DONT READ... COS ITS MY SEXPERIENCE

THE DESECRATION OF THE SACRED INSTITUTION OF MARRIAGE

2008-09-05T06:28:00.000-07:00

I gave a deep consideration to wat most bloggers felt about my blog, and i eventually made a tough decision. I removed my trademark pic from it, at least bowing to popular demand. Now you are sure to read a true mirror of the society from me as usual, though with a lil less obscene images, expression and other features that had hitherto made me a spice to blogville--for some people and an asshole to others.

At least u can learn from ur, used-to-be sexplicit SHIRA-OKO. Im still Shira n still gat ma OKO though....RIDE ON baby....its all urs.

THE DESECRATION OF THE SACRED INSTITUTION OF MARRIAGE

Marriage has been defined as a union in which persons of the opposite sex join to form a new family. In all societies, limitations of some kind have been placed on the choice of suitable mates. Until recent times, in both industrialized and tribal societies, the selection of mates was arranged by the parents who were directed primarily by social integrity and other economic and political considerations usually the bride and groom were matched for similarity or suitability in such areas as religion, ethnic group, educational level, income level, occupational status and social class.

In Nigeria today, the careful and thorough scrutiny which need to precede marriage has been trampled upon. It is now considered barbaric, parochial and old fashion.

Materialism is now the order of the day. Display of wealth, position and status are now the features of marriage. The women of our society have embraced the art of judging the degree of love by the financial and material comfort the man is able to provide. A man is tagged irresponsible and unserious when he is still struggling hard to make ends meet. Young women of our society will say the used-to-be valued “I do” to any man if he has the money, the cars, a well-furnished house and a fat account.

“If birds have learnt to fly without perching, then hunters have also learnt to shoot without missing.” Men have begun to go beyond their earnings to acquire wealth, either by hook or by crook. This has however been stimulating crime and fraudulent activities in the country.

Spiritualising the precepts of marriage has yielded no applaudable dividend in this generation. It has been abused by some young men and women. Most Pentecostal churches and of course other churches have it that you only propose marriage to a woman if you have received a divine backing to do so. It could be by vision, through dreams and any other kind of divine revelation. You tell the lady about your revelation and the Pastor is also duly informed, after which the couple is prayed for and counseled on how to observe the Christian courtship.

Nowadays, the brothers see only the beautiful spinsters with good jobs and only the active members of the church, such as the choristers with sonorous and angelic voices are revealed to them. They say “God said…” only to those who command their admiration in the congregation of youthful believers.

The young ladies are not better off, even if the brother has a true and impeccable vision, they receive the message and propose to pray about it. The prayer is all about investigating the brother’s level of spirituality, family background, job, account, flat, car and other physical and aesthetic merit. If it falls below their standard, they will return and say, “Brother, I’m sorry, you can pray again for a clearer vision. I’ve been praying but it’s not confirmed yet”.

There is displacement of priority. They claim love and the love is premised on comfort and pleasure. This provides for the reason most marriages break up within a couple of years, months, even weeks. When materialism has been melted away by time and the TRUE man or the beauty of the woman is no longer potent and captivating, then the faulty foundation comes crumbling down. If a house is built on a sandy ground or with weak bricks, it only takes some time, it will collapse.

Most parents who know and had experienced the bitter-sweet nature of the marriage institution are not helping the up-coming generation at all; especially the mothers. They dictate to their daughters who they should get married to. The first question is “Where does he work?” followed by “Where is he from?” and of course other investigations which are apparently not realistically relevant to marriage after the rendezvous and parties.

Unfortunately, their daughters run back to them, complaining about the estrangled “gentle man” they thought they knew too well. Saying he now keeps late nights, drinks inexhaustibly and smokes more than a chimney. The woman becomes astonished and puzzled over her darling husband’s unprecedented dissemblance saying amidst tears, “Mum, he has changed.” No, the change came before then. He wanted to be the husband of a beautiful woman, who will command the envy of the most scornful men, even women. So, he got her by all means – his possessions. The job was easier because that was what the lady and her family saw and of course, ultimately got. So, he was able to hide those repulsive habits of his successfully without much a do because the wife to be could not see them.

It is sad and unfortunate that most couples are enduring their marriages instead of enjoying it. It is a life oath, there is no going back, when you say “I do” No room to return and say “No, I don’t anymore”. You thought you loved him, but his possessions stimulated the erroneous love in you, now its faded away only to leave you managing for life.

The beauty which used to accompany marriage has become extinct. It should be brought back. Discipline and sincerity will do this, and very well too. It is quite unbelievable that most men don’t know the birthday of their wives. They cannot even remember the last time they bought gifts for their spouses. Some don’t communicate effectively at home. They wear smiling faces and deceive friends who assume that they are having a blissful married life.

