

You probably think that I’m insecure. That I have a love hate relationship with my body. That I’m deeply insecure of my scars and cellulite, yet aware of how much of a stunner I am. That I often fall from grace and seek validation and cheap attention from people who don’t deserve me. That I’m a mess, yet a masterpiece.

I know you think I’m beautiful. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. It’s always in the eyes. You look at me like I’m the only woman alive. I can feel it when you touch me, hug me, make love to me, talk to me, tell me stories, cook for me, (attempt to )sing for me, care for me. And when you make me laugh so hard my tummy aches, I can’t possibly imagine my life without you.

You probably think I’ll always be there for you. Taking care of you, loving you even when its hard, telling you inappropriate jokes, feeding you soul food and always laugh at your jokes. And you are right. I’ll stick with you like damp beach sand inside a butt crack.

The things you think of me, are true.


Destroy my pussy, not my life


I wanna get on all fours and feel you poking, throbbing and conquering the depths of me I didn’t know could feel pleasure.

I want to bounce on your big, black, beautiful dick; throw back on it, twerk on it and gyrate on it real slow and sweet, so you feel every thrust, hear my insides get wetter and wetter, hear me quiff, hear the orgasmic slurping sounds and see me cream all over you…

I want my cheeks to clap for you every time you pump, applaud your performance and drive you insane.

I want the pleasure and pain, in equal measure. Part, slap, grab every inch of my behind. Pin my back down when ever I try to come up for air. Grab and pull me closer whenever I can’t take it anymore and start pushing you away. Pin my head down, elevate my derriere and pierce my insides with no remorse.

I want to bite the sheets, as you pull my hands to the back and demolish my walls.

I want you to part my legs so wide that I feel your huge balls slap against my clit with every thrust. I want to experience multiple orgasms, simultaneously.

I want you to show no mercy at all. I want walls brought down, flesh stretched, body fluids dripping, my vagina sore and walking style changed.

I want you to ram my pussy with excruciating vigour, anihalate it, paralyse, freeze, discombobulate. It has wolverine genes. It always heals. It has 9 lives…🐈

I want to hear you moan and groan in satisfaction. I want to feel your strokes getting slower and slower. I want to feel you quiver and shiver, and cum inside me. I want to feel you grow soft and fall out of me…

A story I will never tell


This soft, open heart of mine was meant for love. Though I don’t always get it back, I’ve got a voracious appetite for it.  Love is my religion. I’d die for it.

The one’s I’d take a bullet for end up being the one’s pulling the glock. The one’s I lay flat on the ground to be used as stepping stone, end up complaining that I didn’t lay flat enough. The one’s I truly love, truly hate me.

If I had a dollar for every time I broke down, screaming internally “Is something wrong with me?”, I’d single-handedly pay off Kenya’s debt. If I had a dollar for every time I muffled cries with my pillow and struggled to breath in the middle of the night, I’d single-handedly end poverty. If I had a dollar for every time I got left behind, I’d buy my own private island and live in isolation till death took me.

They always leave. But they always come back.

They’re always intrigued by my mystery, drawn in by my aura, captivated by my feminine charm. But they are never man enough to follow through. They can’t handle the intensity. They get deeply insecure. They tell me “You’re too good for me”

I’m alone in my head, even when a fine specimen is softly snoring beside me. They easily occupy my bed, and my body, but they can’t rent a small space for me in their heart. I’m left to deal with the cold brutal storm, when all I envisioned were teddy bears and rainbows.

I had one fine, dark and tall boy. His skin was sexy; melanin shining with no apologies. Had enough inches to make my pussy fall in love with him too. I loved that he was a bit taller than me so I could gaze up in his eyes, lift up to kiss him. I relished his well chiseled body on top of mine, pinning me down, gleaming with sweat, grinding me, taking me to the moon and stars in explosive thrusts and strokes.

I thought our feelings and intentions were at par. I thought WE were in love. I thought that it was forever. I wanted to bear him a little melanin prince and a princess.

He just loved to cum. He just took and gave zilch in return.

I know now not everyone deserves my soft, open heart. But it’s a lonely thing, protecting a fragile heart.



You fulfill my wants, and neglect my needs. You fill up my pussy so good, but never my heart.

You use your charm and touch as a foreplay to my honesty, but you keep me guessing and looking for clues to your mystery.

