Saturday, 25 October 2014

He Writes... About Sex, Sexiness and Other Awkward Sex Scenes (I Predict For My Future)!

 TYPING: Is... everyone... having... safe... sex... but... me?


I stare pensively at the screen before me, contemplating if that is the greatest opening line ever invented. Hmm... I would have put a Ctrl+X through 'safe', or better yet, utilize the ever-powerful BACKSPACE. But perhaps, I should consider it's accuracy instead of its prowess—

It all began when after a gruesome early-morning run, I walked into my hostel room.

"Oh, Oh, Oh."

"Shite, Ray!" I screamed in horror, doing my best to block out the images splayed over my sheets.

"Oh, hi, there, Kobs." My roommate, Raymond said so casually as though he wasn't doing the nasty with a hundred-pound piece of flesh in my bed. (My bed, people! I said, my bed!)

"Get the... OFF MY BED!!" I yelled in frustration, rolling all over the walls in an attempt to back away from the horrible scene playing out in front of me. He had the decency to keep, um, doing(?), the girl. As if my puke buds could stand this sight.

"Oh, oh, oh..." on and on hundred-pound piece of meat moaned.

Weren't there more subtle and less disgusting ways to show my roommie was doing a good job?? Jesus!

"Um..." Raymond spoke as he went on and on, his coherence less important than his forward thrusts (—Oh, in everything make it a point to be comprehending towards your target audience!—), "... can't... you... step out... a bit?"

"Unless he wants to watch, no." Hundred-pound piece of SLUT muttered.

"You ruined my day!" I yelled as I took to my heels.

"Oh, Yeah, baby!"—

"Really, my bed??" I walked into my room, asking somewhat disbelievingly hours later when I was so sure I'd recuperated from the tormenting images that might have scarred me for life.

"It was her suggestion, not mine." Raymond answered with a shrug to my horror. "Besides, your bed has its nails screwed right."

"Well, if you stop banging everything in skirts—"

"—and heels—"

"—your bed would be tight at its hinges!" I brushed past him and went to sit on my bed, then got up as a jolt of electricity shot through me. I yanked my sheets off the mattress then hurled them in one heap at my roommate.

"Really, I am sorry you chanced on us. Bad timing on your part."

I glared at him from the brim of my laptop screen and turned my focus to what I was editing across my Word window.

"So really, isn't there anything you want to know? Or you are going to sit mute and create stories?"
I sat mute, and edited stories.

"Fine! I don't get the bull you write anyway. After all, it's always never the right material since you never get published."—This struck me, but I kept my brows creased and my face blank—"Kobby, we are living in an age where sex sells? You could write about sex! Perhaps, it's your calling! You could do that!"

"I'd rather write Nigerian movies, they sell too."

"See, that's you being the holier-than-thou type, thinking all Raymond ever does is sex. But what you don't know is, everyone is doing it under your nose but you!"

I laughed drily for how ridiculous that sounded. "No, everyone isn't having, that."

"It's called safe sex, Kobs." He waved a packet of rubber in my face.—Oh, what's all the fuss about this Fiesta kind these days!—"And everyone is doing it. These are the things you should care about, write about. A bit of undercover writing. Sexual undercover writing. Lots of people are past that teenage age yet they think kissing is what you see on screens and not what goes on in the mouth."

I gasped. At this rate, vomit was going to pour right out of me. Painting close-up images of people kissing was just plain repulsive.

"You should tackle all those things people are begging to know but can't ask. Like you don't really need dog chains to bang up a girl in doggie style?"

Oh, right. Hallelujah for the discovery. Now how's that necessary to someone who's this close to hurling all their breakfast at you?

"Oh, crying out loud, it's a phenomenon most young adults have. You know, like the only reason for coitus interruptus is because you slip out and you pop the bottle all over her face."
I sat stunned. "Is that really necessary?"

"You mean, the safe sex? Yes! Hey, don't you go about experimenting the opposite—"

"I mean, the, um, yeah, that thing you said. Back up a few sentences."

"Oh." He widened his eyes in excitement, and moved closer. "That's a legendary move, it's called Crying 
Over Spilt Milk because as you are, you know, the girl widens her mouth and cries for you to aim right."

Oh, I am going to be sick—

And sick I got. Fuck. So how was I supposed to go to my friend's Poetry and Spoken Word program going on tonight? I had to recover, couldn't let Joy down.

As though that was the only problem in mind, I walked out of my hostel room that afternoon to go purchase water in the room of another student who'd taken it upon himself to be the IceCool wholesale dealer for the hostel.

I looked in the face of the guy, thinking, this guy cannot be doing the nasty. I mean, he has a very commercial face good for business. But besides selling water he cannot be messing around with some lady on his roommate's bed. Maybe Raymond is so wrong, and not everyone is having sex.—

"I am doing it all the time."

That was Freda on the other end. I almost choked.

"So you! You are not a virgin!" I replied in dismay. "What happened to saving?"

"I didn't say I wasn't a virgin."

I stood speechless on the phone for seconds. "Please tell me you are just messing with me."

"See, your roommate is right. The topic is rather a curious one."

"BUT HAVE YOU DONE IT?! Freda, I want to know if you have done it, so I know I am the only one amongst my friends missing out."

"Well, have you called Charlene, EwuraEsi and all the others if they don't say anything I can't admit it."

Ping. Loud disconnection tone.

