The one-night stand

She managed to express something between a long deep breath and a sigh, after which she gently rolled off his broad hairy chest to lie a little farther away from him. As soon as she felt comfortable enough in her new position, she reached for her Smartphone, which was obviously smarter than her small mind. She was about to browse her increasing guilt away. For her, the feeling of not being on the phone for the past thirty minutes or so could be likened to a neglect of her world for many light years.

Normally, she would have to reply texts, return missed calls, and look around her Facebook community for gossips, and to answer messages on Whatsapp, Tango, Viber and anything that makes the nothingness grandiose, except this time around, she had an objective, which was to find out if the poor lonely boy she has been flirting with, for the past three years was still single and waiting on her forever, as he always offered. 

She fervently hoped and prayed with bated breath for the poor thing to still be available as she quickly navigated into her inbox. She dug into her long list of messaging pals, until she came by the name she was looking for and frantically typed a “hi” before heaving a sigh. Even though the green light which indicated one’s presence on line was off, she silently hoped it was off for a reason. What was she going to say when a “hi” pops up? Was she going to out-rightly tell him that she was now available or she would diplomatically elicit information her own way, she deliberated.

She was apprehensive and would not hesitate to make it evident. Life has changed and it was her turn to want, to have, and to keep, and it didn’t matter if she was desperate. She was the one who always looked forward to having a good man; a man she could be proud of, a man who will assuage for her rolling stone of a Father who never was there. 

Growing up without a real man in her life, all she envisaged were men playing different roles and doing all sort of magical things with her. Men who were at his beck and call but only existed in her mind. She had her own notion of what love should be and had her own idea of which man she deserved. A checklist she always failed to literally carry about, which makes her ends up with the same wrong men. 

Her idea of a man is the heroic type who will defeat other men and go for their ladies; the types that pop up in soaps and the cover of Playboy Magazines with two hour hairstyles painstakingly preened up like they were stalked. She always envisaged being with a real man who has his wardrobe lined with fine silks, colorful suits and pairs of shoes for every occasion. She wanted Denzel Washington, maybe a knight in a shining armour or Superman himself, forgetting that, they will all be busy saving the world rather than serving her breakfast in bed.

If she wasn’t this finicky and too keen on what society would think of her, she would not always end up with intelligent and attractive but foolish pricks; guys who would like to be qualified as geniuses instead of the everyday smart she was used to. She always wanted to be important by being with important people who always ended up abusing and breaking her self-esteem.

Here she was, with her resolve as a woman, broken into tiny fragments by the man she was looking up to, as the husband in the making. Even though his need and sense of carefulness has often come up as leads, she failed to follow through and is now about to pay for her negligence. Maybe she fell in love as usual and now reality is jostling her through the exit door. She has to go. She cannot take it anymore. Only fools don’t change their minds and she was not one.

She suddenly felt a surge and thought it was now time to face her fears. It was now time to move on and never again was she going to allow her discriminating mind to split her reality. Life is too short to be contemplative. She quickly went through her contacts, as she bit her lower lip, hoping she had saved the phone number Conrad gave her some time ago but could not find it. If only she had even called him once, she thought.

Conrad was one of the men who held Asantewaa in high esteem and would have done anything to make her happy.  Even before the advent of Bruno Mars, Conrad would have jumped in front of the train for her, but all he got in return for his noble intent and unadulterated love was to be denigrated and treated like a rag. To her, it was pretense because Conrad ought to have known that, they did not belong together. He should have known that she was too classy for him.

“Indeed!”? She thought aloud. 

 “Take me home” she spat out

“I am definitely doing that soon”

“I mean now”

“Come on, you know that is ridiculous. We barely started and…”

“I need to leave here, just take me home now” as she woke up from the bed towards the dresser,

carrying her pair of styled jeans, a yellow lousy blouse and a pair of flat-heeled shoes she picked at the foot-end of the bed. She dropped her things on the stool in front of the vanity set and quickly slipped into her underwear, followed by her Jeans. She hastily wore her dress and walked briskly to the slightly opened door and slammed it behind her as she walked out into the silent and cold whispering night to the amazement of Mr. Playboy who does not mind anyway.

She was going to look for Conrad or wait for him, wherever he has gone to. She has learnt her lessons the hard way, that heroes were only good at saving the world but not at making women feel good and wonderful. Conrad will be her all purpose man. He can and will make him happy, after all she does not need any Superman.

Even though making mistakes was human and expected of us, she was afraid that making one more could turn her into a Superhuman, then it dawned on her that, she had not considered so many things; things that could just deflate her renewed energy and motivation if it didn’t go well.

What if Conrad is nowhere to be found or finding consolation somewhere in the arms of someone who took advantage of the opportunity when the chance presented itself?

“Opportunity never comes once”, she said to herself and started jogging into the night….

Making sense in a senseless world

“The middle of both sides is the asshole” – Anonymous

 

How logical is it for Marriage Counselors to be filing divorce every now and then? How about animal rights activists adorned in leather foot wears with fine belts strapped around their waist still preaching against the killing of animals for social or economic gains? How sensible is it, if buck doesn’t sound like fuck or fuck sounding like fork, yet are worlds apart when it comes to what they mean and represent? How about the Church admonishing the youth to stick to one sexual partner when it is their preserve to ensure that, they don’t even stick at all or engage in amorous relationships until they are actually ready or Police Officers getting apprehended for stealing the very things they were recruited to safeguard?