I want to matter to you. Be close to you, be fought for, be valued…but I often feel like a bag of weed

Those toe-curling, gut-realighnement, deep strokes are great but I want more. I want intimacy. I want connection. I want vulnerability. I want cuddles and pancakes after. I want to make love sometimes

I cooked soul food, you cooked up lies. I whipped hearty meals, your presence always felt like you were whipping through. I threw down in the bedroom and kitchen, you threw me back to the darkness I’d struggled to crawl out of before we met. I fed your body, mind and soul. You just fed my body

You showed me your true colours. I painted you sunshine everytime

You look at me with eyes full of lust, but I mistake it for love. You always know how to make my heart beat a little faster. You always know how to get back to my safe place after I convince myself that I deserve better. You always know where to touch to reset me back to your faithful robot

Sometimes I put myself first. Take a step towards towards self love. Be independent. Most times I’m a leech; lurching onto your pathetic lies to give me hope of a never happening future together

Sometimes you feel like a sip of some aged red wine. Naturally sweet. Sometimes you are Hennessy. Sometimes you’re an illicit brew

Sometimes I smile. Most times I cry. Sometimes I’m over you. Most times I pretend. Sometimes I cut you off. Most times I come crawling back

I hate it here. But I love it here too

The Hymen/Virginity Myth


Part of growing up is realising that what you thought you knew, you actually don’t. You may think you know your body and how it works, but you really don’t. That’s why knowledge is power. Growing up means unlearning so many things, debunking myths that have been passed down to us for eons, mostly just shoved down our throats without consent.

There’s so many things to learn, relearn and unlearn, especially as women and our bodies. As Africans we have a culture; different communities and different belief systems. These traditional beliefs and values ultimately shape us into who we are. As you grow up, get an education, see the world, interact with different people and open your eyes you realize that a majority of these beliefs that we clung onto so dearly are very toxic and sexist.

The most common myth sorrounding women and our bodies is the virginity/hymen myth. In the previous patriarchal societies, they opinned that a woman must be  a virgin on her wedding night. Which was honestly ridiculous and sexist because why only women? So the man can hoe around all he wants and his price is a virgin bride?🙄 So unfair!

It was common for blood soiled bedsheets to be paraded for everyone to confirm the bride’s purity, and that would deem her a good and worthy wife.

So we grew up believing that there’s some kind of wall in our vaginas that must be broken by a penis during the first sexual encounter. And that it hurts, and you will bleed to confirm your morality. What a load of trash!


The first thing you need to understand about sexuality is that virginity is a social construct. The word virginity doesn’t even have a medical definition and a scientific basis. Because people are different, and we have different believe systems based on where and how we have been raised. There are so many forms of sexuality. The act of sex itself is subjective. But the acceptable and common definition of virginity is abstinence from sexual intercourse. Being a virgin means that you have never had sexual intercourse. Breaking your virginity means a man penetrating your vagina. And that’s where there’s a problem.

Case in point: People have sex differently. Imagine those who have anal only, or receive/give blowjobs, or fingering alone. Imagine someone who solely practices these acts of intimacy, does it mean they are still virgins? Or even a lesbian that has always known that she’s lesbian, never had any intercourse with a man, they experience sexual contact with a fellow woman, does it make her a virgin all her life? Since we are basing our definition of loosing virginity by a male penis penetrating a woman’s vagina?

The hymen is a thin stretchy ring of tissue at the opening of the vagina. It’s an ultra thin membrane, not really seen with a naked eye, or touched as it resembles the skin of the vaginal walls. It’s not a block of tissue that has to be punctured during intercourse and lead to bleeding. It doesn’t block entry to the vagina. If it did, women would never be able to experience menstruation until they have intercourse. Think of it as a hair scrunchie; very stretchy and elastic when it’s new, but wears out over time.

How the hymen is formed:

In early foetal life, the vaginal canal is first formed as a solid tube. Over time, the inner portion of the tube disintergrates so it becomes a hollow tubular structure. At the lower end of the tube, a thin membrane remains (hymen). Often, it ruptures on its own on the first few days of life, it may remain as a thin membrane around the vaginal opening or it may remain as a membrane with one or more small openings, or rupture and partially cover the vagina.

Just like an appendix, a hymen has no known or defined biological function. Although scientists might argue that it’s useful during the first stages of a baby’s life to help keep bacteria and faecal matter from contaminating the vagina. Nobody knows. Maybe it’s just one of those things that was forgotten, does not do any harm and we have to live with it.

