Friday, September 28, 2007

Shall we dance...

I’ve never been much of a fan of dancing.
I still remember why.
It was my fifth birthday.
My mum, as most parents would do, had decided that it was a perfect excuse to throw a party. I failed to see the point. Why spend so much on a party inviting adults who I really didn’t like, and a bunch of people from my school (most of whom I also didn’t really like) when the same amount would have got me a brand new Atari 64 game console.
Sometimes they can’t see the obvious.

The chicken was being fried in the kitchen. The female adults where hanging around the kitchen. The male adults where hanging behind the female adults.
Your basic typical food chain.
I and my sister went to hangout on the balcony and stare out at the world whilst praying feverishly that we never became annoying number calling adults.
Eventually the party started.
It started out okay.
I got a couple of gifts from people. Most of whom I didn’t know.
My second best gift was a scrabble board.
I still own it and most of the tiles are worn out with age and use. My first was my cumulative cash donation by everyone. I had a thousand naira, three hundred and twenty six Naira fifty kobo. My mum smiled when she took it from me promising to keep it for me.
It only got bad when my mum decided that I should dance.
You’re the birthday boy. Everyone is here to see you. Come on darling. Dance for us.
Everyone agreed that this was a lovely idea and all together they formed a circle around me.
I was five and in high spirits. That meant I was stupid enough to actually listen to them. When the circle was formed, midst clapping and people shouting in the background, I started dancing.
I’d just seen the Michael Jackson moonwalk a week before and I had known instinctively that I could do that move. I decided to start with that. Warm the crowd up a bit. I took a step back in what was to be the opening sequence and fell flat on my face. Everyone giggled. Not to worry I told myself. Since I was on the floor I would just do the worm. So I tried to do the worm. It didn’t work very well because I heard my Aunt ask my mum nervously.” Is he convulsing?”
My mum rushed to me and dragged me to my feet.
“I’m fine mum.” I said laughing. “I was just dancing.”
“That was dancing?” my mum asked with a horrified look on er face,
“Yes “
She nodded her head nervously and asked me to sit down.
Somewhere in the background my sister seized the moment to stick her hand into my uncut cake and eat a piece.
The next day at school I was the laughing stock of the entire school. Those who had come for my party quickly related tales of my dancing exploits to the rest. Everywhere I went I would see people doing funny moves that looked a lot like nothing I had done.
“You’re a terribly dancer.” A boy was stupid enough to tell me.
I kicked him in the gonads!
Later that evening as I stood in the bathroom about to have my bath I pondered on what I had been told during the day.
1) 1) It was terrible to kick a boy in his gonads.
2) 2) I was a terrible dancer.
Off the two, only the former bothered me. I looked at the bathroom floor.
The problem with my rendition of the Michael Jackson moonwalk I reasoned was that the ground hadn’t been slippery enough. I bet Michael had loads and loads of oil on the stage when he did his. What I needed was lubrication. I looked on the bathroom shelf and spotted my mum’s shampoo.
In five minutes I had covered most of the bathroom floor with the gooey pink sweet smelling gunk.
That ought to do it. I reasoned.
I stood at one end and took a step back. Hello Micheal. I think I spun five times in the air before I landed with a loud thud on the floor.
“Carlang dearie. Are you okay?“ My mum asked as she ran into the bathroom.
“I’m fine mum. I think I hurt myself.”
“My shampoo!!” She screamed in anger. “What did you do you stupid boy.”
SO now I was stupid. Five seconds ago I was dearie. The inconsistencies of adults.
She looked at me in anger. I knew that look.
“I’m already in pain mum. You don’t need to punish me.” I told her calmly.
It didn't help.

That pretty much was it. After that I stopped dancing.
Dancing was ridiculous I told myself. Playing scrabble was so much cooler.
I went through primary school resolute in my decision.
Fortunately some boy threw a party where his dog went wild and bit some students. Everyone forgot about my party after that. By the time I got to secondary school Mc Hammer was king of the world. Everyone was trying to show that they were “Too legit to quit”. I held my opinions to myself. During social events as my friends jumped into the dancehall to make perfect assses of themselves I would stand by a corner and watch with amusement.
I don’t dance. I told everyone that asked me. I had a hundred intelligent reasons why I shouldn’t. By the time I got to the thirtieth they usually left me alone.
Apart from a spell when my Grandma begged me to dance for her and I complied I didn’t do much dancing. My mum chastised me afterwards. She said she had never seen her mum laugh so much and if I killed her with mirth she would seize my Nintendo system.
I didnt dance after that.
Secondary school went by pretty quickly
And then universities came.
Every time I went to a party there was always some girl asking me to dance with her. My hundred reasons didn’t make much sense all of a sudden.
Here was a beautiful girl. Lovely hips. Eyes to die for. She’s asking me to dance.
What’s my excuse?
Wit? Stuff it Oscar Wilde

