Ngotha, where art thou?

I think I should stop fucking kids. But how do I do it? Guys? Any ideas? I meet a kid in a club, I wanna say no, but for some reason I just don’t. Wrong.

I thought I was dreaming when I woke up to the face of the kid lying on my bare chest…mouth open…snoring away. I am stark naked. I put my hand over her lower back and move my hand over her butt. She too is butt naked. Aich.

She doesn’t even flinch when I squeeze her butt…she just makes a small gagging sound, swallows, closes her mouth and continues sleeping.

I can remember very well getting to the club, meeting the girl, getting drunk, getting to the car park outside, but can’t quite remember us getting into the room. I know we must have screwed, but for the love of mike! OMG! I can’t actually remember doing it. Kweli. Old age is setting in? Dementia?

I gently nudge her face aside onto the pillow and she turns over, hugs the pillow and continues snoozing away. After a few minutes, I sit up and find used condoms on the floor. I smile. At least I used some. Aich.

I head into the bathroom and empty a tankfull of urine into the bowl as I yawn incessantly.

I walk back and look down at the sleeping shapely young woman. She just completed high school and is in town staying with her married sister.  I try to imagine how this girl was in a high school classroom just about this time the previous year. I figure her in her school uniform chewing on the end of her Bic ballpoint pen figuring out some quadratic equation (ama zilikuwa zinaitwa aje?)

OK. So she is lying there, one arm is flung over the pillow exposing a shoulder and also partially exposing the side of a cute young boob. I pull the blanket up a bit to cover the kanyonyo. I am feeling rather guilty. I am getting too old for this shit. Kweli. As in kweli. Not the overused movie line/cliché.

I ease my butt onto the bed, lean over  and prop my face in my hands. I like the sensation of the warm carpet on my feet. I massage my temples kidogo. Headache kwa mbali. My shirt and trouser is on the floor next to the bedside cabinet.

I look over to the armchair and table across the room. Her clothes make an untidy heap on the armchair. There is a bottle of Amarula (the big one) on the table. She must have brought it in. Some of the wine is in an ugly water glass beside the bottle…those ugly water glasses they leave for guests in cheap hotel rooms. I walk over, pick the glass, slump into the armchair and take a sip. Whenever I take a sip of Amarula, it feels more like baby food, like something more for nutrition than for recreation. But today it doesn’t taste too bad actually. Today it tastes like alcohol.

I try to reconstruct the missing hours of my memory.

The most memorable point of our meeting was when I told her she was pretty and she said, “You too!” I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Aich! Then we started drinking together and chatting. When I realised just how young she was, I half willingly started hatching out some strategies to dump her. She was so naive about everything. For starters, she thought that stuff like riding a cool motorbike was the definition of success in life. And that it is the job of ma-boys to buy their girlfriends credo, give them salon money, and they should take them shopping for shoes and clothes at least once a month. Hehehe…

She had rather expensive taste when it came to the drinks too. Glass of Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine, Shot of Tequila, Shot of Tequila, Glass of Wine, Wine, Wine…

Ati beer does not taste nice, Smirnoff ice gives a bad hangover, Snapp is for kids (like duh…hehehe…)etc

I want to sneak out but I keep checking out that perfect bubbly ass, tender smooth skin, nice pair of boobs, infectious laugh…dreamy eyes. I give in. When I resign myself, I feel a new freedom take over. I let myself go and I really enjoy the drinks for the rest of the night.

It must have been the drinks; why my memory sort of conked out later in the night.

As I sat on the armchair sipping from the ugly glass, I started wondering if I need to start reordering my life. The more I thought about her, the more I felt like dressing up and slipping away quietly.

I grab the towel and step into the shower room. Nice hot shower. I walk out of the shower room, and find her still laying the same way I had left her. ..

I pick my pair of trousers and shirt from the floor but can’t find my underpants. Fuck. Sasa ziko wapi? I start sparking as it starts to dawn on me that they are somewhere buried deep in the bed sheets…and the sleeping damsel is probably lying on them. Fuck them. I getting out of this without waking this kid. I am going out commando. Hehehe…

I put on the pair of trousers and tuck in the shirt, zip up, and buckle up. Lakini, how can I just leave my underpants in the room like that? May be the cleaning women might decide to check my number out and call me to ask me to come pick them later? Awkward. Besides I am feeling rather naked without them. Hehehe…

I carefully put my hand under the beddings and sweep down to the foot of the bed without touching her, then I run it along the foot of the bed. Nothing. Ama she stole it when I was out and stuffed it in her handbag. I eye her handbag suspiciously. It is sitting so smugly on the table as if it is daring me. What if she wakes up and finds me fumbling with her handbag?

