The love of your life


A distinction

 

I’m 29 now. I remember the first time(s) I fell in love. Between 20 and 22, with two different people. Before these loves, I was completely oblivious to what it was.

I’m now in a loving relationship. It’s going stronger by the day and I’m happy.

The other day my friends asked me if he’s the love of my life. I said no, without much hesitation. He’s the great love of my life, I said.

Those four words, LOVE OF MY LIFE, describe to me what happened between 20 and 22 with those two individuals. The experiences with them were very different. In one situation it was unrequited love, it was acknowledged but not necessarily returned. In the second instant it was everything, I was given mind, body and soul.

 

This is how I experienced the loves of my life whether things were good or bad:

  • The sound of a door opening, I hoped it was them.
  • A beep on my phone, I hoped it was them.
  • When I turned a corner, I hoped they were on the other side.
  • Elevator doors opening, I hoped it was them inside.
  • In public spaces, it was them I hoped to see.
  • Footsteps.
  • My name hollered.

See this was everywhere. It wasn’t a thing of logic. My body had physical reactions to what I was feeling, a lot of adrenaline. I spent three years anticipating. Every single time it wasn’t them, my heart would sink in disappointment. Knowing this disappointment wasn’t enough; the anticipation would come back, as strong, over and over again. So many moments of breathlessness.

This is what my life was. Excitement, anticipation, disappointment. It was heroin.  I swear there were times when I thought I was going to throw up.

 

These feelings quelled over time, as most things do. I however wanted to replicate this. This is what I knew as love. I was still addicted to that rush.

It never happened. For years it never happened. I thought I’d reached my love quota. I’d peaked too early.

I then found the great love of my life. A knowing came over me. I always knew. He was the one around the corner, I always knew it was him calling/texting, I knew his footsteps – it was always him. This is, again, how it always is, whether things are good or bad.

 

I’d rather this. From heroin to kale.

 

 

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​Time to go


This is for my friend who forgot to follow the music.
So quick to shell’a you, so very very quick. They come at you with their guts and desires. You take them on, for whatever reason you do.

They come to know you. You give to them, and maybe they too give to you. You’re dancing like you never have.
Time passes, things dwindle. The flames quell, as they often do. The lights go on, and home whispers to you both. 
The buck now falls with you. Now you must nurse them out of what they started. Oh they’ll tell themselves a tale of two hearts:
“I’m still in love, but it needs to end, I just don’t want to cause hurt”
Filling your space with gassy lies of favour and pity, apparently for you. 
It’s strange for a while, it doesn’t feel like anything, how can it? You inhale the gasses, you lose your mind. You scramble for your stuff.
Then a time comes. They don’t have it, you must. That bravado that started this is no more. True grit is now with you. 
It’s time to go.

Dating Rambo, Whatsapp and Being Ignored


This is an empathy blog post, I’ve heard this story many many times. I was having a conversation with Quest. She was telling me about a guy who’s just acting up for no reason, especially since no one asked him to act down in the first place.

 

If you’re a 20 something year old doing his/her own thing, this has probably happened to you before. I used to do this, but it got done to me, so I think it’s inhuman to do this to another mother’s child (yes, we must think of how people have mothers, and how they’d just bleed if they knew their children were being treated so badly). So I don’t do it anymore. Here’s the deal.

 

And so it starts. One of your friends has the best idea in the world. It usually starts like this: “I know this great guy’. You’re not particularly busy, so it’s chilled, you go along with it. It starts with whatsapp and if you’re lucky, or not, it’s followed by a date. The whatsapp conversations are nothing ground breaking, but you can survive them. You figure that you’re interesting and have things to tell someone, either then twitter and your friends. So you decide, fine, I’ll tell this here niglet things. Then you get comfortable, because somehow that’s just how it happens. Inside of you grows a comfortable excitement, still nothing to write home about, but you do happen to smile about it whenever.