But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t risk falling on the floor again. My girlfriend didn’t get it. Once she took me to a night club. Got me really drunk in the hope that alcohol would loosen my inhibitions and get my feet swaying.
Well. I did get swaying but there was nothing artistic or rhythmical about it
Plus midst all the smoke I suffered my worst asthma attack ever.
I stayed away from the clubs after that.
And then this year came.

No one was calling me again,I had perfected the Gonads kicking trick, But everyone was insistent on one thing. I had to throw a party. Everyone felt that a number like that 07 07 07? Was too good a number to waste. I had to throw a party .It was just too monumental to pass by.
I agreed with them.
After a quick perusal of my bank account I decided that yes. I could throw a party after all. Why not.
After all I hadn’t had a party since my mum stole my money and sister punched my cake..
Maybe this time it would turn out better.
So I listened to everyone
I listened to me.
I didn't listen to my account statement.I threw the party.
It started out slow.
I threw the party outdoors. The skies were clear. We had installed lights.The music was blaring and I was standing at the edge of what had become a dance hall.
Suddenly a girl grabbed my hands and pulled me in. I started protesting and laughing at the same time. I said five funny things at once.Automatic damage control.
She ignored me and put her hands around my neck. One step. Two step. I fumbled a bit and protested. She ignored me.
She peristed..
and then…
I was dancing.
What happened the next five hours was simple.
I danced my head off.
i think i danced with every single girl that came for the party. My feets just kept moving.
The punch helped.
In the end , it really isn’t difficult this dancing thing. You just move your body to the music. One two...there you go.
I had fun.
So now I don’t hate dancing. In fact…I seem to spend half my time dancing theses days. I dance when there’s no music. I dance when there; music. Years of suppressed Terpsichore (that's my word for the day. I'm supposed to use it at least once.) suddenly let loose.
I’m dancing. Dancing dancing.
It took a while but I'm finally here. I don’t hate dancing now, I’m going clubbing tonight. True I’m hardly the worlds greatest dancer. I probably never will be. But I’ve found out that you really don’t need the Michael Jackson moonwalk to impress a girl.
Besides…the moon walk takes you away from the girl, which is such a waste of time (and space and girl )if you want my humbled amateur opinion.
My days are more fun now. I’m dancing again.
This would have been a story with a perfectly happy ending except for one slight thing.
I stopped dancing when I was five.
Two weeks before I stopped bedwetting.

Now I’m dancing.
The bedwetting thing…
It isn’t going to come back is it?

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Me and I

The sun was warm outside.
The first bit of sunshine we had had in 2 weeks. Plenty of things to do on such a day.
Go out for a long walk.
Finally get to do my laundry.
Go to the rainmaker and burn his house down.
Instead of these lovely options I was stuck indoors with a girl.

She was lovely. She was very sexy. She was my friend’s girlfriend.
My friend, (whose girlfriend I was babysitting at his request) had left for Abuja in the morning. It was almost 4. He was supposed to be there by now. He hadn’t called since he left. His girlfriend, like girls are wont to do, was freaking out.
“Maybe he is dead?” She said to me as I struggled to read the 45th page of a novel for the 17th time. We’d tried playing scrabble but she couldn’t concentrate long enough.
“Maybe.” I agreed.
“How can you say that?” She screamed at me.
I looked at her. “I thought you said it first.”
Girls have unbelievably selective memory.
“He should call. I’ll kill him. I swear. I’ll kill him. I don’t care what his excuse is. When I see him I’ll kill him.” She said.
“And if his excuse is that he is dead? You’ll still go on and kill him?” I asked sagely.
“Carlang!!” she screamed. Her eyes looked like I just announced that I had a cobra as a pet snake.
“What? You started it. Look, I think he is fine. He probably just got struck in traffic or something. To be fair to him, He doesn’t normally die when he travels. I’d remember.”
She punched me and then attacked me.
Which was what I wanted in the first place. Something to get her mind of its self destructive panic. Mid way through her sleeper hold move on my neck, Just when i was about to break into tears and apologise for my insenstivity,Her phone rang.
The ringtone was the first verse of Frank Sinatra’s song Unforgettable.
It was him. The MIA Boyfriend.
Franks Sinatra? Love was so yucky!
They spent three minutes on the phone trading words in lover’s lingo—a wild mixture of I love you. I miss you. Low tones as she whispered some silly dark fantasy. Maybe he whispered the second verse of Sinatra’s hit in return—and then they where done.
Lovers. Even more yucky!!

