Reggae Stops at 30
This will be short; like a male virgin's first sex.
Even among boys there are those who will call themselves men, those ones who say 'I've been eating this thing since I was seven bwana' Kalongolongo and stuff. And the virgin boy would chip in and say "Nyinyi mlianza mapema sana,' acknowledging the efforts his peers have put in place to ensure they stand among the chosen few.
I was not among the chosen few. It took me fifteen years to break my virginity, and all the four years before that, in my head there was only space for two words; sex and when?
And living in that rural side of Ndhiwa, any time I walked next to the bushes, motivation doubled; Blue Grama Grass. It is not just the place you suspect you might have your first, it also does not escape your mind that many kids have been sired in these grasses. Anyway, grass was not far from what I was used to back at home, a mat was my bed. When you sleep on a mat for all your zero to teenage years, your back and head are hardened for these shocks of adult years, there are no standards of comfort.
I’ve never seen a greater resolve than that of a man out to break his virginity; no age no face no shape is considered, it’s a waist business. Boys go out of their ways to meet this, a few toes must be stepped on, parents’ included. For a man, if you break it after 18, is that even a story? I was personally on a race against time to hit it the American way, before sixteen.
Now this lady, let’s call her Brenda, the pastor’s daughter who plucked my first apple, this might be her real name by the way, she has a short story to tell about me. The story of our sex encounter ends as soon as it starts. The story goes like…
It was my first, it was not her first
I was nervous, she was not
She was down, I was up
I also want to make it clear that even before we started, I was ready to finish. That liquid was just hanging somewhere around the neck of my guy, a ticking bomb. I said to myself this was going to last two seconds; I could almost swear to that.
When we tried kissing, her tongue reached somewhere near my throat (this girl I think she even forgot that she had lips, her kisses started with her tongue on my nose and ended with the tongue in my mouth). She rolled my tongue like a barrel in her mouth, the kind of kisses that would make you doubt what you borrowed from The Bold and The Beautiful.
Since I was in a hurry to make history, I did not want to waste time doing things that would not be celebrated at the end of the battle. I just wanted to jump into the business of the day.
So she opens her hips, my hair stands, like the remains of a burnt bush. I say to myself today is today, it’s the only English version of leo ni leo that I know.
I stare down to confirm position of that thing. You know stories have been told of some first timers who can’t tell the difference between the pot and the mattress. Some ladies are heartless! How do you let someone break his virginity to a mattress? I hear there was this one who after having sex confidently asked a lady to consider doing at least some lubrication before the act the next time. Word has it that the lady also asked him to carry along a torch next time to confirm the hole. Apparently, the guy had been eating the duvet all that time, supplying air like the Ngiritas. Poor boy couldn’t tell the difference between meat and cotton.
So, you now realise I’m entering the garden of Eden, or should we call it Canaan? I have been waiting for this chance all my young life. Here it is sir! All yours.
And I’m like, Oh Yeah! Somebody take the wheel!
My entry is welcomed by a loud gasp, a pat on the back to myself, this is when you tell yourself that you are the real son of your father, your entry must be felt from the corners of Judea. You know there is always a looming fear of entering without being recognized. A lady would ask you, “Are you there yet?” when you are already fully inside, probably the only other thing you can offer to add are your innocent balls.
“Yes” you would respond, pulling your eyes from her to stare between the legs to confirm if you are in the right place. And yes you are, it’s only the gift she has down there that is beyond your effort.
She would go like “Wah! I can’t feel you.”
In the back of your mind you would be thinking, these are the kind of holes Rocco Siffredi is made for.
Back to my Brenda.
She goes like “Ride me”
I say OK
I’m 10 seconds in the game, that’s like ten thrusts but the sweetness flowing from the back of my head can’t let me be.
It’s 20 seconds and I’m thinking YES! this is it. There’s something climbing up my spine, some strange blood. Oh YES.
Brenda grabs my waist and says something like USIKAM!
My half mind says WHAT?
That’s like telling me to jump in the middle of Tana River and tell it not to Flow into Masinga Dam. I’m no Moses.
“What the Fu**!!” She curses loud. Because I’m done.
Reggae stops at 30 seconds.
The smile on my face versus the scowl on her face; two worlds apart.
The celebration that is going on in my head is the only thing she can’t see.
“Mama I made it!”
30 seconds yes, but it Works! A male virgin has no regrets when he takes his first shots; you say to yourself it is just but one of the many to come.
Son of Papa! They will know that they don’t know.
This is a short letter to my friend and Father of 14 years who taught me that there is life beyond yourself. That a man who only thinks of his welfare is as poor as his thoughts. Stories about you cannot be written on a blog Jaduong because you left me with more questions than the world could answer, but thirteen years down the line I’ve forgotten I even have my shadow and walked on yours. It’s a beautiful thing you should know. I’m happy to have stolen your name so defiantly, and grew in your teachings so boldly. The name I shall keep with Grace. Continue resting with love.
A very Happy Father’s Day to all men out there and their women who keep them sane.