The size of a hymen varies, though the diameter is generally described as smaller than 6mm in young girls. It’s appearance also varies and can be distinguished by presence of polyps, tags, ridges, bands and notches. Now, did you know that there are types of hymens? All ranging from normal to extreme. Extreme cases are classified as disorders. Did you also know that there are women born without one?

The common shapes of hymen are: Annular (circumferential), crescentric (like a crescent moon) and fimbricated (finger-like projections)

The extreme cases/disorders are:

*Imperforate- This one covers the entire vaginal orifice. It needs immediate surgery to avoid complications and to allow for menstrual blood to flow out.

*Septate- This means there are two openings with a band of tissue between them

*Cribiform- The hymen has multiple openings

*Mictoperforate- It means the hymenal opening is extremely small

All of these disorders require immediate medical surgery to avoid further complications later in life.

There is no such thing as ‘breaking’ a hymen. It’s a membrane. It can only get torn, suffer minor injuries or get torn off completely, or get stretched out. Minor injuries on a hymen means it can repair itself. However, if it’s torn completely, it does not regenerate.

So, the key words are  ‘torn’ ‘stretch’ , not break. It’s not a ceramic cup🙄

Loosing your virginity has nothing to do with your hymen. Nothing at all. Primarily, before you have sex you get really turned on. For a woman, the vagina naturally lubricates itself and it’s  muscles relax to allow ease of penetration. This happens to all of us, even virgins.

Bleeding during or after sex shouldn’t be gaged as a measure of virginity lost. As discussed earlier, there are different types and shapes of hymens. There are women born without them. There are cases of women going into labour with their hymens still intact. Plus; rigorous activities like horse back riding, intense exercises, fingering, sex toys, inserting sharp objects into the vagina, certain surgical procedures and even accidents can tore a hymen. So the by the time a woman has her first vaginal penetration, it’s not always 100% chance that her hymen is intact, or if it’s present at all. I wonder what would happen to the women who did not bleed on their wedding night🤔 They must have suffered shame and humiliation for lack of information and knowledge of their bodies. They must have felt like there was something wrong with them.

Blood soiled sheets should infact be a cause of alarm. It means there is an underlying problem because it’s not normal. The only fluids allowed to come out after coitus are semen and female genital fluids. Cum. Not blood.

Because the truth is, a hymen has a few blood cells that if torn is not enough to soil sheets. It usually doesn’t happen. What happens is that women have been conditioned to believe that the first time must hurt, and it will be bloody. So they go into it with panic and fear. These feelings can hinder enjoying the act. And if you get a partner that doesn’t care about arousing you and is very vigorous, it means the penetration is forced. This causes lacerations on the vaginal walls hence bleeding.

Bleeding during sex could also mean underlying serious medical conditions like vaginismus, endometriosis

American rapper, TI, made headlines sometime last year when he announced live on air that he takes his daughter to a gynaecologist every year to determine if she’s still a virgin.  Of course, he faced uproar and backlash all over social media, especially from women. The virginity test has always been practiced by our ancestors, and even up to date. You would think humans have evolved and become open minded but no. There are still cultures and religions that believe a woman must keep herself pure till her wedding night. That virginity is a gift to her spouse. In extreme settings, the groom’s father is allowed to do the testing (usually finger testing) to determine if the hymen is still intact.

If you want to protect your daughter, let her be her own person. Trust her. Inform her. Guide her. Don’t degrade her by subjecting her to a painful and pyschologically distressing test to boost your ego. It is actually a violation of her rights as a woman and a human being, since she does not consent to it. It has been condemned by human rights and world health organizations.

An examination of the hymen is not an accurate or reliable test of sexual activity, or even sexual assault, as there are many factors that affect these tests, both genetic, developmental, endocrine, spontaneous and external influence


*You don’t have to bleed during your first sexual penetration

*Bleeding is not a sign of a ‘broken’ hymen

*A hymen doesn’t get broken. It gets torn or stretches out

*Virginity tests are scam. They don’t prove virginity or sexual assault. A doctor can’t tell you’re a virgin by looking at the hymen

* virginity tests, or other medical tests and inserting tampons do not affect virginity because they have nothing to do with sex.