She looked at me after she hung up. An annoying sweet smile on her face. To see her now you wouldn’t believe she was about to go Clifford Orji on me five minutes ago.
“Wow. You really scolded him. I’m sure he’ll never do it again!” I said with sarcasm trying to fix my book.
Somewhere between my floggings she had managed to rip off the cover of my novel.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Did I do that?”
“No. The page ripped off on its own. It’s suing the rest of the book.”
She laughed at me.
“You’re really silly.”
I waved her off and smiled as well. I didn’t dispute that. People had been calling me silly all my life. Eventually you got to accept that maybe, in some way, you really where silly!

The she saw the ring on my finger.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Oh this. It’s my engagement ring.”
She screamed. Is there a law somewhere that girls always have to scream? I stared warily at my bottle of coke. If her scream broke the bottle…
She rushed over to my side eagerly. She had the “Hurray. Gist. Gist” looks on her face.
“You’re engaged and you didn’t tell us. When? Who are you engaged too?” her eyes sparkled.
Girls and gossip. They're like guys and porn.
“I’m engaged to me.”
She looked at me with a frown.
“What do you mean?”
I stared at her pursed face “It’s really very simple. I’m going out with the coolest guy in the world.” I pointed at my chest “Me!”
“You’re dating yourself.” She said warily. The “Hurray. Gist. Gist” look was gone. Now it was just the “Carlang is the dumbest boy in the whole universe!” look. I was used to those.

“Yes. This isn’t some Narcissist thingy .Trust me it’s the coolest thing in the world. We hang out together. Gist together. We go out together. Me and I. Just yesterday I was going out for a walk with me; was so romantic.” I hugged myself “Anyways... then I told me the loveliest joke ever. The one about the nuns? Yes that one. We couldn’t stop laughing. I told me it was the funniest joke he had ever heard. We went delirious.”
“We?” She asked.
“I and me!”
“Oh please Carl. That ridiculous.”
“Is it? On the contrary. My relationship is filled with advantages.” I countered.
“Like?” She asked.
I stared thoughtfully into space.
“Well... take travelling for instance. Every time I travel I know exactly where I am. I don’t need to worry about how I’m doing because I’m always with me!”
She laughed.
“No seriously. No one in the world understands me better than me so who better to date than the one guy who knows me best. “
“You.” She pointed out.
“Me.” I agreed.

The sun was still warm outside. I wondered what the rainmaker was doing.
She sat down and thought for a moment.
“What about sex? How do you ...”
“Sex? Well first of all I don’t agree with most people that a relationship is naught without sex. I think sex is overrated.”
“You do? “ She asked with a smile.
“Yes. I do. But…sometimes when the urge…..overwhelming… I have methods….”
“Methods?” She had a ridiculous smile. I was instantly wary. The “Hurray. Gist. Gist” look was back.
“Yes. Tell me something. Do you know your spots...your erogenous spots? Places on your body that drive you crazy...I bet you do. Now seeing as you know your body so well, who could possibly be a better lover to you than you?”
She frowned.
“Doesn’t that make you gay?”
“On the contrary.” I retorted. “The beauty of having erotic fantasies is you can have anyone else you want in it. Last night I was with Salma Hayek. The night before I was with Halle Berry. Did you know that Janet Jackson has a tattoo on her left bum?”
“She does?”
“Off course!!I saw it in my fantasy five days ago. It’s really lovely. A sweet teddy bear.”
“Janet Jackson has got a teddy bear on her bum?”
“That’s nothing. You should see my fantasies with Toni Braxton. She’s keeps singing.” I scoffed.
We both burst out laughing.
She suggested we play scrabble again and I agreed. I made sure she won. Three times.
The thing a guy has to do.