 

A few days later, you go on a date. It’s a good laugh, it could easily be a scene from a B rate romcom. But you’re smart, so your expectations are again left unchanged. Then, this person wants to be dating Rambo at the end of the date. “This was great! I’m so glad that I finally met you. Wow! You’re so amazing! You’re like the best date I’ve been on in eons. We should totally do this again”. For a moment, your ego is on spinning rims. You tell a few friends, your voice goes up a few octaves. But again, you’re smart. You calm down. You get home and check whatsapp…no messages from Rambo…

 

You send a standard message, polite, breezy, chilled, informal and just generally oozing of etiquette, to comment on the date. Mind you, not because you’re ‘trying something’, because that’s what people do after a date. You go to sleep. And wake to “Yeah sure, it was great! Have a good day.”

 

You think to yourself: “Um…what is this now?”. But now there’s a script! So you follow it, “Will do you too.”

 

A day later, dating Rambo is quiet, and you have interesting things to say. You know it’s pretty much over, and he’s just not that into you, but he’s a human being right? So you say hello, and ramble on about something. There he goes, tweeting up a storm and 3 hours he replies. By now the fat lady has sung all the numbers in Mama Mia, she’s done! It’s over. Nothing is ever going to happen between you and dating Rambo. And you’re cool with it. BUT HE IS A HUMAN BEING. So than it starts.

 

You say hello, when whatsapp says he’s online. Literally, 2 seconds later, he’s “last seen”. “Is he putting his phone down because I said hello? What the hell is this bull now?”. 10 minutes later he’s back, not to reply to your hello mind you. So you think “Oh hell no! TF kinda goldfish memory does this one think I have? Does he think I forgot that I said hello to me?” Why is he doing this? You hold back all the crazy that’s brewing, until it all just goes away.

 

10 days later…you’re completely over it. But you have to holla at Obi…because you’re not too sure what happened. Obi’s response. “I have no fucking clue!!!”.

 

But I did learn a few weeks ago that there are studies that suggest that being ignored sends signals to your brain, that closely resemble physical pain. So people just want to hurt you sometimes. That’s the only logical explanation I have for why dating Rambo exists.

“When I’m weak …


“When I’m weak I draw strength from you
And when you’re lost I know how to change your mood
And when I’m down you breathe life over me
Even though we’re miles apart we are each other’s destiny”

This is from one of my favourite songs by Zero 7. Reminds me of all those exs of mine that I always left thinking “you will always be my baby’. Listening to this song reminds me of all of them. It reminds me that I was lucky enough to have these people in my life.

We are still each other’s destiny. I once loved you. That’s set in stone. Nothing will change that. Before I met you, you were apart of my destiny. 

 

The death of lust


So, it’s been a long time since I last had sex. I’m not a picky person, when I’m not sober at least. It’s not like I haven’t had any opportunities. I’m not the most unattractive person in the world. Considering my personality and esthetic qualities, I’m actually a viable suitor, even if it’s just for one night.

Maybe it’s the cold winter or the Leo within is just yearning for a shag, but for the past few weeks I’ve been thinking about sex more than usual. But today I find myself feeling a little indifferent to it all.

See my ego got a boost a couple of hours ago. A little while ago I basically got offered a night in heaven with a supple nineteen year old. At my age that doesn’t happen often (I’m not that old btw, I’m an awesome twentysomething). I could’ve gone for it but I didn’t. I know for a fact that less than a week ago, I’d be nekkid in bed with my loins well seasoned and ready to go. Today though, it’s different. I know I almost want to, but I won’t.

Being the overthinker that I am I’ve decided on a few reasons why I won’t get laid at this point in time. These could be standard reasons why normal people chose not to get laid, but I wouldn’t know. Because I’m not a normal person etc.

I’m scared
Forget what I said earlier. Fear normalizes me to a point where I’m not even an individual anymore. But yeah, I’m pretty scared. Maybe the specifics of my fear make me different from everyone else?
I’m scared that I’ll tear this poor sod into shreds. You know, for a sexually rambunctious fella such as myself, not having sex for a long time grows thee most grotesque thoughts inside of you. I will break this poor child into pieces. Partly because I want to and also because I’m damn hooongray, only because it’s been a while.

I’m growing up
For the past two years I’ve been contemplating how I need and haven’t had a serial (don’t edit) relationship. After a string of near hits and utter misses, I’ve convinced myself that it would be unwise to shot in the dark like I have been all my life. This is part of the reason why I’ve been celibate for so long. I want to keep a part of me honest I suppose. Too many careless romps MUST erode the loving soul. It’s a popular belief and one that might just be applicable to this here rebel.

