Hey people. So it turns out my mind is still in that weird place so today’s post will be erm.. be different. What can I say, enjoy.
Pleasure needs a title as much as a child needs a name
Night and Day
Heaven and Hell
How can both, perfectly opposite, stir up the same emotion
That exact same feeling
I close my eyes
I can’t bear to look
I feel lost
With one, I feel the other
With the other I feel one
I’m lost in my own mind
Looking for answers
Looking for reasons
Looking for a fault
A flaw that will split Night and Day
Heaven and Hell
A lot of times I lay in silence as I watch Night take over Day as if filling out blank spaces on a canvas. The gentle caress and embrace of the moonlight soothing away the harsh stings of the sun
I enjoy kisses at Night
I enjoy kisses during the Day
Hell’s kisses fall on my lower lips complimenting kisses from Heaven up above
Heaven plants me… Hell picks me
I breathe in Heaven, exhale Hell
One renting my body.. the other leasing my mind
Hell cuts me … Heaven heals me
One gives me air just so the other can take my breath away
The Day drains me, strength returns at Night
One brings me to tears, the other gifts me smiles
Pleasure from pain
Pain from pleasure
This sinful cycle will be the end of me
This confession won’t deliver me from sin but it would be a sin if these words remained undelivered
With every passing day of denial, helpless begins to mean help less
I fail miserably at reading between the lines because the lines do not exist
I can not remain hidden in the evening forever
I can not choose
I can not pick
Pleasure needs a title as much as a child needs a name
One is my Angel
One is my Devil
I am the SIN.
Comments and opinions will be appreciated. Use the comment box and speak your mind. Cheers.
The Little One By @UberBetty
I didn’t think about ‘it’.
Only when mummy says: ‘Wash your bom-bom well!’ when she’s monitoring my bath. And when she adds ‘Don’t let any one touch you there’ when she read some story in the Newspaper.
Then that day Uncle Victor came to visit,
I was shocked into awareness. I was.
He was the children choirmaster. And I was the star.
He said I had ‘the voice of an angel’. He adored me; I worshipped him right back.
Mother shouldn’t have left me, but it was just Uncle Victor. She had to ‘wash and set’ her hair.
I wanted to sing for him. I was doing a solo on Sunday. He said ‘Sit on my lap’.
I clambered on happily.
I opened my mouth and started ‘Joy to the world! The Lord is come.. Let…’
Then he touched me.
I jumped off. Mummy said no one should touch me there.
He laughed. Said it was only him. Only Uncle Victor.
I said no. Mummy said no one.
Uncle Victor got angry. He pushed me to the ground. Pushed my legs apart.
Then he rammed his large self into me.
I believe that ‘it’ is connected to the soul. I do.
Because I felt my soul tear and weep before my physical mouth parted and released the blood-curdling scream.
The angels heard it.
Then ‘it’ throbbed. Like its heart was breaking. And ‘it’ cried. Real tears of blood.
And when he cut off my screams with his hand, my soul still wept.
After we moved to the North and I was assaulted again. Mummy blamed me. She said I caused it.
I did not scream, and my vagina did not cry again; its tears have dried. But my soul is still weeping.
The Sexy Grey By @RealistXX
I have never really liked the term cougar.
If you ask me, I’d say mountain lion although some say they are one and the same. *chuckle*.
Ever seen a mountain lion hunt?
The way it selects its prey, toys with it and then goes in for the kill…..
I am a lion.
They parade themselves in front of me. Full of stamina.
Their bodies screaming “pick me mama”.
I don’t blame them. Experience oozes from my pores. Most times, I consider myself a teacher. My tool of choice, my whip
The other day, I attended my colleague’s daughter’s introduction party. I chose my outfit carefully. My short black clingy dress that made me feel like Eve.
Sin’s own offspring.
Boobs perky, vagina tight.
As the groom prostrated in front of our table, I carefully slid my legs apart exposing her in all her glory.
I can tell you that was the longest prostration in history.