I advise anyone in this tight situation to seek divine intervention because marriage was the first programme designed by God, involving the man and the woman. It was also created to be enjoyed for life.

For those who are just on the verge of getting married, please set your priorities right, first things and most important things first, like compatibility, character, open-mindedness, fear of God and other basic features. These should be considered more and emphasized in courtship. Remember, “He who fails to plan well, is only planning to fail very woefully”.

IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING

2008-07-14T01:07:00.000-07:00

IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING

Why do people like to deceive themselves, when they know quite well that the only one they are not capable of deceiving is themselves?

9ja guys and chicks are experts in this act. They are professionals. Why would a lady wanna stay a minute with a guy who cannot have an intelligent conversation with her?

We have come to permit lies, deceit and pretence as one-of-those-things, a ‘must-do’ in our relationships. GSM has not helped matters at all. Meeenn! Mobile phones should be banned in this country, if not; Nigeria-bound imported phones should be specially manufactured with special features, like in-built lie detectors or some kind of tracking device.

Our babes are so good at this, my ex-girlfriend was getting a doggy from me when her phone rang and she managed to pick it amidst the thunderous ass-slapping and boob-squeezing. Of course, I didn’t want to be unfair, so I slowed down a bit, then she said, in a rather sleepy voice, “Hello, who is this? Sorry, I’m in the middle of something, ill call you back.”

Damn! I realized that statement was familiar, I’d heard her say same to me at different times, I’m sure you’ve heard that before as well. So, she was also in the middle of s-f’king, all the time I heard her say that line.

I suddenly became very apprehensive and upset, but I had no case. I thought I should just begin my revenge immediately. I began to fuck her deeper, faster, spanking her ass, then squeezing her nipples intensely, the next thing I heard her say was…” yeah, I like that, please don’t stop, don’t pity me, punish me…uuuuhhhhhh! I was shocked to realise, I pleased her rather than punish her. Yeah, she was indeed in the middle of something BIG!

SEXTRA LESSON

Lesson 1: Get a penis and a piece of pussy, then write out these words.

NEW FUCKABULARY

1. Sextacy
2. Gbensh
3. Kill
5. Peruse
6. Therapy
7. Tongue-lashing
8. Cunt-inuously
9. Sexcapade
10. Lesbotania

NOTE: To find out the meaning of these new words, please check your DICKtionary.

My Name, My Game, My Sexperience... as a Sexpert

2008-07-02T04:27:00.000-07:00

THE JAMOLISTIC FLAVOUR

Well, this is not business as usual. im a new entrant, set to send you beyond this world. People are used to wearing masks and they consider certain stuff sacred and never-to-be-talked about, except a blogger that I can emphatically say is the perfect female version of me, i mean AFROBABE, I think she’s a let-go, i admire her openness, her transparency. Well, im glad to be here. Hope ul genuinely welcome me home...im glad to be here. i wanna say all i can, ill advise you to read some of my posts with ur eyes closed. Of course, u cant read with ur eyes closed, really. You need to keep ur regular mind and eyes closed, but ur sexplorative eyes open, ul live with me, ul learn with me, ull have a chance to chat with me, ul have a chance to consult me...et al.

So, let’s get it started!

Ill open with my sexperience in the UK. I spent some time somewhere called Camberwell. Men! I had it all groovy. I can't a jamo babe i met. Have u ever seen a IKOKO before? A huge pot usually used to cook for large number of people at a feast or party. Yes, her ass was dat bigggg! We did a lot of stuff together except smoke weed. I dont smoke, but im sure a smoking hot m'a fker.

We met at the popular East Street Market. I met her daughter, then her son, the elder one was 12, while the younger, 9. Damn, She was only 24. So i started a silent calculation, she must have started fucking form her mama's womb, i thot.

She invited me over and as i sat still in her living room, her kids upstairs doing their homework, she reached straight to find out what was curiously struggling to burst out through my zip. She screamed ANACONDA!!!!! Did she mean Ice Cube's film?

I was wrong, she wanted my dick, she zipped me down and straight she pulled out ma dick and began to suck it like a thirsty hyena, licked my balls vigorously like there was a price afterwards. then dashed into her room and returned with a ruff rider CD, damn, i was in for it, she asked me first b4 da real thang, " would you mind?", pulling her short skirt up, turning her ass to me, just before she could hear a response, i licked and sucked her up like i was into Keep Pussy Clean programme, she wanted me to tongue lash her, but i gave her a scrub, she had wa' ah (water) sprinkling outta her vibrating pussy like burst hose, she climbed hurriedly on me and she fucked me to stupor, also gave her a jolly ride like a rodeo, then spanked her large, succulent ass as I rammed her, unleashing passionate terror.