Lakini, what would she be doing that for? Put my ngotha in her handbag??!!! I must be sick to have entertained such a thought!

Where is that fucking ngotha?

It must be under the bed! Nice thought. Peeking under the bed aaand…nope. No joy. Hakuna. So now, that  fucking bitch is in the bed, no doubt about it. You know that thing they put on car keys and then when you whistle or clap it beeps? They should have invented one for ngothaz. A grown man turning over a lass twenty years younger than him looking for a ngotha? Aich.

Forget. Commando it is.

Then again, how will they dispose of it? Same thought line that got me looking again>>>“Daktari. Retrieve mali yako. Hapana kuacha suruali ya ndani kwa kitanda ya hoteli ovyo ovyo. Daktari?”

Enough is enough. I pull up the blanket and peek. She wakes up with a start and grabs the blanket back. Awkward.

“What time is it?”

“Morningz. Saa moja unusu. My ngotha is hiding under the blankets, I need it.”

“Kwani you are going?!” Sounds accusing.

“No, I was just…looking for it.”

“Yaaa right…”

She grabs my arm. “Please come back. Tulale tu kidogo. It is so early daaaamn…”

Am officially back in bed. We start caressing, kissing a bit. Mr Rungu wakes up instantly. O Drat! Fuck this!

A few minutes later, I reach for a CD. I try to go in and she complains that her pussy is sore.

“Kwani?”

“Sasa you took forever to cum last night?” [hio inakuanga sentense ya statement, swali ama nini?]

“I did?”

“Yeah. Duh? Like you even told me yourself you take forever to cum?”

“Haki sikumbuki?”

“Liar!”

Screw.

I sweat sana. I head back to the shower room again, but this time I remember to retrieve the ngotha. She watches me dress up and asks me for a hug. We hug, as she tells me in the typical chick soppy fashion that she will miss me. I stuff Kshs 1000 into her handbag and leave her sleeping. I am not sure I can keep this up much longer. I am starting to feel a bit lost about these younger women. It does not feel the same any more. I think it is about time I revisited the metamorphosis post and post something there for this stage of a pussy hunter…coz I think it is about time for a new development.

Getaway final

In the next club, I watch as Frahiya’s short dress migrates upwards slowly hour by hour until the leggings are the only thing left covering her big hips. As we get chatting, I am surprised at how much we have in common…her taste in movies etc. We make much sense out of the same jokes that most people don’t find even remotely funny.

She also has a daughter the same age as my own, she knows all the girl kid cartoons for the age by heart…we find ourselves doing a sing along of Dora the explorer’s theme song aloud and everyone at the table starts laughing at us. Hehehe…

From there on, it is a tête-à-tête with her, sometimes getting completely oblivious of what was going on with everyone else at the table. If Perry knows how to pick men for the girls, he thoroughly nailed it on this one.

Frahiya is a single mom. Her mother is a single mom too, having been a divorcee since Frahiya was a teenager. They run a family business selling electronics somewhere near the big post office.

At  1am the other guys want to leave, we decide to take one more drink before taking off.

When we get to the room, she wants to grab a shower…

I am quite horny, but I also feel really drunk and sleepy; I had been working the night before and had hardly had any sleep. By the time she gets to bed, I am already dozing off. Foreplay kidogo, I reach for a CD. She protests. She wants me to hold her for a while longer. We play for an eternity and I start getting sleepy again.

We fuck. I don’t remember what happened but I must have dozed off after cumming. In the morning, we wake up and start chatting. We do it again, and then doze off again. We wake up at 1130 and start chatting again, and then play and then fuck quite hard. I kneel between her legs and lift her generous behind off the bed and nail it. We rock for some time and then I get tired of holding her up and I just slump over and nail it missionary. She gets rather excited and starts urging me to fuck her harder and deeper. I gather her ass cheeks into my hands, digging my fingers hard into them. She goes wail then announces she is cumming. I keep pumping as she wails harder. When she lets go, I pull back and see her face. Eyes closed, face drawn into an ugly grimace, beads of sweat on her forehead, drenched in sweat all over her torso…serious amounts of sweat actually. She tries to push me out but I resist. I like the look of her pubic hair glistening in the sweat. We lie like that for some time and I slowly start wiggling it. When she stops complaining, I fold her over and squat over her pussy with my dick deep inside. I bump up and down, much the same way you do when you do your frog jumps in your bedroom in the morning. Hehehe…

I cum. Big time.

