You move into this new house. It’s a lovely neighbourhood, you have a kiosk metres away with the nicest mama mboga.
The house is spacious, the toilet functions, the kids next door are sweet and the caretaker speaks your mother tongue. Bliss.
First day: You set the alarm for 6.30 and nod off. Instead of enjoying sound sleep for eight hours, you are woken up an hour later by the couple on the next floor.
Their headboard is banging wildly against the wall, bed is creaking, the woman is wailing like a suffocating pig, things are crushing on the floor and there is this distinctive sound of a heavily footed man squelching through a swamp.
Two wild, noisy, chaotic minutes, then silence.
An hour later, they are on. At 3am, they are back at it… Every single day… Bang, bang, bang, silence. I mean don’t they have hobbies? Jobs? When does she even get her period? Is she afraid of hernia? Are they mocking you because you are single?
But you can’t help feeling embarrassed for the guy because the woman’s moans are as uninspired as that of an underpaid Chinese porn actor.
The whole charade is faker than a Kenyan MPs outrage on the high standards of living. You can’t blame her though.
It’s obvious the man sucks in the sack, but judging by his belly, and car, and size of shopping, the howling is simply meant to massage the guy’s ego and pry his bank account wide open.
I wonder why Kenyan women let men get away with bad sex to ‘’save’’ relationships. Why choose to suffer in an activity supposed to be fun so that the other person can feel better about themselves?
We always put your feelings last, especially if you are feeling nothing?
Remember the men you strive hard to protect their emotions don’t mince their words when discussing your sexual shortcomings with their buddies.
They spill it all…how you are all majimaji or how your waist is stiffer than a concrete culvert or how you roll your massive boobs like a rizla to fit into your brassiere. But there you are covering their shame to the extent of faking orgasms.
Kenyan women, you must stop settling for mediocrity in the name of love – or money. We suffer enough of it out in the streets, and places of work. No need to encourage it in bed too.
Protest when you feel nothing and tell them to either step up or wrinkle out. If their manhood has inadequacies then he should put the money where his mouth is (if you know what I mean).
Remember those three minutes could saddle you up with severe labour pains for three days straight and a baby who will need your attention for the rest of your life.
Don’t settle for dirt. Stop faking your all and receiving nothing in return.
If the man is doing rubbish, tell him straight. If you won’t do it for you, at least do it for the woman he will cheat with.
Don’t send half-baked men into the world when you had a chance to teach them the correct way of handling the business.
Clearly these men who unceremoniously stick their tongues into women’s ears continue doing so because no woman was courageous enough to tell them how disgusting it is.
We have men out here who kiss tongue first like snakes and those who believe good sex is pounding ginene with the same gusto as thrashing dry maize.
These are the men who slump on top of women like overfed frogs, too lazy, insensitive and unfit to support their own weight, to it till their 90s because we let them get away with that nonsense.
And frankly, a husband worth the name has no business waking up the neighbours rattling the bed six times a night, seven days a week.
While his mates are meditating, or garnering eight hours sleep, the man is studying Kama sutra. A creaking bed never put food on the table!