Missionary Freak


I don’t know if you can tell but everything about me is laid-back, chill, a bit old school and somewhat composed. I’m not the kind of person to jump into trends just because it’s latest or it’s cool. I have personal preferences that are deeply rooted in me. From the kind of music I listen to, clothes I wear, make up, what I eat, etc. I’m what you might call boring. And I do get that a lot.

So I’m just gonna state the obvious and uncomfortable truth. All that doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, wheelbarrow is overrated🗣🗣It’s uncomfortable and dangerous. Reverse cow girl and doggy particularly have been known to cause penile fractures. Imagine your dick breaking during coitus! Literally breaking, the way a leg breaks. Utaambia watu nini?👀

I root for missionary. Any time, all the time. For one, it’s comfortable. Nobody gets to rapture or break anything; except busting a nut, tearing down vulva walls and shifting your uterus in the process ☺

Missionary sex feels spiritual. It feels like exercising and fulfilling God’s intended purpose. You just lay there, legs wide open in worship of the big black dick (or any other🙄), ready to receive and please. Dick slides in comfortably, you feel and watch every penetration, you relish every stroke, you can hold and fondle any part you want, you can kiss, you can look in each other’s desire-filled eyes, you can literally feel and enjoy the heat of the moment and your whole body becomes in sync; singing songs of pleasure in the form of trembles. There’s a sexy feeling about being completely dominated by a man that drives me wild. A man puts in the dirty work, those clapping wet sounds music to his ears and somehow adding fuel to his groin, and when you reach a climax together it’s heavenly. Yaani unafeel mwili imejipiga screenshot. That’s why orgasms feel spiritual, something like a possession.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t like other styles. I’m down to experiment but missionary remains a classic, and a favourite. Of course I want to be fucked in degrading and insanely dangerous positions as well; I want my insides to be turned into soup and I want to sink my nails in someone’s chest and back, ride till I can’t no more, gurgle on a big dick, suck the frustrations out of a man and yell for the whole world to hear. Which woman doesn’t want that? I just find that missionary is the easiest, safest and stress free sex style to get plowed in. It can act as a soft starter to a more thrilling cuisine, or act as the main course and you’d still be satisfied 😉



Scenario 1:

You hook up with this hot guy, an amazing kisser; knows how to use his mouth, hands and tongue to worship you. Every kiss and touch makes you yearn for more. You are panting and moaning in pleasure, wanting more. Your lady parts are throbbing and tingling, craving penetration. He’s about to lay down pipe but a moment of reckoning hits you; he hasn’t put on a condom! You pull back and ask him politely to wrap it up but he says he’s allergic to condoms. How do you react to such a scenario? You’d probably think he’s lying, right? Just another excuse to hit it raw, right?

Scenario 2:

After a steamy and sweaty session of satisfying strokes, you’re cooling off, cuddling and giggling like love sick teenagers. The moment is ruined by a sudden feeling of itching. You probably think it’s the semen around your vagina so you dash off to the bathroom to pee and clean up, only that it doesn’t stop. You conclude he might have given you an STI, and it leads to an ugly confrontation.

As ridiculous as it may sound, condom allergies do exist. If you experience frequent and unexplained itching after sex, you may be allergic to latex condoms. A vast majority of people especially women, immediately diagnose themselves when they get these symptoms. Your mind immediately shifts to yeast infection, and you begin ingesting antibiotics. But the symptoms persist as you have more sex, and it’s only natural to think you may have caught a sexually transmitted disease.

Latex is derived from the rubber tree. It contains several proteins that trigger allergic reactions. If you have a latex allergy, it means that your immune system mistakes these proteins for harmful intruders and releases antibodies to fight them off.

Symptoms will only appear first in places where your skin came into direct contact with the condom. You will experience mild forms of itching, swelling, redness and a rash. These occur during or soon after intercourse. It can take a day or two for delayed symptoms like a rash to show up but the trigger will always be contact with latex. The more contact you have with it, the more the situation worsens.

Persistent contact leads to moderate symptoms like itchy throat, runny nose, sneezing, wheezing, and difficulty in breathing. A more severe case of allergy is anaphylaxis, which comes in form of: hives, swelling, low blood pressure, nausea, dizziness, tightness in the throat, vomiting, diarrhea, stomach pain, fainting, breathing difficulties, rapid heart beat and cardiac arrest. Symptoms of anaphylaxis occur suddenly and can progress rapidly, therefore are fatal. It requires immediate treatment with a drug called epinephrine  which counteracts allergic reactions.