It felt like time itself stood still. We connected. I had found my prey.
My new boy toy.
I played with him. Pulling my dress just an inch lower. Exposing them in all their perkiness. He poured the wine on his bride. Flustered.
I zeroed in.
He was mine from that moment. Maybe he’d learn something from me to teach his bride. She looked like a baby. So young; maybe I should let her know I’m to thank for all the great sex she’s been getting. Hmmmm… I really do deserve a thank you from her. Afterall, great sex is but a luxury nowadays
Next week would make me five decades in this deliciously sinful world. I should call him up. My birthday won’t be complete without a tumble in the sheets ;).
Hey guys. First off, huge thank you to you guys for the feedback from yesterday. Like I keep saying, lets look beyond the humour and what not to highlight the important issues in these monologues. Today, we look at a testimony from a victim of child molestation to further put some of the comments from yesterday into perspective and on a lighter note, the issue of the older female lover (still hate this word). You know the drill, if you’ve got experiences or comments to share, use the comment box and speak your mind. Cheers.
Hey people. So, I guess you can say this is one of my acting out posts cause I’m sorta, kinda annoyed so please bear with me if I ramble.
Over the last week, while I ran the P Monologues here, I was glad to read up posts from some other bloggers that addressed some issues I hoped would spin-off from reading the monologues. Issues such as rape and abusive relationships featured on @CapoeiraPanda and @Adm3on’s blogs.
Personally, I feel our society is one where certain actions, phrases and words have been bastardized to levels where they mean little or nothing. I could go over a few of them but today, I’ll just go with the most annoying one.
Yes, the world’s favourite four-letter word (no, it’s not food). Now, my opinion on this is very simple. I’ll leave religion out of it and just talk from the “worldly” perspective. Call me white or whatever but growing up, I read a lot of books and saw all kinds of movies and by the time I was 10, I knew there was more to professing love than the way it was carelessly done here.
A friend of mine once met a gurl in the morning of a certain day, by evening, I overheard him saying the words “You know I love you” to her. They had sex that evening and for the rest of that week, then he was done.
Also, I couldn’t help but notice how a lot of people tried to justify things such as staying in abusive relationships with that same four-letter word – LOVE. A lot of us say it, use it recklessly, just another word – right? Trouble begins when you ask an average black man to define the word “love” in a “non-religious” context. (Yes, we’ll get to you so hold that thought.)
Before I go on, let me state clearly that in my opinion, the under listed, are VERY VERY different.
- Be “in Like”
- Be “in love”
Also, I’d like to state that when it comes to love, I have the following opinions:
From this, you can clearly see that in my opinion, being “in love” with someone carries a whole lot more weight that just loving someone. Your parents, siblings, friends can love you. You can love a girlfriend/boyfriend after being “in like” for so long but falling “in love”? That’s not something you just do. I’ve loved and still do but falling “in love”? I’m still waiting to experience it.
Having said all of this, I know you want my definition of being in love. I’ll give you an answer I came up with after seeing a Jude Law movie (can’t remember)… it’s a scenario:
You and her standing not too far from each other, not so far away, an armed robber fires a gun. *insert matrix mode* .. As you watch the bullet leave the gun heading for her, your mind processes in 0.00000000000001th of a second…
Take the bullet…
Of course, you wont take the bullet (except you’re Jesus or ……). Anyways, imagine that situation and if you know your mind will process that thought, or you will actually take that bullet for him or her, then you, my friend, are IN LOVE.
That’s my definition, time for yours. Before you share your comments, please share your definition of “being IN LOVE”. If you don’t have one, no problem, use the comment box and speak your mind. Cheers.
The Ladies Man (By @KevinWithAnL)
Show me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are
Ok, meet Sandra, Ngozi, Tolu, Rita, Zaynab, Amina, Tara, Deola, Ada, Mayowa, Oge, Michelle and Vivian.
Yes! I’m a ladies man.
No I’m not ashamed when called a “woman wrapper”.
No I’m not dating any of the above listed and yes, I do have a girlfriend!
