There are some chase that the thought of the chase is like an empowering lash of joy, an entanglement of pain, distress, chaos, theory fulfillment, and sometimes, flashbacks of the uncountable number of orgasms.
Within the dim-lit, crowded rooms of Alchemist in the Westlands area of Nairobi, mostly filled with white people upstairs above the DJ, is the slow movement of bodies toward each other. The break of sweat in places I never thought could sweat.
The validation of having seen two men kiss, it’s the leaning into what was a kiss, a deep, passionate, bodily-fluids-dripping-down-my-legs kind of kiss, and peeking from my panties which, by the way, is leaving little to the imagination down my thigh. Thank goodness I have long pants on, remembering my debate to wear a short skirt before; what a bad decision that would have been!
Back to this scene: it was one sweet kiss. And I, unknown even to myself, the extent of my badgirlrism, took a gulp of her drink. And while it’s still marinating in my mouth, switching from side to side, I looked at her. She nodded in consent, and I kissed her, poured the drink, her drink, right down her throat. And there we were: she, surprised; me, joyful and doing a somersault in my head at the audacity I gave myself.
I know by your standards, this didn’t or doesn’t require as much audacity, but you see me, the circumference of a relationship has held my kissing, lust, and as we say in delusion, yearning. So this, by my standard and little years of “experience,” was already a lot. And I allowed it. And I was joyful.
You see, I should have allowed it to end there, a good night, the chase of being hot and bothered and not catching up with what you’re chasing. At least not with this one, not right now. I should have given myself the permission to be single in a new country, be an enigma, and finally experience dating and have a roster that can’t coldie.
But I did what silly me does best, I eagerly moved it forward and forced a relationship out of someone who only wanted a hot fuck.
Undeniably, I did too, but I never learnt how to manage that outside of a relationship. I never learnt to let it just be what it was meant to be: a hot fuck with a Nigerian hottie, and a no to a relationship.
I said yes to a destructive encounter that should have ended seven months ago, and we named it love. Oh sweet love, what a chase of a high that left after the first three fucks, but we were planning on getting married off a chase that was met and already ended.
All I wanted was a good fuck, the kind to daydream about. The type that makes you sleep in a corner of the bed because we have squirt juices splattered on the sheets and we’re too spent to change them. Changing the sheets seems like a coupley activity, and we shouldn’t have changed them. We should have left them in, so we remove the number one commitment-to-activity.
Two, I should have never invited her to my place. The good fuck should have been outdoorsy, so I don’t feel like I’m held in with shame by my walls, mirrors, couch, and duvet. It should have been in an Airbnb where I could be as loud as I wanted to, as loud as my introduction to experiencing a tip of freedom is. After all, my cadence of being loud precedes me, me, a Nigerian.
Anyway, we should have fucked it out and away, and not into a year of fuckery in the name of a relationship.
Advice to you:
Sex more and leave it.
A good fuck, and do not text back.
Divert from the shame of only feeling secure with sex in the “box” of a relationship. That’s bullshit.
Importantly, love yourself, urgently, immediately, without a doubt. Relate with your body. Worship the temple. Do what feels true and right with your body. Know you belong solely to yourself.
And please, fuck a good fuck, respectfully, even if not seemingly respectful in some moments (i.e., degraded). Get and use a safe word. Consent is nonnegotiable. Say no without feeling guilty.
Enjoy and fuck.
Signed,
A girl who needed a good fuck and merry-go-rounded into a relationship, a wretching one. God forbid, affliction shall not rise again.