The age difference
Fuck that! Who wouldn’t want a supple 19 year old? This is not at all a pertinent factor.

I don’t deserve it?
Do people have to deserve sex to have it? I suppose not. But I’ve always thought sex is sacred, even when it’s with a stranger. There’s beauty and poetry in sharing your body with someone, for whatever reason. This being in hindsight, my vanity used to make me feel worthy of all the sexual attention I got. It’s not enough anymore. I’ve grown up a lot since. I’d like the next person I sleep with to be someone who sleeps with me and not what I appear to be. I wear a lot of faces at any given point in time. The face I have on right now cannot be trusted. I’d be having sex in my whole with this person. But my whole would be different to the person this kid thinks I am.

I don’t know. Maybe sometimes not giving into our shallow needs of the flesh is a good thing. All I know is that the lust within me has leukemia and I don’t mind all that much. As for how long it’s been since I last had sex…hahaha. A long time it’s relative. A week for one man is a year to another. So that doesn’t matter. If you’re going to have a lovely shag in the next few hours, good for you! Have a round, just for meJ

Sex, relationships, celibacy, lust, sexuality,

An afternoon with Cynthia


When I was still in college I had a flat mate who changed before my very eyes, in a short period of time.

She was a very sweet and timid girl. She always kept to herself and was careful never to bother anyone. Every time something shocking would happen, she’d have this classic and endearing “deer caught in headlights” expression on her face. Everyone adored her and her life was close to perfect, until she fell in love.

His name was Collins. Not the most charming fella, but he was okay you know? He broke a girl’s heart.  But this story isn’t about him. It’s about the girl. This is about my old flat mate, Cynthia.

 

An afternoon with Cynthia

So there I was, chilling in my room on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I was putting the finishing touches on my Gender Studies assignment. In walks Cynthia with an offer to take me out for ice-cream. I was quick to put on my flip-flops and off we were. We walked to ice cream parlour then she insisted we take a stroll to the park, which I didn’t mind. When we got there, she seemed restless and uneasy. I figured she wanted to talk to me about something important. ‘Maybe she wants me out of the flat’ I thought (I was such a slob back then). Little did I know that I was a part of a covert mission to stalk someone.

We were having an unmemorable conversation about Janet Jackson’s fading music career. I had funny things to say, so did she I guess. Suddenly she changed the topic, and looked at the opened field.

“Obi do you know that girl over there”, as she signalled to a group of “free spirits” who were relaxing under a tree. I looked and I knew one girl in the group. Stella, an acquaintance I was on friendly terms with.

“Um…I know the one girl, Stella. Party animal that one, she’s probably recovering from a hangover”, I joked. I then looked to Cynthia to acknowledge my joke. No such luck! Cynthia gave me a stern look instead. Which confused the shit out of me and made things a bit tense too.

“Yes, they told me you know her” she said, in a solemn tone. At this point a million things started running through my mind. I looked at her, with as much evidence of astonishment that I could possibly muster in one facial expression.

‘Did she here something about me and Stella? What did Stella do? Oh God, has she gone lezzy for Stella? Mmmmh, if I knew we were doing this, I would’ve gotten three more scoops of this delicious ice-cream.’

She soon stopped the bullet train running through my mind, “Obi, she’s been sleeping with Collins”.

You know I thought I was a good friend/flat mate, but all I could say to her was “Oh”. ‘Oh’ was really all that I could offer her, because I had million questions to ask her dammit! Why the hell was I doing in the park, eating ice-cream and stalking an alleged mistress? Why am I getting dragged into this shit? Why didn’t she tell me about this when she first suspected it?

Needless to say, my meek ‘Oh’ didn’t deter her. She wanted me to divulge every single thing that I knew about Stella. Which wasn’t much, but she was so dynamic in her efforts to get intel, I even felt compelled to embellish a few things. Which I didn’t, I would’ve under ‘normal’ circumstances (being the eccentric I am), but the whole thing of stalking in the summer time was crazy enough.