Eventually I had to leave. The sun had set behind the hills and the moon was doing warm up laps behind the clouds. The night was still cloaked with soft residual warmth from the day. A perfect day followed by a perfect night.
She tried to get me to stay longer but I really couldn’t. I had a long day ahead tomorrow and my friend was a very jealous guy. He had asked me to babysit her during the day so she wouldn’t miss him that badly.
My job was done.
It had been a lovely day.
I was still sad that I had missed out on burning the rainmaker’s house. I hoped someone else did it.
“Please stay. At least for supper.“
“Thanks dear. I would have loved too. But I can’t. You’ve beaten me three times in scrabble already. I can’t survive a fourth. Besides I promised me we would watch a movie together this evening. If I called me and cancelled I wouldn’t forgive myself.”
She laughed.
“You, Carlang, are a silly person.”
Everyone says that.

Much later that perfect night as I lay alone in bed with my two pillows and a blanket. I closed my eyes and came face to face with a sad truth about my self relationship.
I was lonely.
No matter how hard I bullshit every other people.
When I come to bed and I’m alone.
I can’t bullshit me.
I never fall for it.
Sometimes, I hate hanging around me.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Of chocolates, Bikes and memories.

Life is full of self knowing .
Most of them are really absurd.
One example is the saying “take the bull by the horns.”.
I fail to see the logic behind that particular reasoning unless the bull in question happens to be some one month old, heavily sedated bull. Or do they call them bullings?
I don’t know.
Or yet again take the annoying phrase “Cat got your tongue.” .
I’ve gone over this particular scenario over a hundred times and I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way this can happen is either.

1) You're one of those people with detachable tongues who carry them around in tuna fish cans. I’m not sure but I think you can find people like that in China.

2) Baring that, the only other way this can happen, (Children don’t try this at home) is if you lie on the floor and stick your tongue as far out of your mouth as possible. Off course this is hardly incentive enough for the cat to come and have a nibble so you’ll have to embellish the meal with something they actually like. Say, ketchup, or tuna. For the really brave try balancing a piece of fish on the tip of your tongue. That usually gets the cat’s running. (Children if your parents actually do this. Drop the toys and call 911.)

But sometimes you actually come across some sayings that have a ring of truth to it.
Like, when you’re about to die your life flashes before your eyes.
That, my dear friends, is true.
It does.

My near death experience occurred on an Okada.
I see furrowed looks already. An Okada my dear Non Nigerian friends--(my sympathies by the way. There are over a million benefit of being Nigerian, one of which is instinctively knowing what an Okada is.)—is what we call the commercial motorcycle riders. We call them Okadas, you call them motorbikes used for commercial purposes, and the devil calls them his minions.
It had been a long day. I was pressed for time and I was sick of listening to common sense.
I boarded an Okada.

So there I was on an Okada and we were breaking the land speed record.
I had made the mistake of suggesting we reduce our speed shortly after we took off to our destination. I had heard stories of bike accidents. The other day there had been head line news involving a head on collision between an Okada and a Helicopter. I wasn’t crazy about bettering that and quietly mentioned the fact.
Big mistake.
He had simply grunted and tripled our pace.
I watched with horror as objects became blurs of streaking colors. My jacket fluttered wildly behind me. A cape in the winds.
“Aren’t we going to fast? “ I yelled out to him.
“No!” he replied back. To ensure I got the point he went faster.
This wasn’t working. Appealing to his sanity clearly was futile. I attempted damage control.
“Are you married?” I asked with a smile.
“Do you have children?”
“No” My smile faltered.
“What about your parents?”
“They’re dead.”
“You don’t have any siblings?”
Thank God. I had struck it lucky. I smiled again in relief.
“He died last year.” He added. And then just to make sure I got it. “Bike accident.”
He paused for effect,
“ I was riding the bike.”
That was it. I was on one of those bikes. The ones where the riders didn’t care if they lived or died. More importantly they didn’t care if their passengers lived or died. I looked over head quickly. Was there a chopper in the sky. Did he have a parachute on?
The lord is my sheperd. I shall not want..
There was no helping it now, the only way I was getting of the bike was head first against something. Something hard.