She wants to sleep, but the sheet under her is so wet she has to throw it out. At 1224, we wake up to a loud bang on the door. We have overstayed our welcome and the room cleaners want us out. We hastily clean up and head out for lunch.

Aich

A getaway

I accidentally left my bag at the car wash. 500kms later, and I realise I don’t have the bag, and so no change of clothes. Aw shucks!!

An idea crosses my mind. My dad’s place, hired out to some Indian family, but we occasionally leave our stuff in the store. I drove to the gate and the security fella took a peek and just ignored me. I got out and walked to the peephole and knocked. He took another peek, shut it and opened the ka-side gate and stepped out. He looked at me suspiciously as I explained to him I needed to pick something from the store. I could tell from his stern face nothing was going through.

I tell him to go in and explain to his boss that it is Cheupe and that I need access to the store. He disappears in and comes back and tells me to “ngojea kidogo” and disappears back in. I wait for an eternity and decide to get lost and just go buy some new clothes. Just when I am about to leave, I spot the lady driving up. I try to dash back to the car to get it out of her way, but she blocks my rear. She tells the security fella to let me in.

I drive into the old familiar compound and a million and one nostalgic memories assault me like bandits. Sometimes, my childhood revisits me rather violently. The smell in the air seems to beckon me back into my prepubescent years. It was quite a time growing up at the coast those days (well not that I know for a fact that it is not these days either hehehe…)

She asks me in but I tell her I am in a hurry and request for the spare keys to the store.

I open the store, same old strong smell of fresh wood vanish.

It is probably six years since I last came in here. I grab the black leather bag up in the highest shelf and haul it down. The store is crowded with totes, there are some children bicycles, and a small lonely motorbike (looks broken down) sits quietly in the far corner, probably reminiscing on its better days…I recognize one of the totes as being my big brother’s. It is full of useless stuff…old Nissan engine fan belts, wiper blades, sparkplugs, etc…memories continue crowding in and I feel a smile coming on.

Someone must have wiped the bag for me…not even a speck of dust.

I open it and there is a residual smell of the mothballs my sister had forced me to put into all the clothes bags. I cannot see any of her bags in the store. I inspect the contents. Everything seems to be just the way I left it. A red heavy jacket, red stuffed tracksuit pair of trousers, white socks and a pair of red sneakers, two black and white casual wear shirts and a red T shirt, white pair of socks, etc etc. I close the bag and turn to make towards the door. I run into the peering eyes of the gardener as he stands by the doorway. He is probably worried I might decide to stuff a few of his master’s stuff in. (I wouldn’t be stuffing a bicycle into a bag genius!!)

It starts raining on my way back to the hotel.

6pm. Grab a shower, and catch some supper downstairs, leaving the clothes hung to air. I down a few beers as I wait for the call. 830pm. We are meeting in some club in down town. It is still drizzling. I go back upstairs and grab the old red track, t shirt, sneakers, jacket and walk out looking like a lost rally driver.

At the club I find Perry in the company of five, a short fella, business man from Ukunda and three ladies. I have minimal interest in the ladies, except for Frahiya. She is wearing a tight black short dress (or a long top), a black jacket, and black leggings. She is also wearing tall heels, but is still the shortest in the group when she stands up even with the high heels hehehe… Long hooked pointed nose, double chin, long thick black hair, owlish eyes. Dark complexion. Likes coffee and cigarettes. Her facial features though still feminine, have a touch of masculinity about them. It is only when you hear her high pitched shrill voice that you completely forget the double chin. Aich.