We got into the whole thing, and I was pretty convinced from everything she told me, that Stella was indeed sleeping with Collins. It had all the clichés of the tales of a cheating boyfriend. Denial, we’re just friends, people are lying, I love you, she’s crazy, etc.

Which again begged the question, “Cynthia, why are we here? Why am I here?”, so I asked her.

“I want you to introduce me to her”, I nearly choked on my last scoop of ice-cream.

“Um, are you sure? Why? Does she know you? What do you want to say to her? Shouldn’t you be speaking to Collins? I mean this is about you two. You’re in a relationship with him, not her.” I replied in a bit of a panic, trying to change her mind.

All her faculties were surprisingly in order as she picked up on my discomfort and vehement protest of this confrontation.  Cynthia put my mind to ease. She explained that she’d been coming to this spot in the park for a very long time before she even knew about Stella. That she only found about Stella once she started sleeping with Collins. She even made farce at how she knew how crazy the whole thing seemed to me. She called it prima facie feeble duplicity (law students). She confessed that if she told me before hand, I might have disagreed, and that she didn’t have the nerve to walk up to Stella alone.

I was convinced, yet I was still sceptical. My curiosity took over and I wanted to see the story unfold. So I walked over to the shaded tree and hollered Stella’s name. Stella was infamous for her zest, she was quick to respond.

“Obi! How you doin’ doll? Come over here and gimme a hug”, I conceded to her hospitable charms and hugged her with my tail between my legs. I felt a bit dirty. But this feeling was quickly watered down by how she reeked of weed.

“So Stella, can I have a quick word with you buddy”, I smirked sheepishly. I motioned her towards Cynthia’s direction. I then realised that she might know of Cynthia, which didn’t matter to me anymore. As we took the short walk towards Cynthia, I told Stella that my friend wanted to meet her.

“Oh, that’s Collins’ girlfriend isn’t it? Is she the friend who wants to meet me? I’m shagging him. Oh fuck Obi, what is this bitch shit trap you’re drawing me into?” she laughed! Then I couldn’t help but smile at her bizarre behaviour. ‘I should hang out with this girl’ I thought.

“Stella, this is Cynthia, Cynthia, Stella”, I was very curt and eager to end this.

Without skipping a beat Cynthia went straight into it.

“Hey Stella. I’m so sorry if you feel ambushed, but I don’t know what the protocol for doing this kind of thing is. I’ve been thinking about this confrontation for a few days now and I thought it was best to do it in person. “

Stella, tried to interject. But Cynthia was determined to finish. She sounded like an automaton, programmed to confront the other woman with as much tact as possible. She continued as if she she’d never stopped.

“A few days ago, Collins ex-girlfriend contacted me. She told me that she’s HIV positive and that she’s not sure where she got it from. Apparently she told Collins and he’s been ignoring her since then. So she got desperate and contacted me. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Collins too, but he’s phone has been off since I told him that his ex called me.”

Tears started rolling down Cynthia’s cheeks, and just like that it felt like the end of summer. I took off my sunglasses and held Cynthia’s hand. Stella stood still like a marble statue. Her face looked gaunt like something inside of her had decomposed instantly. I didn’t know how to comfort her, hell, I didn’t know how to comfort Cynthia.

As if she had a potato stuck in her throat, Cynthia resumed with her monologue that now sounded like an ode to the end of a young life. The most human and most real thing I’ve ever heard spoken.

“I’ve been going to Collins’ place to try to speak to him, find him, to get some sort of explanation. I’ve since found out that he’s run back to his hometown of Orange Groove. I got tested for HIV yesterday and I’m negative. I suggest you do the same.”

At this point tears were rolling down Stella’s face too. This provided me with some sort of relief. At least now Stella was showing some feeling. And she wasn’t being the belligerent sassy girl. She was processing everything and taking it all in. Stella then gestured to hug Cynthia.

Cynthia stepped back. Wiped her tears and then there was fury in her voice.

“You don’t get to sleep with my boyfriend and then have me comfort you. Your God does not love you that much. You have a reputation Stella. For me to do this, I had to think of you as a human being and not a contemptible whore.”

I don’t know if it was the weed, or if this is who Stella really was. But she didn’t respond at all to Cynthia’s scorn. She wiped her tears, told me to take care and walked away back to her friends under the tree.