Evidently, these and many more examples that might bore you to the marrow do not make sense, unless you find yourself in the position of these unfortunate people who always give us a reason to appear sanctimonious.

Even though I am sometimes compelled to conform to the norms and play to the gallery, the only times I do not feel the need to justify my actions and inactions is when I am in control of myself, and as rare as those moments may be, these moments serves as a platform for me to throw caution to the wind and express myself very well.

These moments; the only time, people’s opinion and observations do not matter to me, the only time I happen to deviate from the norm and fall outside people’s expectations and do not give a damn about their comments and reservations.  The only time I project my imperfections as if they were my best features and attributes (trump card). Sincerely, these transient and amazing but exceptional moments, only leaves in its wake an awesome feeling, making me wish it had lingered on for a while, simply because it turns out to be a moment of yet another personal discovery.

Why do we go through thorns and thistles to pick rotten mangoes we can’t eat anyway? Why do we try to explain ourselves even if nobody seems interested in our explanations? Is it to boost our ego or to be accepted as part of the fray? Do we feel inadequate and inferior enough to be the ones to set the standards? It beats my mind why we try so hard to make sense in a senseless world? 

Somehow, I found myself trying to get the right spelling for a practical joke we used to indulge in, way back from my childhood, which comes in the form of teasing, and the realization dawned on me that, I wasn’t making sense to myself. I also realized that, it was the more reason why we should be guided by prudence to let sleeping dogs lie, unless there is an intruder we want it to bark at. I just could not tell if the game was called shiela, sheela or shila o shila as the intro that always preceded the game, but the consciousness was enlightening all the same. A highlighting moment where I realized that, so many things do not make sense if you look at them critically. Yeah, the closer you look, the less you see.

It’s funny how we sway to and fro like a pendulum because we all want to follow where the road leads. It is even disturbing when the queued up folks who usually don’t have a mind of their own are making it difficult for the daring ones to tear away. They indirectly ask you to be like them or you risk being liked by them. 

Evidently, being a loner is no child’s play and only attributive of those who know where they are coming from and by extension where they are going, which behooves the individual to make up their minds. It is serious business being a loner who doesn’t yield to group-think simply because they trust their instincts and abilities as unique individuals. So, by all means from the year 2014 and beyond, go where you want to go, say what you want to say and be who you want to be as long as you are not cloning anyone.  Cross your t’s and dot your i’s and stop justifying yourself to your audience because they will watch and comment anyway. Just believe in yourself and spearhead your life because being in the middle only makes you an asshole!

Merry Christmas to you, my cherished reader. May you enjoy the yuletide to the max!

Sex: the controlling factor

Yes! Sex controls you and I. It dictates our feelings and by extension, where we go, what we do, which dress and fashion sense we wear. My mom is probably stuck with my Dad simply because they had sex, no, most likely because they gave birth to me, no, it possibly could be, because they got married. Sometimes, we don’t even know which one comes first, but unlike what pertains in our modern dispensation; I am cocksure, they did not jump the gun. 

Maybe these days of being online does not give anyone the luxury to really care anymore. Things have changed, but how long have they been like this? Perhaps, I have been oblivious of the fact that it has been same way since the days of Adam, but, thanks to whoever threw me the curve ball, I have finally arrived.

If you have noticed the sharp and radical contrast that characterizes a relationship when it transits into intimacy, then you probably may have had a firsthand experience with the context and situation I am trying to depict here. Even though, it is not always accompanied by a rude awakening we realize that, we are either being audited or queried or find ourselves doing same to our partners.

They ask us where we are and even deem it their preserve to know. Sometimes, we have to tell them our plans ahead of its implementation. We even feel less important in their lives when they don’t involve us in decision making processes, simply because of the sex factor. Either their fashion and sixth sense rubs on us or they subtly influence us to pick it up or in rare cases, allow us to be.  in the case of religiosity, their degree of inclination and how we fit into it generally becomes a warfare.

And to think that, these hitherto sex partners were meek, tolerant, understanding, self-sufficient, accommodating and probably independent thinkers before sex only makes it unintelligible. When people have sex, they become emotionally attached to their partners except in handful cases where they detach. We try to subconsciously demarcate our space in their lives and vice versa. We assume a partial sense of ownership which is why we become territorial and do not allow others to come around.

We have a propensity to think that, our partners are answerable to our sometimes miserable questions just to satisfy our ego which we don’t let go, even if the writings on the wall seem so legible for our comprehension. As conflicting as it can be, we subconsciously find ourselves wearing and choosing their favorite colors, appreciating and singing the songs they listen to and also conforming to their ideal definition of what their ideal man or woman should be – as we take a long hike into what their predispositions were.

I really do not care what you are thinking or which category you may have classified yourself to be in, but we all become stressed towards people we have sexual relationships with, several times before the sun sets, sometimes over petty issues like jealousy, their commitment or lack of it, simple dis-agreements over what to eat, wear, who to associate with or even where to do the association. Then, you would turn to yourself and ask, why all these unnecessary drama?

Dear reader, the answer herein may seem oversimplified but it is simply because you guys have had sex or still having a sexual relationship and if you are wondering why these drama and attitude of yours does not extend to your other friends you are yet to experience intimacy with or even in extreme cases, your Ex, then we are on the verge of discovering the answer together.  We may almost be concluding this article by agreeing that, sex controls our lives, so be careful who you initiate intimacy with.