I swallowed my saliva and reached for my cell phone.
Knowing that I was infact going to die on the bike, I started typing out my goodbye text messages on the bike. If I was going to die I would do so with a will.

Dear mum. I’ve always wanted to tell you this. I love you. Yes I was the one who stole the bag of bounty chocolates and then attempted to flush it down the toilet. I really am sorry. The devil made me do it.”

I raised my head just in time to watch us streak between two trailers. The drivers in both stared after us in shock. Looking at the text I decided to change the end. I was going to be meeting the devil in another five minutes. It didn’t make sense accusing him of things he didn’t really do. The last thing I wanted was an irate devil.

“I really am sorry” I corrected. “I was just hungry...”
Did that make sense? I could imagine the fury of my mum when she read my good bye text.
He stole my chocolates just because he was hungry.
He made me watch Dynasty on an empty stomach just because he was hungry.
He made me rip open the toilet floor to extract a chocolate bag just because he was hungry.

If I knew her she probably would try to flush my dead body down the toilet at the morgue. I debated sending them a message to have a plumber handy.
Then I reconsidered. They probably had a standby plumber already. What with bodies trying to escape and all.

“We just passed 120 kilometers an hour!’ The Okada rider announced with a smile on his face. Least I think it was a smile. At the speed we were going my skin was also being stretched away from my face. I had the same grin.
“Okay! Splendid. “I replied.
My jacket kept flapping in the wind. Before the bike ride it had been a lovely green. Now it was pale white.
I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one terrified.
Tears streamed down my eyes.
Boo hoo. I was going to die.
My life flashed in front of my eyes.

I was debating who the next recipient of my text message would be, (My brother who owed me money or my sister who I had borrowed the money from to loan him), when I felt a decrease in speed. I held my breadth in hushed hope. Could it be? Would I get to live?
I felt my skin settling back in place. I peered over the shoulder of the ghoul riding the bike. The needle on the speedometer was arcing towards the left. A steady depression. I stared. 90km….80km…
My mind went into overdrive.
I’d read an article somewhere that It was safe to jump of a bike as long as it was not going faster that 20km/hr
the needle hit the 20km/hr mark , I decided , I was going to jump off the bike. Who cared if I broke my bones in the process? At least I’d get to live.
I waited. My body tensed with anticipation. Adrenalin coursed through my veins.
The needle stayed at 50km/hr.
“What’s this woman driving?” The rider grumbled.

In front of us was the reason for our deceleration. A Nissan Jeep. Whoever the driver was she was most definitely not a speed demon. She drove slowly down the highway, thwarting the insane path of the bike I was on. I stared at the needle.
Please drive slower. Drive slower.
As if we shared telepathic link, unbelievably she slowed down some more. Despite the cursing and honking from the bike I was on.

The Okada rider looked possessed. I suspected that somewhere , inserted in his contract with the devil , was a clause wherein, he was not allowed to slow down for more than 2 minutes. Already he had slowed down for a minute and a half. Another 30 seconds and he would be punished by the devil and sent to heaven where everyone walked, no one went more than 5km/hr and chariots of fire were drawn by well behaved ponies.
The horror.

The number leaped at me. I was almost there. I could make it. I braced myself for the leap. I sincerely hoped 20km/hr was a lot slower than 25km/hr because in my opinion we were still moving too quickly. My left leg ignored the rest of my body.
You jump if you want too. I’m staying here with Schumacher.
Oh come on.
A mutiny now?
I tried to convince my left leg to move. Trying to convince it that spaghetti mode was hardly the best of choices. I’d do anything after we get off.
A massage. A pedicure. A brand new pair of trainers only for you.
Just when I thought I had gotten through to it. Just when I thought I would be able to make the leap. Just when I thought I would live. She slowly drifted across the lane making way for the bike man to pass.
The needle shot from 23 to 70 in a second. I screamed in shock. The bike man laughed and launched himself into space. I could see the end. I had to stop this soon. If I didn’t, I would end up as graffiti against some wall.
My family would sit down for the evening news and my observant sister would go. “ Doesn’t that body without a head look like Carl?”
My brother would probably just smile and thank God he hadn’t paid me. My PSP would be his too.
No .
I had to do something . I was too young to die.
As we raced past the Nissan I yelled at the female driver. Somehow I had to stop the bike.
“See how you dey drive. You idiot. Like say you be Okada rider.”
He slammed on his breaks. literally. One minute we were a bullet set to beat the speed of light the next we were dead in the center of the road.
“What did you say?” The Okada rider snapped at me.
I jumped of the bike and ran away tossing more than my fair share of the fare at him.