Latex allergies also occur in non-sexual forms. House keeping personnel, as well as health care workers who have continuous exposure to wearing latex gloves and coming in contact with items like urinary catheters and syringes also experience these symptoms.

Contact with balloons, certain toys and clothing, and rubber bands also causes allergies.

You are more prone to a latex allergy if you have other allergies. People allergic to latex may also be sensitive to foods that contain similar proteins, like bananas, avacado, chestnuts, wheat, kiwi fruit, tomatoes, strawberries, peach, fig, melon, grape, celery, papaya, potato, cherry, rye, plum, hazel nut, peanuts, pineapple etc.


Although latex is the most common condom allergy, a person may also be allergic to other materials like spermicide and lubricant, which maybe coated in condoms by manufacturers.

Spermicide is a form of birth control that prevents sperm from reaching an egg. It’s available in gel, foam or suppository. There are also condoms coated in spermicide. The notorious agent that causes allergies is called nonoxynol-9, whose job is to kill sperm cells. If used frequently, it can cause irritation and soreness.

Lubricants are popular for enhancing sexual pleasure. But some contain chemicals like propylene glycol and glycerol which can cause irritation. Some condoms also have a lubricant coating.


It’s important to visit a doctor before self diagnosis and self medication, to establish the type of allergy and take necessary measures to protect yourself. Tests for latex allergies are carried out in 2 forms: blood sample and exposing the skin to potential allergens.

After establishing the type of allergy, it’s natural that one should avoid the trigger agents. Find alternatives to use.

The solution to this phenomena is abstinence, use of other forms of contraceptives or use of non-latex condoms.

Examples of non latex condoms are:

i) Polyurethane condoms: They are thinner but stronger than latex, and transfer heat more efficiently hence enhanced sensations.

ii) Polyisoprene condoms: The synthetic form of latex. They are stretchier than polyurethanes, therefore provide a sensation far more similar to their real latex counterparts.

iii) Female condoms: These are flexible and made of a soft plastic with a polyurethane ring coated with silicone lubricant.


Stay safe. Know your body. If something is not right, do not rush to self medicate. Always see a doctor first.

iv) Lambskin condoms: These are made of sheep intestines, a natural animal product.

Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder (PGAD)


A peculiar clip caught my attention a few days ago. A young woman was being interviewed live on TV, an upcoming artist, and she boldly stated that she wanted to cut off her clitoris so she can concentrate on her music career. She said she was always horny and it was distracting her from focussing on her passion.

Of course I was shocked. And I laughed for a good minute. It trended on the internet and everyone was having a kick ass time laughing, making memes and talking all sorts of trash.

Later on I got curious. I wondered if she is a sex addict? Is her appetite that insatiable? Is she making it up? Imagine getting so horny to a point that it’s distressing and you wish to cut off your lady parts just to focus on something else! Imagine being that desperate.

For most people, being horny is seen as being normal. Being human. And everyone craves orgasms. Everybody wants to experience an orgasm so intense it feels like a volcano erupted inside you. But imagine if you had back to back orgasms daily; every hour, feeling horny all the time, totally unprovoked and not being able to control it.


Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder (PGAD) is a medical condition described as excessive, unwanted and unprovoked genital arousal. It’s a different kind of arousal outside of sexual desires and fantasies, commonly experienced by women.

It’s having intrusive sensations of throbbing, tingling, wetness, itching, burning, pressure, pounding, and pins & needles. It’s not horniness. It’s not hypersexuality. When you’re horny, it’s mostly caused by sexual thoughts. But in the case of PGAD, women are faced with excessive and persistent genital arousal in the absence of desire.

It’s characterized by an overwhelming feeling of genital congestion and pressure on the pelvic, so it’s more about pain than pleasure. You feel as if you are on the verge of an intense orgasm that you can’t complete.

The urge to masterbate is overwhelming, but it’s not advisable as it only intensifies the symptoms. Masturbating to an orgasm offers no lasting solution, as the sensations cool down for a while and resume almost immediately. These sensations persist for hours or days and cause discomfort and distress.

However, different women experience different forms of PGAD. Some experience sensations that lead to multiple orgasms in a day, and others have constant arousal but no orgasms.