Ladies keep passing by and paying homage to Perry, a peck here, a hug there, a wink here, blow a kiss here, a hand wave (the one where the chick flickers the fingers or something like that) and swings a hip, etc. I am envious of the bugger. Hehehe…

A group of Arabs sit at the table next to us after a few minutes. One of them keeps stealing glances at Frahiya. I head for the loos and find a waiter at the counter stuffing tobacco (I hope) into a bong. I come back from the loos and shortly after that, the bong lands at the Arabs’ table. Smoke now completely engulfs the room. I hate being a passive smoker. I tell the guys that we should move to another corner.

We decide to move to another club altogether.

To be continued.

She will not get fucked tonight because…

I am posting this on behalf of a woman who insists on refusing to comment on the blog:

“I’ve hidden behind a deeply programmed dread of violating traditional moral codes. I’ve hidden behind a pretense of unselfishness, a personal vow made at nineteen that I would never do unto another woman what ______ had done unto me . I’ve hidden behind my chronic terror of rejection.”

That is deep. I think.

She says she will likely not get married because many years ago, her boyfriend ran off with her best friend. It gives a piercing insight into how damaging the psychology of a self pity is, giving us in a nutshell, just what many women use as an excuse to miss a great opportunity to get fucked.

Aich

Bye Mutula

Some people are born to be winners, others are losers even before they are born. Kweli. Mutula was a winner.

A man must mince his words, may be even eat them at times. But for Mutula, those times were far and wide from each other.

Certainly Mutula was not a role model for anyone I know. I think mostly because it takes a very unique combination of brilliance and tenacity to even imagine to aspire after a character such as he.

The defining hallmark of a winner is eccenticity. And just like any other winner out there, Mutula had his full share of eccentricities.

I have my private reservations for the personal life of the guy. But I can confidently say that Kenya has lost an irreplaceable piece in its chess game plan.

Farewell Mutula.

For the girl who gives a fuk.

So this question needs to be answered. Why did you marry her, and not the other? I cant quite put a finger on it. I do not think it is what she did. In fact the more I try to answer that question, the more I see things that she DID NOT do that set her apart.

1. She was not full of makeup. To me, a woman full of makeup on her face is a joke. Aich.
2. She did not communicate unless it was meaningful. Women communicate a lot, but most of the time the utility of what is put across is beyond me…I can’t seem to find use for it. Kweli.
3. She talked to me when we met on a date. If I go out with her, there are not distractions. Sometimes I go out with a woman and she pulls out her phone and starts surfing? Hehehe…I usually accelerate the date and drop her home promptly.
4. She did not have people like Beyonce (or Julia Roberts) among her role models. Her reason: Women who live on the silver screen appear to be extremely desirable people. But that desirability is cultivated from a harsh reality we never get to see.
5. She cooked and did not think it would be part of my role as a husband to cook for her. It would be a waste of my time. Huh?
6. She did not live in a herd. She made her own decisions.
7. She did not necessarily give a fuck what you gave a fuck about. If you did not like what she liked, well…
8. She cared more for herself than she did about any other fucking thing in the world. That speaks to honesty deep in her soul.
9. She was intentional about critical things in her life. For instance: she had a deliberate intenion to be a mother at a very early stage in her life. She made it clear she wanted children, she knew how many,  when she wanted them, and with who she wanted them.
10. She made her own money (still does), and she shamelessly spent it on herself. And also on me. Hehehe…

Rant

I am stuck. I do not have to justify myself to anyone for being a vombo (vombo is a man who fucks for a living). Vombo is kao for a pump. That is what they call you back at a home if you are a man of many vaginas. Hehehe…

I am not an animal. I am just human. So I will be done with this. I will not discuss this any more with any one. If you have comments on it, put it here on the blog.

My 1% on the issue of “love” :::::::::

People live and enjoy what little pleasures life can bring to them. There are rough patches in there, but one who makes the right choices usually keeps those patches few and far apart.

I used to have a girlfriend who went all moral on me after fucking me senseless for years, then I started to feel that may be she needed me when she was lonely, broke and not sure what was cutting in her life. I loved her all the same. Hehehe…

Immediately she found herself a nice new job and was raking in a “fortune”, she kind of pushed me away.

I thought she did it because she needed to get married, and did not need me hanging around her and making her appear taken. But it did not happen. Instead, she started (?)inviting dubious characters to her apartment. She met one who she claimed “drugged her, date raped her (nyama kwa nyama), and left her pregnant” She puts it like, “I dont remember what happened, I think I was raped.” Huh?!?