I’d always had a problem with the saying. “ A fool and his money are easily parted.”
“If the guy is such a fool” I would ask with an intelligent look “ Then how did he get money in the first place?”
Efico. What did I know. Life had thought me a lesson. It was possible to be a fool.
Behind I heard the loud roar of an approaching truck .I ignored it and ran to the nearest tree on the road. I jumped straight at the tree and hugged the roots. Tears ran down my eyes.
“Land. Land!!” I muttered.
People walked by giving me strange looks. I was past caring. I had just survived an attempt on my life. The tree at least had some sympathy. It’s branches patted my head in comfort.
Across the streets the bike roared into life again. I looked up quickly. He had picked up another passenger. Some cute girl. She had on a T-shirt with the words You want milk? inscribed on the front. I memorized the shirt. I would look for it on the news tonight. Another victim.
The Okada rider gave me a look.
“Idiot.” And then he was off.

“Land…” I mumbled to myself, slowly standing. I Brushed the leaves of my face. That was the problem with trees. You hugged their roots and next thing they assumed you were a couple.
I heaved a sigh of relief. I had survived. I had lived. The sun was shining. My legs were intact. I was alive. I was well.
Nothing else could go wrong.
And then two things happened that made me wish I was dead. MY phone gave a short beep.
I looked at it and my heart leapt.
Message delivered.
10 seconds later the phone started ringing.
It was my mum.
The damn chocolates!!

Thursday, September 6, 2007

A tale of LUST LOST!

Say you’re some guy living in Nigeria.
Say you’re in your mid twenties and fresh out of college. Say like every other male you’ve got an appetite for women. Say your appetite is really healthy. Say you’re not in a relationship and you don’t have a female friend for companionship. Sexual companionship.
Say the ladies are so hard to please these days and you haven’t had sex in five months.
Say you’re all these things.
Then you just might be me.

Sex is a drug.
It’s a powerful and mind numbing drug. Wars have been fought over this most trifling of acts. What’s that? What about love you say?
It’s never about love. It’s always about sex. You don’t believe me examine the scenarios yourself. We’ve all heard about battles between grown men over some chick. Not once have you ever heard of a battle over some ugly chick. The girl is always some beautiful sexbomb.
There’s a reason why medusa is single And Beyonce famous.
It’s not the snakes.
Not really.
So here I am on my fifth month.
Sex is a drug.
And I’m trying to go cold turkey.

Why am I abstaining you might ask. Well it’s a bit silly. I’m trying to get disciplined. I woke up one morning and realized that if I kept on going the rate I was, I would end up dead one day with the words “ he wasn’t disciplined!” inscribed on my tombstone.
Hardly my idea of a grand ending.
So I decided to get disciplined. Make sure I was always on time. I’d get rid of the 3 kilos of weight that I had been promising myself to loose. Cut down on my hours with my psp, pay more attention to my studies. Call my mother more often, And give up sex.
Just for kicks. To prove that I could
Because all those hours I spent tracking and sweet talking ladies into my bed , the subsequent hours of romping , the mental and physical drain. All those hours could be put to better use.
Like maybe learning how to play a guitar.

Man it hasn’t been easy.
No I don’t mean learning how to play a guitar, I mean my abstinence.

The first month was the worst.
I had made up rules guiding my celibacy.
No kissing, touching or midnight romp with some girl. I wasn’t allowed behind the scenes fondling of C. junior. Naturally watching porn was a definite no.(SInce i had aleady had the playboy mags ,those could stay). No accidental orgasms. Wet dreams. Masturbation. Nothing.
I smiled as I made out the list.
Bring it on. I can do it.

After the first 2 weeks I was in agony. Every single girl walking on the streets was testament to what I couldn’t have. Nipples teased me beneath blouse tops. The flash of cleavage, the soft moistness of female lips. The exiting swell of the female butt. Believe me people ,There’s a God somewhere. It was almost impossible to work the streets without my much exited member (I call him Sebastian) rearing his ugly head. So I developed a walk.
A special walk to hide my state.

