To do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in, and scramble through as best as we can.

Sidney Smith


Baby, it’s 4 a.m in the Morning…

Unlike the frantic perfomance sex that descends after a night on the town, morning sex is deliciously unpretentious, relaxing and slow.~D.K

The art of cuddling. That’s the title I wanted to give this post. Because last night I got hit by that bitch called insomnia and so I was up at 4.00 am thinking, about life, my blog and the art of cuddling.

Cuddling is an art, well to me at least. Laying on a guys chest as he rubs my back up and down doesn’t quite cut it for me. As in really, what do you think you are doing? Putting your cat to sleep?

But as I said before, that was where my head was at that particular moment. Until I started thinking about another kind of cuddling… The 4:00 am kind of cuddling, when the cold bites and the duvet is no longer warm enough. The kind of cuddling that has him groping in the sheets looking for you. Any part of your body he can reach first.

See, it is 4 in the morning. There is that need for body warmth before the light starts creeping in and it is time to get ready to go to work. And so he reaches out to you and he slides his hand oh-so-perfectly on your tummy. Within a fraction of second, he has you pulled right next to him. With your tush placed perfectly on his you-know-what.

Yes, it is 4 in the a.m and you are barely awake, well neither is he. But the moment your body connects with his, you know what’s up. And so you wiggle your behind closer and purrrrr. And his hand shifts slowly from your tummy…to your ribcage and up to your left boob which he proceeds to squeeze gently through that silky negligee you wore to bed last night.

“Sleep!” He commands softly.

But you are having none of that. So you wiggle some more and feel him stir. With your eyes closed still, you can feel him smiling at the back of your head. His warm, gentle breathing has all the hairs at the back of your neck at attention. And so you re-adjust your weave so that he can nuzzle your neck. He lifts your negligee a little bit so that he can have better access to your tummy and ass, his index finger drawing weird shapes round your navel.

You are like a dog with a bone now. You might be operating on your subconscious but your body is 50 shades of awake. The laziness, the lack of effort and hustle, the fact that it is a weird hour on a Wednesday morning has you turned on beyond belief.

So you take his hand and return it back to your girls helping him squeeze each at a time. Then you slowly shift his hand down to your rib cage, down to your navel, past your lower stomach and down to hello kitty. It is a flood down there, and it shocks him as much as it shocks you that you are that ready for him.

Now you have his attention, both him and his friend down there. Yeah, his friend has assumed position quite comfortably between your thighs. He’s stirring, protesting…wanting. And so he pulls his hand away from your hello kitty and grabs your hips. He aligns his body with yours and with one swift, fluid motion he is right where he needs to be.

“Baby, it is 4 in the morning,” he says softly.

“Yes, I know babe. Good Morning.”


That nigga…..

Let us be honest ladies we all know that one nigga who makes you feel some type of way. No, not the Idris Elba kinda nigga,you know the one who makes knickers wet every time you think about not that one.

I am talking about that nigga who makes your skin crawl. Not in a good way though. He makes your skin tingle,like you have a thousand hissing cockroaches are on your back. you know the nigga, the one whose name is mentioned and every time,every single time it is said you make that face, as if you unexpectedly tasted bad milk.

You know the one, the one who is always at a house party that you coincidentally got invited to.That one. That one nigga who who will always make inappropriate noises about your luscious thighs under that little black dress. The one whose handshake will always linger more than its supposed to.  Never mind that his hands are clammy with sweat, or that after consuming that mutura he never washed them. Ah-ah, that nigga does not care!

Ladies we all know that nigga, the one who will sip his drink whilst licking the rim of his glass in an attempt to be sexy, all this time he is giving you those eyes…you know the “eyes”. See in his head, he is being sexy, what you are seeing is someone who looks like is getting into anaphylatic shock and is in serious need of help.

We all  know that nigga, that one who will always grind a bit too close, the one who holds your waist for the life of you. But no, he is not dancing..he is not there because that Hugo Woman smells oh so heavenly on your skin, he is dry humping you..right there on the dance floor… because he is that nigga.

We all know that nigga, the one who will want to whisper something a little too close, never mind that you are sitting at the bar specifically because you want some time alone. Or  that his breath stinks of Guiness or that you simply do not care. He will keep hounding you, he will persist on staring..Infact he will go ahead and sit right next to you even after saying in five, different, polite ways that “No, thank you, I want to be alone”. That nigga.

Ladies, you know who I am talking about. The one who comes to an event with his girlfriend. But those 21 year old young’uns…mmmh mmmh. |”they do something to me…” He then proceeds to grope his genitals and smack his lips. You know the one.

We all know that nigga, he is not your friend heck he is not even affiliated to anyone close to you but you will always run into him. Why? Because he always knows someone. who knows someone, who knows you.

We all know that nigga, that the further you try run away from him.He will appear…infront of you…sipping something lethal. Mbikos why buy a one bottie of JW while you can get 7 botties of Jelzin for the same price?!

Yes, he is that nigga too 🙂

Onto small matters…..

Until recently, I have always looked the other way when anyone (including strangers) makes some funny comment about my physique. See I’m small, painfully so. Yeah I am those short Mamas who weigh close to nothing.