She screamed ma name and spoke in a strange language i couldn’t just comprehend. She had travelled to and from ecstasy at will and she eventually dropped wit her eyes dimly open. There, i stood and starred like a Roman Soldier. " Abi she don wound?" i said to myself. She then opened her eyes, and then beckoned. i crawled closer to her and she whispered into my ears: Where really are you from, originally? i smiled and said, "Nigeria, West Africa". Then she said to me..." U nat gawin heum now innit, cos we gat more stuff to do man, you must be hungry now." She didnt even wait for a reply, she dashed straight into the kitchen and started cooking, before she was through, it was already 8:35 pm, she called me into her room, opened her fidge and pulled out a frigidly cold bottled of Jack Daniel, then mixed with Red Bull. OMG! The fuckin race has just begun!

The Budding Hunters

2008-07-02T03:23:00.000-07:00

THE BUDDING HUNTERS

It was a week into my two-week holiday in Simawa, a remote village where my parents had dumped me in the care of my frail grandmother and sneaked away to Sagamu, the main town, a couple of kilometers away. Of course, they needed to get rid of me. I knew I was in for it when my mother said in her usual soft but persuasive voice: “Darling Seyi, Iyeemi (Grandmother) needs you around her. She’s so happy that we came with you. Please keep her company, your Dad and I would return in a few days”. My Dad just walked up to me, whispered while rubbing my head, “I’ll buy you some sweets, be a good boy.” Of course they knew that the mention of sweets or biscuits solved any problem in the world for me and they thoroughly explored that weakness. Just before I could probe or protest, they entered into the car, slammed the doors and zoomed off till they were out of sight, leaving behind the dust from the ground.

It was the most boring weekend of my life. I refused to interact with the other village kids because I believed they were a local bunch. Lagos was my home and there my friends were waiting impatiently for my return. I soon realized that my self-imposed solitude was unnecessary, so I decided to bend a little and made a few friends. My closest friend was Laisi, the son of the Oluwo (the chief priest) of the village.

Laisi was the local version of me, very daring and extremely adventurous. He was fearless, but his Ijebu dialect was a huge challenge, because he could hardly make a sentence in the English language without bombarding me with bullets. I got along with him anyway, but the other kids just saw me as some fortunate little boy and were silenced by inferiority complex, knowing that they were ably represented by Laisi; we led and they followed.

One day, we decided to go on a hunting expedition, an idea conceived by Laisi and quickly seconded by me because that was to be an experience of a life time. We all set out at about 11am, armed with cutlasses, sticks, but the catapult did not go round as we had just two. I cleverly obtained one from one of our disciples. We headed straight into the bush. We had trekked a couple of kilometers through bush paths, and crossing a stream, until we finally got to our destination, a farm which Laisi said belonged to one Baba Onikoko, a popular and one of the most successful farmers in the village

In the farm, there were lots and lots of dry leaves and dead banana and plantain trees, we saw some rats, rodents and squirrels as they scampered into hiding on our unprecedented arrival. We walked deeper into the farm, informed by some war films I had watched on TV back home, I split the six of us into three groups, consisting a pair each. Muniru was my Man Friday, while Laisi paired himself with Aika, as Kunle and Wale were left to make the last pair. Soon, the game began. Each of the groups went in different directions.

An hour later, we regrouped on hearing Laisi call out. Everyone had something to drop in a sack that was placed on the dry leaves except Aika. It was a successful venture. The sack was almost filled with dead bush rats. Then, tragedy struck.

Wale found a huge squirrel and quickly raised alarm, and then we began to chase it around the farm as it scurried into hiding, trying to climb a tree, but I soon realized it was getting fatigued, so I told the others to stand still and stay clear from the direction of the animal. It had stopped to rest on a tree, it stood there, still. From its silence and helplessness, I could hear it say to me, “I surrender” but I was not going to take chances, my pride was at stake, so I quickly threw the cutlass at it. I realised I hit the target as the squirrel fell, but the cutlass like a boomerang sprang back and hit me on my right knee giving me a deep cut.

The face of the gash first went white, but it soon turned red as blood started gushing profusely out of it. My friends quickly came to my aid. They cut off leaves from the stem of the trees nearby and dripped the liquid extract into the wound to serve as iodine. The blood refused to stop; they applied Yunyun, a local liquid which is used to stop bleeding. After that, they used a wide banana tree back to wrap the knee tightly as bandage. That was the end of the hunting expedition. On my way back to Simama a little snake crossed my way, not minding my predicament, I cut it ferociously into pieces.

By the next morning, I could not raise up the leg, it was swollen and almost doubled its former size. My mother, who had then returned to Simawa on hearing the news, was shocked as she applied Ori (native penicillin) to the leg. The third day when there was no meaningful improvement the holiday had to come to an abrupt end. It was entirely my fault, my parents said. I had not remained at my Grandma’s house. I looked miserably at them as I groaned in pain and thought: Did they?