When she at last told me what happened, she went all moral on me. She said she pushed me away because she did not want to be another woman’s prayer item; meaning she did not want to be my wife’s prayer item. So I guess that is that. You cant argue with the moral card because it is pulled out of god’s own sleeve. So who are you to argue with it?

I guess that is when you let it slide. A woman decides your relationship is morally wrong and tells it to your face? Grow a pair of legs, dude.

One thing I have known is that when a woman says no to you while flashing the moral card; pole.

There is something that a woman can have for you that is worse than hate; that is when she finds you just a mildly amusing pastime or an unattractive nuisance that she has to tolerate because of some need she has for your expertise or money…when she is in a compromised situation: that you are not quite capable of kindling her fancies. Hehehe…

This kaparagraph immediately above is vital to understanding the following statement and where I am coming from with the rant.

Eventually you realise that you need to look for a friend because there is no loving a woman, or a man for that matter.

I don’t know how one woman feels when another woman walks to her and tells her she is illegitimately pregnant by her husband. I don’t know how it feels when a woman intentionally gets knocked up by a married man and realises that her plan to snatch another woman’s man will not work. She feels fucked up I guess.

I guess betrayal feels like I felt when the woman I loved told me she was pregnant with some loser.And so that is what betrayal tastes like. I guess.

For a guy it is different. It is like an attack on his person; hutoshi. For a woman, it is an attack on her future: she is exposed and has to both birth and fend. That is a position a woman gets into by choice. The choice may be from a wise calculation, or from a miscalculation. Either way, she gets what she chooses, whether it is what she wants, or it aint.

OUT

Bila

A stupid thing I did. Bila.

My ex kept calling me about some issue so I decided to visit her at her place of work. We talked for some time and then I suggested we get down to a quickie. She refused citing lack of privacy. I asked her to lock the door. She refused. I locked it for her, as quietly as possible. She retreated when I  started walking back towards her but I caught up with her.

We started fighting. In the process she accidentally “lost” her panties amid muffled screams and giggles. With her panties on the floor I hurriedly unzipped my trousers and tried to get in standing position. Nada.

I lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I reached down and pointed the thing the right direction. Very poor traction on the polished floor with my socks on, but all the same; success! Ndani. My thing was already so wet she did not need any lube.

I lowered her back down carefully into standing position and then took off my socks. I pumped her as she leaned against the wall. I came so hard I almost fell. We stayed fused for a few seconds and then I pulled out. I did not realise I was pouring stuff all over the floor until she pointed it out and grabbed some Kleenex from the desk and wiped it off. Then she wiped herself and handed me some too.

Socks back on, slipped the shoes back on. She collected her panties from the floor and put them back on then got back on her tall office chair. I walked over to the door and unlocked it, then came back and sat down at her desk.

We started discussing non-existent “business.” Aich.

Hehehe…

Game kali, qali.

This is a porn site.

But this post is a touch more porny (pornius, pornograhic) than usual. Sawa.

She was short, also very tiny. She looked like she was still in her teens. I was not sure what to say when she asked me to buy her beer. I reluctantly caved in.

We ended up in the room a few minutes past 2am. I was just lying there on the bed digesting beer and watching her throw everything on the floor save for her light blue top. She took off everything below the waist. Mara moja. Bila wuas! Aich. She unhooked her bras and pulled them off skilfully from underneath her top, and threw them on the floor. Then she walked towards the bed, sat astride on my knees and undid my zipper. Her cute little pussy was smiling over my knees hehehe…

I watched her little head bump up and down as she sucked on my shaft. I watched it grow from a lazy limb dangling to an angry throbbing drill. She stopped at some point and admired it.

She chuckled and a bit and whispered, “Mbig…” I chuckled.

As she was bending over the shaft, unknown to her I was admiring her tiny frame in the mirror behind her. CD on. Every once so often, she would arch her back and her tiny pussy would open ever so slightly to reveal a flash of sweet pinkness beyond. I wondered if she was going to be able to contain the pulsating rod in her hands/mouth.

Shock on me!

When she came on top, she put her fingers to her mouth and then to her pussy to make moist kidogo…she didn’t even flinch putting it in. She just bend forward kidogo, brought her hand to the rear, picked the rod shoved him to the target, eased back, and literally sat on it. All the way smack onto my thighs! Full force. Not even an inch to spare! Aich. Kids nowadays!