Sufferers of this rare condition are often classified as hypersexual/sex addicts/nymphomaniacs. We live in an evolving world yet a majority of people still hold conservative attitudes about sexuality. PGAD is not known because the women who bear it’s burden rarely seek help, fearing the stigma that comes with it. Most report cases of being abused and misunderstood, that in turn affects them mentally. They suffer shame and embarrassment.

The cause of PGAD is unknown. But medical experts say it can be triggered by anxiety, panic attacks, depression, distress, frustrations, guilt/shame, insomnia, and certain medications eg anti-depressants.

Before you diagnose yourself of having PGAD, seek a medical perspective. According to medics, the criteria for diagnosis is:

i) Involuntary genital and clitorial arousal that continues for an extended period of hours, days or months.

ii) No cause can be identified

iii) Not associated with feelings of sexual desire

iv) When the sensations feel intrusive and unwanted

v) After orgasm, arousal doesn’t go away

This condition causes a great amount of distress to the sufferer. It disrupts your social and sexual life. You obviously can’t stay around people for long and if you are in a relationship your sex life suffers too. Most women eventually lose the notion of sexual pleasure; because they associate orgasms with relief from pain, rather than an enjoyable experience.

PGAD is incurable. There are, however, ways to manage it. Doctors advocate for cognitive behavioral therapy through activities like meditation, swimming, distraction, and avoiding obvious triggers like bumpy rides, using tampons, even avoiding wearing high heels as they offset balance of the pelvis. Other ways of managing it are physically applying ice to pelvic area or having an ice bath, topical pain killing applications, prescribed medication like certain anti-depressants and anti-seizure meds. In severe cases, electroconvulsive therapy is used.


It’s paramount to seek the opinion of a medic before self diagnosis. Maybe you are just horny. We must also stop with the constant demoralization of women for things they have no control of. Nobody chooses to be the way they are. Sufferers of PGAD should also embrace their condition and learn to cope so as to avoid mental health issues leading to suicide. It’s not a death sentence. It’s painful, but it’s manageable.

Even superman gets tired



That’s the number of times I’ve seen my dad at his lowest.

The first time was in Mid 2018 when my mom had a miscarriage. I had been so excited to have another sibling. I was certain it would be a baby boy. Mom had been over the moon as well; excited about adding a new member of the family, glowing, and shopping for maternity wear. All our joy came tumbling down in one night. That evening, they (mom and dad) failed to make it home by six o’clock as usual. They always came home together, unless my dad had travelled or was working late. And I always waited for moms final word on what to prepare for dinner. I got worried and called her. She told me to go ahead and prepare dinner so the other kids could sleep early since it was school week. She said they had passed by the doctor’s and that they would be running late. I didn’t suspect anything since it is normal for a pregnant woman to undergo regular check-ups.

A few hours later they finally arrived. Usually, you’d hear mom’s loud laughter or voice from afar as they approached the gate. She’s always a jovial person. That night they were all quiet. I tried to shrug it off and thought maybe work was stressful that day. Mom came straight to the kitchen where I was, almost done with cooking. She looked sad. I asked her what had happened at the doctor’s. She closed the kitchen door, not wanting my younger siblings to overhear our conversation, and told me the last thing I wanted to hear. The baby had died in the womb. The doctor said she’d been carrying a dead baby for about 4 weeks. I didn’t even know what to say. What could I possibly say to ease her pain? I remember telling her”I’m sorry” and hugging her. I held back tears because the other kids would obviously suspect something. We embraced for a few minutes then she retrieved to the bedroom to rest.

I couldn’t sleep that night. At all. I was so angry, hurt and frustrated. All I had was a series of “why’s” and no one to answer me. Dad wasn’t even talking. You could clearly tell he was hurting, but he had to be strong.

Later that night the baby came out on its own, without any induction. The doctor had wanted to extract the dead foetus from her womb but she was still in denial so she vehemently refused. He opted to give her an abortion pill that would expel the baby from the womb, at her convenience, because carrying it around could pause a danger to her. Mom was in denial, and being a staunch Christian, she clinged on to the hope that a miracle might happen. Or maybe the doctor’s report could be wrong. She was praying that night when it all happened. She would later tell me that she just felt something pop out, on its own. Suddenly blood was gushing out onto the floor and there it was: The reality check she needed to accept the situation.

I wasn’t asleep. I heard her scream and ran to her bedroom. But dad had locked the door from inside. He wouldn’t let me in. He said I didn’t have to see anything, he didn’t want me to panic. But I wanted to be there for my mother. I wanted to help out, even if it was just holding her hand.