Sebastian grew three extra inches because of my dilemma. Not that it did me much good. What’s point having a yatch if you live in the desert? I knew I was in trouble when I watched sisters Act and was turned on by Whoopi. I had an erection through out the entire movie. I couldn’t believe it.
The first month was hell.
And I didn’t even learn to play the guitar.

Still , with subsequent months I leant how to control my urges When I felt like having sex, which was almost always , I would go out and do something to block out the images. Take a walk. Go out and watch a game. Preferrably one without females. Attend to some work. Anything to get my mind of the erotic images flashing behind my eye. If that didn’t work I’d take a sleeping pill and go to bed.
Going to the local chemist took an entirely different meaning.
Hello John!
Long night ahead huh?
No I don’t want to buy a condom.
5 tablets of valium please.
I think I slept through out the entire second and third month.

With the fourth month came peace. I finally got Sebastian under control. I could finally talk to a girl without diving into a fantasy of how lovely her lips would feel. How soft her moans would be if I slowly swirled my tongue against her nipple. How her belly would squirm beneath me as I softly blew hot air against her skin and slowly made wet circles with ice cubes. How firm her legs would feel on either side of my head as I cradled her butt and made love to her with my tongue.
This isn’t helping my situation.

You see...the thing is I’m ready to drop of the wagon. I think I've proven myself to me. I’ve gone five months. Way to go. Here’s your medal for achievement on and beyond the call of sanity. Congratulations.
I probably have the Guinness book of record record for longest abstinence. I’ve got so much pepped up testerone that I’m sure if I hugged a girl she would get pregnant.
You don’t believe me.
Step up and see.
Ladies and gentlemen the amazing Car.

I’m ready to fall off the wagon.
But here’s my dilemma. I don’t want to do it with just anyone. Five months. That’s a 153 days. That’s at least thrice as many erections with no respite and an ad infinitum at night.
you don’t just break a fast like that with anyone. You do it with someone you’re crazy about. Someone you’re nuts about. Some one you really care for. Someone whom you can just spend the day with just staring into her eyes. Someone who you’ll be able to gist with afterwards and giggle about how loud you screamed. How much of you kept coming.
I’m not much of an expert but my next step is obvious.
Even Dear Abby would agree.

Say you’re some guy with a healthy sex drive.. Say you’re some guy who has been celibate for five months. Say you’re some guy who hasn’t kissed a girl in five months. Say you're some guy with an above healthy super sex drive who goes around claiming it;s just merely healthy. Say you’re some guy who watches female lawn tennis matches more frequently the last five months.
Say you’re me.

What your next plan should be would be to fall madly in love with a girl.
And enjoy the best love making session ever.
Because some things actually beat sex.
Making love for instance.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Mans Best Fiends.

Yesterday I returned home to find one of my neighbors standing by my door.
“I need your help” she said.
I pretended to search for my keys in my pocket while I went over the list of things I could possibly help her with.

Water her flowers.
Lend her money.
Kill her boyfriend and make away with the life insurance.

“I need you to go jogging with me in the morning.” She asked.
“Let me help you with that.” She offered pointing to the folder in my arm.
“Oh no. It’s okay.” I mumbled.

The last thing I wanted was for my neighbor to find out that I actually subscribed for Playboy.
I asked her what time she wanted to leave. She said five. I suggested six. So five thirty it was. We agreed to meet by the gate when she flashed me. I opened my door to go in .She offered again to carry my folder for me.

“No really. It’s okay. “I insisted firmly. Tucking Victoria Silvesdt bared secrets father beneath my arm. Her offer was becoming suspicious. Was she a spy working for my mum?

The next morning. I was just about to shoot the world’s most notorious terrorist who looked a lot like Mickey Mouse when my ringing phone woke me up from my dream.
“Hello. I’m calling to flash you.”
It was the lady my jogging partner.

I stumbled into my wardrobe looking for what to wear. I had three pairs of sneakers. All in pretty good condition. I didn’t want to ruin any yet. I looked father in. I had a worn out pair of safety boots.

To give her her due she didn’t say anything about my shoes until we started. And then she quietly asked me between puffs.

“Are you wearing boots?”
“Safety boots “I corrected. “If anyone tries to rob us I can kick him with it. And if that doesn’t work I can give them to him.”
She nodded her head. In agreement or amusement. I wasn’t sure.