I raised my head in shock. She was a bit alarmed by my apparent state of shock. I smiled and just bumped my head back onto the pillow and closed my eyes smiling. Pussy can be quite warm, lakini round hii! Boiling hot! The pleasure diffusing through my lower regions is paralysing. Aich.

Then she started rocking head-leg ward in typical girl fashion (as opposed to guy up-down hump hehehe). I was getting so wet myself I started feeling the Cd sliding off. I pulled out and pulled the cap back in position.

This time she squatted over the thing and started ma-circulars. Aich. Wazee hio game ilinizubaisha mpaka sasa nikikumbuka naona kama ni last night tu.

After a short while she got tired and slumped onto me. I continued pumping from underneath her until she regained her stamina and continued rocking head-leg ward again. Nikaomba doggie kidogo. Dame aliruka kama acrobat.

Head down kabisa on the mattress, back arched, ass out, legs spread. Man! Aich. Yaani dame anakupea kama nini? Bila ku-spare?

Wet kidogo, zamisha. Yote. Tena anarudi reverse kuzamisha zaidi! We rocked for some time, halafu akasema amechoka. Rolled over on her back, legs drawn up to knee chest position. Her hands are resting on her knees holding them in place. I take her legs at the ankles and push in. Utamuuuuuuuuuuu!!! GFF!!! Hehehehe…

I kept glancing over to the side to watch the game on the mirror. Nice tu sanaaa. Nice.

Then she came on top and rode it reverse cow girl. I place my hands beneath her top and started caressing her breast. She started rubbing her pussy and her thrusting became rather vigorous. I was sure she was on her way to cumming but I couldn’t hold it in. I exploded like a maafaking Boston and almost threw her off over the bedside. Hata sikumalizia kucum ndani. Hehehe…

She was pissed off at me for messing her cum. I had messed my cum too.

She rested her head on my chest for some time and shortly after started playing with the shaft again. Another hard on.

“GFF. Am going to die tonight… ” am thinking to myself.

Another game.

These women will be my undoing.

Bila Ladha

Sikumwaga

Tall woman, rather light complexion but beautiful all the same. Long dress, all the way to the ankles. Cardigan. Scarf. Looks like a lady. But she is a prostitute. She speaks right. She is actually sounding like a lady too.

In the car. We negotiate, she does not want the night. She just wants to go for a short fuck, and she is asking for a fortune. I find out later that she is from coast. No wonder. Anafikiri huku bara kuna wazungu. Pole kwake. I tell her am not doing short time, I want the whole night.

We get to the room and she insists on grabbing a shower. She grabs a shower. Then I realise something just then. She is paged big time! Very pregnant! We start chatting and hit off a very connected tempo. The stuff she says makes so much sense to me, and when I say something that makes sense to me, she agrees with it immediately. We find ourselves forgetting ourselves, to the point where it starts getting a bit affectionate. Then she remembers why she came with me in the first place!

“I have to go back! Let’s get this business out of the way now.”

I have no hard on at all for some reason. Very rare when I am with a beautiful woman. She coaxes the little man to life, and I hand her the CD to cap him. She starts complaining that my dick is too big hehehe… She rolls it on.

I tell her to sit on it. She refuses. I tell her I am not coming on top. No way!

I try it from below; she is on her back knees drawn up with me lying sideways and below. She refuses to allow me to get in from that position and opts to come on top. She manages to put it in and rocks a few times and I notice she is getting breathless in under 30secs. I can’t stand the sight, so I tell her to just lie down, I kneel between her legs. I try to get in. Too dry. I wet it with saliva, and she gets very disgusted by that. I ask her if she has lube (of course she doesn’t have any). I get in. I rock a few times and she says it is uncomfortable.

I try it from the first position and it seems to be working but after a few minutes she complains that it is too big. I know I am going to take forever to cum. I pull out and extract some 500bob and hand it to her as she starts to ready herself to leave. She was not expecting anything.

“Hata hujamwaga? Hio si short time.”

Lakini just as she is leaving she complains that she doesn’t have change for the motorbike ride back to town hehehe….

I hand her 100 bob.

I am thinking; “Sikumwaga? I have nailed a pregnant whore before, lakini I don’t remember the last time I took a woman to a room and she left bila mimi kumwaga.”

Aich.