I have tried everything to gain weight, heck there was even this time I entertained the idea of taking those Muscle building vitamins or whatever. Then I realized I don’t want to look like Semenya so I let that one pass. What frustrates me though is that, I have not always been this small. In High school I maintained a steady weight of between 56 and 58Kgs and most of that weight…well…  let’s just say I had a really bright future behind. (Top-layer anyone?)

But anyway I digress. My issue is this; Small girls have problems too. So much has been said about the big girl that I feel it’s time to say something about us “Laptops”. Yeah imagine that, someone calling you a laptop like it’s a good thing.  So first things first.

I AM NOT A LAPTOP. No, seriously stop calling me that like it’s a good thing. How is you calling me a laptop in any way a compliment? There is nothing appealing about being compared to a machine that sits on peoples laps the whole day being fingered .Too graphic? Then stop reading.

Secondly (and this goes to my fellow ladies) enough with the stupid questions and the dumb advice.

                “Aki you are small!!Kwani hukulangi?”

Errm,what do you think? Do you see this fries? Then what are you asking? Do I look like a prophet from the Bible? Do I look like I could go for days without food? No? Then sit down and continue sipping your black ice lady.

Then there is the other bunch with their dumb advice.

                “Eh! Ati umekuwa ukikula na hunoni? Pewa proteins Sweetie! I swear they work! Ebu look the way I have a big ass, si ni Joe alinishow if he comes inside me I will get a budonk and now see???”

Really? That’s what Joe told you? That sperms are proteins and if he comes inside you, you will get an ass? Is he a Dr. Joe perhaps? Why didn’t Joe just buy you eggs? Or beans? Or fish? Or Quails? It’s all protein isn’t it? Oh and did Joe mention one of the side effects of the pill might be adding weight? You are on the pill aren’t you? You too have a seat Ma’am.

I am not done with the ladies yet. We have the bullies. This are the fat Mamas who feel they are entitled to make cracks about the rest of us yet when you say something back, you are being inconsiderate, mean, and discriminating. Why are you talking smack about my weight and if roles were exchanged you would bitch from here to Timbuktu? What makes you feel so entitled?

I have no problem with the chunky girls who are comfortable in their skin. Neither do I have a problem with the big girls who accommodate even the little ones. My issue is with the Guinness-chuggin’-Burger-gobbling-women who are always making the small women feel like crap.Why you are calling me a toothpick is beyond me. Why you think comparing me to your 12 year old sister is funny I dunno but please eh? Stop! You have no right.

Thirdly, enough with the relatives and their snide remarks

                “Heh!Wairimu? Kai Nairobi mutaheaguo irio?” (Eh? Wairimu? Kwani people in Nairobi do not eat?)

This is usually followed by unnecessary (read inappropriate) fondling, squeezing, being turned this way and that never mind that everyone else is watching. Dear aunties, momma and cucu  IT IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! I know there is nothing “African” about my body, but don’t think I am out here starving myself just to look a certain way. I am not sick, I am not anorexic, I am not on any slimming pills so kindly, enough! It’s boring, it’s exhausting and no, that extra Mukimo is not going to miraculously add any meat to my bones.

Lastly, dudes, guys, niggas, “gentlemen”. Listen up, if you and I don’t know each other like that; DO NOT LIFT ME. Seriously, you lifting me then smiling like a stupid seal as if what you did is extraordinary is a joke. I can carry two mtungis of water at a go. That is 40 liters; that is something I AM proud of.  You weigh 78kgs, you play rugby, how is lifting someone who weighs 40 sum’n kgs an achievement? Riddle me that!

 You know something else, I am not a doll, I am not breakable so enough with the “Aki wewe nikakupata naweza kuvunja” vibe. It is not a good look. Bedroom skills have nothing to do with size, methinks. I know of big girls who can do a split. So why you are sexualizing me even before we have a conversation is derogatory and plain stupid. Stop looking at me like you could eat me, I know you could flip me up and down and this way and the other way. Thanks though, but no thanks.

So yeah, these are some of the problems us small girls have. It may seem petty, it may seem small (See what I did there?) but y’all need to chill with that laptop vibe. Seriously!

Have a nice day!


A girl was Raped last night….

A girl was raped last night…
But you didn’t hear….you weren’t near
And even if you did….you didn’t care
She’s not your sister so… to hell with her tears.

A girl was raped last night…
Her clothes torn…emotions wronged.
Her body worn from all the brawl…
But you didn’t hear…didn’t care.
She’s not your sister so… to hell with her tears.

A girl was raped last night…
She was not dressed “right”…her clothes were too tight.
So you & buddies thought you might teach her what’s right..
So you spread her legs though  she put up a fight.                                                                                                                She’s not your sister so… to hell with her tears

A girl was raped last night…
She’s not your daughter, she’s not your wife
So when social media was rife…
With videos & pictures of her in strife…
Into it you breathed life..
You shared, you retweeted, you hit that button like
She’s not your sister so….to hell with her tears.

A girl was raped last night…
All that’s swirling in her mind are thoughts are thoughts of suicide…
Because somebody somewhere did decide…
That he is “god” and she must abide…
So he took her dignity and her pride..
By forcing himself upon her and messing her life.                                                                                                                  She was not his sister so…to hell with her tears

A girl was raped last night..
All she sees is a hard life..
Why didn’t they save me, why don’t they care?
Who the hell cursed me,who put me in this snare?
Is it something I did?
Is it something I said?
I know I’m not your sister but I think you should care