We stayed quiet for the next five minutes. She was trotting with me clanging alongside.
Then the race started.

Slowly I noticed that she was pulling ahead of me. I’m a ladies man. Few things are more erotic that walking behind a lady with a particularly nice tail. But first of all it was five thirty in the morninng or thereabouts. I couldn’t see anything. Second of all she was leading. How could she? I was supposed to be the one in charge.

So I bucked up and ran harder till l reached her. I waited till I was almost alongside her and then I increased my pace. Thirty seconds later I was ahead of her.
Clang clang. Went my safety boots.
I could hear the crowd roar in support.
Go Carl go!
That ought to send a message home.

And then through the roar of the crowd I heard the distinct chump chump of her Nikes. Another second and she was beside me. Matching me step for step. I searched within for inner strength .I closed my eyes and searched for my inner chi .
See Master Wong, page 65 of the book. How to find your inner chi when your eyes are closed.
I opened my eyes and she was ahead. Speeding away.
It was official. We were no longer jogging for fun.

It was now a matter of honor. A battle of the sexes at 5.45 in the morning. Who was going to win? My neighbor who probably had never jogged in her life. Or dashing, strong muscular and all around good guy me.
Please. Like she has a chance.
I tossed aside my inner chi .I’d need more than that. I grabbed my manly pride and I ran.

We ran. No longer where we jogging. It was a race. You should have seen us. We raced down the streets heaving our lungs out. We were side by side. My nostrils flared as I gasped out my determination to win this one. Sweat poured over us, drenching us like we had just taken a shower. We ran alongside each other refusing to yield. The 100 meter eternal dash was on and it was going to be a tough one.

I was determined. Whatever the outcome. She wasn’t going to win.

And then we heard the growl.
It was low. The vibrations reached our pulsing ears. I looked back out of curiosity. A quick glance. Not to be outdone she joined me.

We saw them. Three dogs. Eyes glowing red in the dark. Their fangs hung out of their lip. One of them winked at me. And then they came after us. The lead dog let out a loud howl as they galloped towards their prey.

It was 5.47. If their plan went through, by 5.48 we would be breakfast.

Not if we had a say in it.

Without a word to each other. We changed our tactic. . We stopped running. No more 100 meter dash.
We started flying.

Our feet barely touched the floor as we streaked down the streets. A bus swung out of no where heading straight at us. Not to bothers. We jumped clear over it and kept on running. I don’t think I have ever run that fast or that hard. The entire time my female companion kept murmuring Jesus Jesus. The dogs kept howling and stayed with us.

By 5.48 we were still alive but I could feel the energy waning. The rate we were going we wouldn’t make it. My neighbor’s chants were now just jeezzzzzzz jeezzzzz. Even the dogs seem tired by their sprint. We must have covered 5 states in one minute.

Yes…that was us you saw outside your window.

And then, just when I was about to call it a truce and ask the dogs If they liked me with or without ketchup ,the dogs stopped running. They just slid to a stop and started barking after us. Maybe they got tired of chasing us. Maybe the found some other breakfast. Maybe jezzzzz finally answered our prayers and sent a couple of cats our way.

I’ll never know.

Five lifetimes later it was 5.53.
We were back where we started. The gate. Normally we were supposed to do a couple of cool down sequences and some stretches but I was done with exercise. I had lost 3 kilos, my honor and my love for dogs out there. What more was there to loose?

We stood beside each other in appraisal. Warriors in combat.
“That was a good race.” She finally said.
I nodded. And then started laughing. She joined in. We laughed for a minute. Wild hysterical unrestrained laugher. At the back of it all, I heard my other neighbors locking their door.

Idiots laughing at 5 in the morning. You can’t be too sure

Eventually we calmed down. “Same time tomorrow?” She asked.
I smiled and nodded.
And then I remembered.
By the way “My name’s Carl.”
She gave me a cute smile. She was cute.
“Onyi“ She
said and walked away.

I stared.

She did have a nice ass.


Someone knocked on my door.
It was another of my neighbors. Some guy that lived next door.
“We’re playing foot ball and we’re a man short. You want to join in?”
I slammed the door and went back to my Vitoria Silvesdt Playboy magazine.

What’s the point being healthy if it kills you?