A murderous person is a man who has been denied sex after
being so certain that he would get some for the night. His mind is a riot. Suicidal thoughts race through his mind. His
rage and loathing, if they could be concentrated, would be more dangerous than
the worst snake poison ever created. In the morning, a woman will have a better
chance of being shown where the toothpaste is because men tend to use MANTRUMS.
I recently had this experience, and here is what I concluded.
At 3.37 a.m., we left the club.
With at least 13 bottles of cold Tusker, colder than your ex’s heart, in my
hands, I was walking as if one of my steps would send the entire planet into
space. My second name was scarcely comprehensible, much less my phone number.
I'm with Mwas, a dear buddy whose kindness that evening had been exploited to
the fullest. Mwas drives, hence the Matatu snarl has been resolved. In addition,
I was going to host Mwas’ covert activities for the evening.
A girl with a very average
face—you could easily compute the mean of anything on it—was what Mwas had
managed to Chips Funga. However, she made up for any facial flaws with a
fantastic figure that served as the men's nighttime sexual feast. She had
worked the groins of the males watching by wringing, swinging, and rubbing her
bottom and hips. I wouldn't have been shocked if she sent a man down with one
orgasmic epileptic feat if she danced that manner with a novice. I believe she
had a cute name like Laura.
Because his wife has frozen the goods at home, I went with him to the club to look for something to sooth his rushing pelvic needs.I was at the club as usual, more interested in the alcohol than any available attractive women.
It therefore looked that his problems were ending when he confided to me that he had run into an old coworker who used to have hots for him.
However, the woman had other plans.
At 4:03 am, we got home. Mwas was
eager to get going. He had to be starving, boy. He stumbled into a room he is
quite familiar with as soon as we entered the house, his funga beside him, and
it appeared to me that they both desperately needed one another. I was
mistaken.
I was so groggy when I checked
into my room that I had forgotten about all my problems. I was in one of those
situations where I had everything on, including one shoe and a belt that was
just partially fastened. When this happens, you simply slump onto the bed and
can doze off for ten hours. I carried out a little ritual that I always carry
out after a long night of drinking when I arrive home. Before I throw my phone
somewhere I can't hear it ring, I check the clock and figure out how long I
want to sleep. I don't really mind if the president tries to get in touch with
me.
Only 27 minutes later, Mwas
forcefully shook me up and let out a loud sigh that I'm sure my dusty Kesses
apartments might have heard in Mountain Longonot. He sighed in frustration, and
it almost sounded like a wind gust yanking my duvet off the bed.
He uttered "Maze huyu mamaa
hajipi," sounding so worn out and furious. His voice's pleading tone was a
dead giveaway. In my thoughts, the gods of a severe hangover started to drum
up. My head's northeastern region had started that minor beating that
ultimately keeps me in bed for the entire Sunday. When I stared into his eyes,
all of my intoxication instantly decreased by 80%.
“Nataka tumdrop kwake, wallahi,
namwacha round about ya Engineering school?”
I became immediately alarmed.
Mwas keeps his promises. He once gave a particular woman, who had gotten on his
nerves, such a harsh smack that she was kept in a coma for a full month. For
the record, he is a Luhyia, and his hand is the size of a spade. He threatens
even me with his low, frightening voice. On Monday, I could see the headlines.
Laura's future was in jeopardy. For more than an hour, I had to reassure Mwas
to take it easy as he viciously tore the carpet in the house and smashed
everything to vent his rage.
He sobbed over his time. He
sobbed because his three or four Black Ices had performed the opposite. He
became engrossed in his arguments and passed out on the floor. You ought to
have seen Mwas.
See, women on their first night
dates are especially quiet and hardly able to eat anything, according to my
observations. Particularly if the male is gambling and nothing has been decided
upon in advance. On their first night, most ladies are almost always reluctant,
unless they are a prostitute or a chips funga.
Every first night is a little
unnerving. I am familiar with many guys who have done the greatest dinners,
served them with wine, and met all other requirements only to find themselves
immobilized in a crisis. These are the men that thrive on the notion that a
woman is ready to go once she has consumed her coffee, dinner, and wine. In the
past, it was simpler to bed an intoxicated woman, and many older men did well
by providing her with enough bottles of black ice or hard whiskey to make her
lose all physiological sensations save for her sexual cravings. No longer.
It's foolish to purchase a woman
too much alcohol lately with the hope that she will cave. Even though many
women are comfortable sleeping with strangers after their first experience and
our society as a whole is very liberal, some still play hard to get, especially
if it is the first night.
I didn't understand why tinted
automobiles had become so popular among non-politicians until I was smoking
outside a club and saw the rottenness in this Campus. These days, so much sex
occurs between strangers. Strangers have made out, then had an affair in their
automobiles before returning to the club looking as if they were going to
acquire more drinks by taking money out of the car.
But the first night still baffles
me. Every man who often sleeps has experienced this shocker. Boring and stiff.
It's not a matter of not knowing how to handle ladies. There are women who
erroneously think that being laid on the first date means they are loose, which
is also the case in reality.
They guard their initial
encounter because of this, especially if they sense something positive about
the man's future. They would prefer to portray a reduced frequency of partying.
However, men tend to have skewed viewpoints on these issues. Without putting
too much thought into it, you can tell a lady who sleeps around based on your
first contacts with her.
Ladies, let me say this: It is
blatantly unjust to refuse a man on the first night after he has spent on you.
Despite the guy's stupid assumption that his efforts must be repaid by a lady
resting on her back, a woman will be helpful and assist the man in bringing
matters to light as soon as possible.
Any decently old woman has come
across males who are randy and unable to hear anything. Even periods are unable
to halt them. Some women have been known to touch blood because they have been
known to falsely insert tampons to keep off guys they don't want but can't warn
off in order to gain financially. Seeing truly is believing.
That is how men value sex when
they are up to it.
Anyway to make matters easy for
fellow men, here are signs that you are not getting any that night.
• If you arrive home and she asks
you the sleeping arrangements, know mentally sex is out of question.
• If she offers to sleep with you
in the same bed and gets to bed with her jeans on, start adjusting to the
reality.
• If she asks for an extra
blanket, your goose has been fried.
• If she starts talking like she
can be comfortable on the carpet or the sofa, you will require the persuasive
skills of the most qualified PR person in the world to convince her otherwise.
• If she starts hinting on the
ride home that she would wish to go to her place.
• If she starts claiming that
tomorrow she has a busy day.
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