I saw a softer side of him I’d never seen before. He cleaned the mess, he warmed water for mom and bathed her, he did everything to make her comfortable till morning. The look on his face, I will never forget it. He was in the brink of tears, but he held it together. He took a shovel and wandered off to the furthest corner of our compound, dug a hole and buried who would have been my sister or brother. In the midst of all the chaos, we hadn’t confirmed it’s gender. He stayed there for a while. I think he might have shed a  tear or two while wallowing in the dark. I’ll never know. All I know is he was angry, terrified and completely heart broken.


The second time was last year. Worst time ever for our family. What had started has normal-looking stomach pangs finally progressed into aggressive pains that couldn’t let him eat or drink anything. Numerous visits to several doctors confirmed he was ok. Yet every night after eating he would either get a severe stomach ache, vomit or diarrhea, sometimes all. He cut off on wheat, red meat, sugar, spices but it didn’t work. Even when all he ate was fruits and water, he still suffered for it.

He was stressed. A lot. He lost a tremendous amount of weight, and always looked tired. He had changed his entire diet but he was still in pain. As the weeks went by, the problem only progressed. The pain was becoming more severe and no painkiller could calm it. Several tests later, it was confirmed that he had a growth in his colon. A small lump had been detected during a check up. Now, when you hear the word ‘growth’ you immediately think cancer. Even as the doctor told us not to jump to conclusion just yet, it was hard not to. One thing was certain though, he had to undergo immediate surgery to remove the lump, after which they would conduct tests on it to determine whether it was cancerous or not. My dad had never gone through surgery. He was only used to Malaria jabs every now and then. And there he was being told he had a growth in his colon that could be cancerous. The news hit him hard. We talked one evening. He told me he was shocked, and worried but he trusted God to heal him. I lacked words. As before, what could I possibly say to make him feel better? I sat there and listened. Hoping that my presence was somehow soothing. He looked terrified. But he was trying to be brave for us all.

The test results came out positive. It was cancer. And the hardest journey began: Chemotherapy. Thankfully, he only had to undergo six sessions since the growth had already been removed and it had not spread to other areas. The chemo was just to make sure there was nothing left and to stop any possible spread. Chemotherapy is the worst thing to happen to someone, we all know that. It’s supposed to heal you but it’s almost like it turns your own body against you. Majority of patients dread the awful side effects. And I cried for him. I hoped he wouldn’t have to undergo anymore pain. Mom was devastated but stayed praying. She was so strong, yet so afraid. I couldn’t pray. Everytime I held a rosary to recite, words stuck at the back of my throat. I didn’t Know what to tell or ask God. I lacked words. I just wanted him to be better. I had never been so afraid to loose someone my entire life. It was a difficult time for everyone.

Miraculously, dad didn’t suffer the negative effects of chemo. It seemed to be working out great for him. The only thing we had to deal with was loss of blood. He didn’t loose hair, he didn’t feel weak. As a matter of fact, he gained weight. And his appetite went through the roof. He was eating well again, without having to throw up later.

After the six sessions were done, he was given medicine and would be tested a few weeks later to determine the state of his health.

He is better now. We thank God the cancer hadn’t spread. He is well. And cancer-free.


My dad is the calm one in the family. The one you can never tell how he’s feeling. Whether he’s mad or happy, it’s not easy to tell. My mom on the other side is loud. She talks. A lot. She’s social and a people person. Opposites attract, right?
My dad is not the kind to ask for help, or confess how he’s feeling. He’s always the strong one. The provider and protecter. A good husband and father. Our superman. Seeing him vulnerable was honestly refreshing. At least I got to know that he also worries about things. That he gets stressed. That he’s human. I learnt that even superman gets tired🌸

Wine and strokes


He had me at “I’ll cook for you” and “have a conversation”. So I shaved, took a long bath, picked a dress I’d never worn and off I went to be fed by a wonderful man I’d met only a few weeks earlier. He had been a regular viewer of my Instagram stories, food porn is what he called them. I don’t normally reply Dm’s but when someone offers a genuine compliment on my food  and blog, I have to say something back. Mr man crept his way to my soft spot with his witty comments and a general aura of good intentions. He knew how to get me talking, to open up and make me feel better. Once I saw his name pop up in my notifications, I’d smile, no matter how crappy I felt. He was like my God sent supplier of happiness and unlimited smiles. He was good with puns. The kind that had me laughing till my belly hurt. And now, it was time to find out if he was any good with pans too.