I’m not about to make excuses for my inability to repel ladies – no no no no no.. mba..
It’s just not in my DNA.
You see, I’m your normal run of the mill guy though of very rare breed… By rare I mean in the words of a great philosopher called D’banj – “I’m endowed’.
Yes! My lower body endowed aka my penis is a long thing.
Take Mayowa for instance:
Good friend, having man troubles. We talk on BBM after a few days after following each other on Twitter, I gave her a shoulder to cry on, now, to remove my shoulder na die o! But we are just friends. I know this because I tried kissing her once after a ‘counseling’ session and she expertly dodged and stormed out.
Likes me but can’t date me because we played “mummy and daddy” while growing up and I saw her panties then. I’ve asked her for a rematch now that we are all grown up so she can revenge and erm… look into my boxers but she keeps saying, “that’s a long thing” (As if I don’t know! Mscheeew)
Then there’s Michelle and Vivian
Twins! Two of the hottest girls to walk the surface of this planet; can’t date one of them because I can’t choose. It’s both or nothing so I’ve moved them to the friend zone, hoping that after “a few drinks” some night, we’ll get into a threesome. Till then, I’m their “friend” and nothing more.
There are lots of others. I’m confidante-in-chief to at least five other girls; sexpert to two others and wingman to loads…
Finally, I’ll tell you about Shakirat:
No, she doesn’t look anything like her name, I promise you. And no, she’s not my friend. She’s my girlfriend. What else?
She drives my nuts nuts.
My ‘Pen’ ‘is’ out of ‘ink’ when I’m with her
She’s the SI unit of nagging and the Chief Insecure Officer of the female folk. *sigh*
Yes, I’m bored but I won’t leave her. Not except my penis says so.
Those are my friends… So who am I? My name is Dizzle and I’m your ladies man.
Call me a bastard (By @JibolaL)
Ada is my friend.
There should be a limit to how you tease and flirt with people you call your friends.
I’m always her victim when we go out
Dancing and grinding against me in those short dresses
“I feel safe with you” she says.
But she’d grind my penis into blue balls
My hard dick always replies
She can’t claim she’s never rubbed her ass against something hard
I couldn’t stop imagining what I’d do to her
Opportunity knocked. We partied all night
She crashed at my place
It was not the first time
But this time, my purple balls deprived me of sleep
She had been extra hot in her LBD and Loubou pumps.
I went to the guest room where she lay
Tiredness had probably splayed her thighs
I made my move
She was a light sleeper.
With a confused look she said NO.
No ko, No ni.
I slapped her thighs farther apart and rammed in.
One strike. No miss.
Nnammmdi!!! She screamed.
I knew she wanted it.
Imagine I hadn’t taken initiative and acted instead like a pussy
That’s how she’d have been deprived of good dick
I still have Fisayo’s scratch marks
On my chest neck and forearms
I treated her to dinner at my place.
Filet Mignon made by me
And my best Merlot
After flirting through dinner,
She said she wanted to go home.
Nibo? (For Where?)
I tried everything
And almost begged
God forbid I beg for ‘Nani‘.
I walked her to my door, gave her a chance to change her mind
When she made to walk away I slapped her.
Did your daddy ever give you such fab living?
I grabbed her by her hair.
My Brazilian hair!
Brazilian hair ko, Vietnamese hair ni
I yanked it harder.
By the way I pounded her pussy on the floor, she must have had rug burns.
I still have her scratch-marks to show for it
It was worth it sha, she was really tight.
My penis thanked me.
Call me a bastard. It’s music to my ears.
So, there you go. The concluding scenes to the Penis Monologues. There are quite a lot of talking points in today’s post so I hope we can look beyond the humour and err… Jibola and highlight the cause, effects of rape, being “the ladies man” even when you’re commited e.t.c. So use the comment box and speak your mind. I’d like to give a huge s/o to all the contributing writers. They’ve been amazing If I do say so myself. What else can I say, there’s more stuff in the pipelines. Cheers.