OMG, see my body quiver as I took a seat at the Royal Parade bleachers thinking of anyone else I could dial up. My pure, little, Freda has sold her soul.—

"You know what Freda was getting up to was, virginity's all in the mind." Said Pamela who used to quote every verse in the Bible back in class devotions. "You know, you can renew it."

"Oh. So how long have you been renewing yours?" I asked accusingly.

"Did I ever notice the pattern? Kobs, I should have kept a more careful eye on you!"

What was she saying?—

"Perhaps some people fear voyeurism." I met up with the one person I could talk to in school, Sandra, my blogging partner. "Like Pamela. I mean, I don't. I wouldn't mind if someone is looking through a keyhole. It's just speak for modern-day peeping-Tom, voyeurism."

Wow. Even book nerds beat me to it.

"So how many, times, have you, err, done it?"—

Emmanuel who loves spoken word and anything poetry laughed as I recounted to him what happened with Sandra, on our way to Joy's program. "You never ask a girl what her number is?"

"Number?"

"Yeah, the number of possible guys she's done it with."

"What happens if I do?" I yelled out of desperation, then wincing as I remembered the pain that graced my cheek minutes ago, "OK. I do not want to know." I conceded.

"You could ask guys. Like I'll tell you four, oh five an hour ago." He noticed my expression. "Ouch. Or maybe if this guy was my friend, I'd reply 'none at all'."

"How does an, you know, feel like?" The question fell out with curiosity.

"Oh, it feels like..." he paused, looking up at the skies as though a sweet reverie was taking form in his mind, looked back at me then hesitated, "nothing I have tried before."

Oh no. Everybody has done it! Some very open about it, some very not open about it (just so they wouldn't hurt my feelings!)

I sat in the poetry program still in deep thought. My eyes hit me with reality as it was Joy's turn to recite her poetry. I'd ask her. I'm sure she's the only one who hasn't done it, I thought as she adjusted the mic on the stand to her height. We caught eyes before she began her performance and I waved giddily with a smile. She didn't wave back, she was so busy closing her eyes to get into the spirit of her sketch.

"Last night," She began, "was when you made right." I nodded with all the others, she was good. "I opened my legs wide apart, for you to insert in it your heart." Uh-oh. I wasn't nodding anymore. "You held me by the shoulders and rocked me so gently with every thrust I was... filled with shudders."

Sick. Bitter. Feeling in my mouth. I stormed out. Even Joy, the girl who couldn't voice her thoughts on anything politically related in a government class was so openly bragging about her first love (who certainly performed her first nasty on her). This left me alone. Everyone had done it! Everyone!

OMG, this is fucking great! Now the IceCool seller was doing it too? It was the second time I had walked into someone doing the nasty. And frankly, I had had it for the day. I dropped a paper into the suggestion box—My suggestion: 'Man At Work, "come" (Back) Later' signs might just be useful—before I headed up to my room.

No Raymond. Hallelujah. I whipped out my phone and began dialing Ida's number.

"Ida, you wouldn't believe it!" I yelled into my headset the moment she answered.

"Could-you-call-back-in a few?" Her end was plagued with excessive panting, and before I could ask her what she was up to, the loud disconnection tone pinged in my ear.

It didn't take long for it to dawn on me. OMG, I had called Ida in her throes of an, you know. This was official! Everyone was doing it!

My phone rang before I could get anymore miserable.

"You ruined the mood." Ida barked at me.

"Oh, um, so... yeah..." I didn't know how to ask it, "so... I am sorry?"

"You better be!"

"So you were having sex?" I said outright before the slight hesitation made me cower and refuse to ask.

She was quiet for a full-minute. "Kobs, it's called solo sex. And don't you judge me."

"Solo?" I was rather intrigued.

"That's as far as I am taking it." She responded huffily. "So what did you call for?"

"Everyone is doing the nasty, including you. Now how would you make me feel better?"

"Um, by disconnecting this call, I guess?"

"Wait! This solo thing, you like satisfy your, yes. You do, don't you?"

"Oh, it falls under the safe sex category."—

So that was how I found myself, walking out of my bathroom in only my towel wrapped around my mid-section.

I headed over to the full-length mirror and without thinking, I slipped my hand down the front of my towel.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Don't be impressed just yet! And don't be daft, I wasn't having that KIND of excitement. Raymond walked in that moment with a girl who had accidentally stepped on my bare feet with her killer heels.

And, aargh(!!!), it hurt!! "Ouu-ch!" It still does!

TYPING: I am Kobby and I suck at solo. I still haven't had any kind of sex. Which is a good thing because I'd need some privacy before?
Really, when was your first time? Could you all really doing it without me?
————————————————

Author Note: I do love my roommate, but if he was only generous with his gifts as much as he is with his sex scenes, my room would be a better place. Anyway, GHC 10 worth of credit goes out to an active follower this week! AND A movie ticket today for anyone who comments on this post or the link of this post on Facebook.Thanks for stopping by to read this blog! You all are Fab!

2 comments:

  1. If its any consolation....I don't do it too...at least not often..or on other people's bed...or...looool...just kidding!! Great piece tho...but I really think sex might be a little bit overrated....a brief tumble and then what?? Some guy wanting to cuddle....and taking up all your space...you can't stretch or snore or scratch your woohoo coz you just had sex and you have to be all sexy and have the after glow.....I'd rather farm!

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  2. lol.....so this is actually interesting writing....Wilma say farm.....hahhaaahahahaha...but on the real tho it is kind of overrated too overrated..haven't done it yet tho but i'm pretty sure its worth the hype.......i can't wait ;)

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