Uber dropped me off at a modern loft in the outskirts of the city. It was refreshing. No noise, no nosy neighbours, no chaos at all. It was like a completely different world. Must be nice to breath such clean air, I thought to myself as I made my way up to apartment number 7.

“Why are you so extra? Apron, gloves and a chef’s hat, really dude?” I couldn’t help myself but laugh when he opened the door. Yeah he looked good, but it was too extra, at least for someone who claimed he didn’t know much about cooking.

“Don’t be mean I was just trying to impress you”

His hug was so warm, and tight, and I  felt like marshmallows melting under intense embers of a bonfire. I felt like a baby in his embrace. His ripped torso engulfed my frame and I’d never felt so safe my entire life. It was almost a full minute before I broke away and changed the topic, coz I couldn’t ‘unfeel’ his seemingly endowed package pressed hard against my abdomen.

“So, what’s for dinner?” I asked sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. He proceeded to his pots to check on the food as I sat at the kitchen table top and helped myself to a glass of chilled sweet red wine.

“I’m making pasta. It goes great with wine, wine goes well with a good conversation and …it’s much easier to cook!” He remarked,  smiling so hard I I felt a tingle down my nether regions. He was cute; clad in a vest and sweats, apron and a cheesy hat, fumbling with pans and ingredients. It’s fascinating to watch someone cook, especially if they are cooking only for you. He threw down, I drank wine, chatting about anything and everything. It wasn’t until I stood up to go to the couch that I realized just how much wine I’d drank. Now, wine drunk is a different type of drunk. That shit goes straight to your pussy. It was fireworks down there but I played it cool. We decided to eat from the couch over a new movie he’d suggested.

Then the curse of Netflix happened. We didn’t even get to ten minutes into the film. As I was eating I accidentally dubbed a bit of sauce in my right cheek, just a little below my lip. He offered to wipe it off, with his tongue. It sounded innocent initially but it actually ended up being steamy. He leaned in and licked the sauce off my cheek. I felt a tingly sensation all over my body. We had that awkward staring at each other with hard breaths and dark desire moment just like in the movies.

His mouth met mine in a moment of hesitation and excitement. We kissed, hungrily and passionately, sending our plates sprawling on the floor as he laid me down on the couch. I felt ridiculously hornier with every kiss, every caress. My blood was rioting with desire. My legs shook with passion. My skin formed goosebumps after every encounter with his lips. His attention to detail was meticulous; paying homage to every part of me with his mighty tongue, without direction or a little nudging.

I felt my spirit leave my body and travel into far space when he sucked, licked and twirled on my little bean. I felt explosions of mind-blowing and leg-shaking spasms rock my entire body. That head deserved an Academy Award, and I just had to return the favour. So we switched positions and I bowed down to worship his dark, throbbing and majestic joystick. Black dick is so beautiful. It just stands there on its own, looking all mighty and delicious, ready to get wobbled in saliva and immersed in the deep sweet waters of a vagina. I spit, guggled and choked on it like my life depended on every movement. It was hot, and delicious and every throb nudged me on as I deep throated and dunked his balls into outer space.

Out of excitement and in the heat of the moment we fell off the couch and landed on the fluffy rug that covered a quarter of the marble floor. We giggled a bit as I got time to catch my breath and cool my jaws. He then pinned me down to the floor and eased into me, filling my mouth with his so he muffled my gasps and moans. His dick filled me up just right, exactly how I loved it. He teased me with slow and intimate strokes, his gaze never leaving mine, deliberately driving me crazy with his beautiful penis. I couldn’t help myself but cum as he hit all the right spots with his well articulated moves. My thighs shook and I felt my pussy grip his dick so hard he moaned. He went into full beast mode and thrushed my gut with such brutal vigour. My insides felt let me soup at this point and I thrived in that bittersweet emotional rollercoaster.

He did cum, groaning and moaning like a satisfied savage beast. I almost patted his cheeks for such an outstanding performance. He couldn’t last long in this good pussy. I came twice, or thrice I think. This is why women are so much more powerful than men, you know.

“What was the name of that movie again?’ I looked over to his sweaty frail self. He laughed, shaking his head, as he struggled to get up. Maybe this time around we’ll last till the credits, I thought to myself.Just maybe.