I immediately held Cynthia in my arms. She was shaking; all I could do was stand there in the middle of the park and hold her as she wept. When she regained composure, we walked home and stopped at Mirror Tables, for a late lunch. We ended up having a liquid lunch and we had a conversation about the whole thing drunk and loud. We both cried and said all that could’ve possibly been said. We had a few comfortable silences, which would end up in more tears and hugs. Occasionally we sang along to a few songs that were played on the radio.

We literally crawled home and both passed out on her bed.

The next few weeks were hell. I’d hear her crying every night, and when she wasn’t crying she was drinking. Sometimes I’d tend to her, but on other nights I pretended not to even hear her. She was not prepared to draw anyone else into this. I suppose then I was expected to carry her through this whole ordeal. But all was prepared to do was that I could possibly do, listen. I listened to her anger, confusion, regret, pain and hope. All the while I was speaking to my mother for some grown up guidance.

She got tested again for HIV and again she was negative. We were both jubilant. But it had become obvious that something had changed about Cynthia. There was nothing neither sweet nor timid about her anymore. She was now firm and a little more selfish.

Somehow she found the strength to graduate and instead of getting work as a legal intern, she decided to go teach English abroad. Her next test was scheduled for just after graduation. But I had moved back to Southville. It’s been three years, and I still don’t know if she took the final test or not. I didn’t care to ask or bring it up. I didn’t think it mattered then and I still don’t think it matters now. What nearly consumed her, saved her in a way. We email each other every now and then and she is the poster child for carpe diem. I couldn’t be more proud.

 

Collins was never heard of again.

I actually heard about Stella a week ago. She married a Muslim Doctor.

As for me…well, I’m just the guy telling the story. It’s not about me, lol.

The Science and Poop Of Breaking Up


Eish another one of my friends got dumped, I’m in bad company, I know. I used to be the worst person at breaking up. I didn’t know how to break up and this sucked for me and the other person.

Getting dumped sucks! I actually don’t like the word “dump”. It’s a synonymous with unpleasant things. We are not trash; we shouldn’t have to “get dumped”. I don’t know if I’ve said this before on my blog but I’ll say it now. I’ve had two great loves, T and S. With T it wasn’t going to work because I was way too insecure then, so I ended it. With S it wasn’t going to work because we were living on hope alone and that isn’t enough to sustain a relationship, drugs do a better job. It was just impractical. Needless to say, when you break up with someone the why trains keep coming because people need closure.

I remember a long time ago my friend was dating this guy, they were “both” very “happy “until he moved to another city. They tried the long distance thing for a short while, but he felt that it’s not working for him so he ended it. My friend was pissed off for a reason I didn’t expect. She had it in her mind that he was lying about why he wanted the break up. She swore it was something else and she wished he could be more honest. We were never able to establish this “truth” my friend was looking for, but she’d soon be proved right. A year later they were in the same city again, both single. They tried to get back together, but it didn’t work. He just wasn’t that into her.

So when you do break up with someone, you owe them closure and closure is honesty, especially if you know how they feel about you. The truth really does set people free even when that freedom isn’t instant. Everyone has some kind of idea(s) why a lover doesn’t want to be with them anymore. Even when they don’t see it coming they’ll have some kind of clue. It will haunt them if that idea isn’t confirmed or dispelled. We all want to hear it sometimes…to be set free.

I’ve seen people lose their minds over break ups and if there’s a common trait in these break ups, it’s a lack of truth. And things like “we can still be friends” and “it’s not you, it’s me” don’t make it better. Those are not things anyone wants to hear when they’re getting dumped; they’re especially not things I want to hear. I’m in the habit of saying this to potentials in my romantic life “I can take anything you throw at me, you just need to be careful how you throw it” this includes how you dump me. As such I always offer friends who are about to dump someone a crash course in sensitivity training after advising them to tell the truth. Sometimes the truth is “I’m bored” but you can never say that to someone. It’s rude and karma doesn’t take kindly to such. Actually relationship karma is the worst kind of karma. Trust me, T and S are being well avenged by karma’s wrath right now. I got so many stray animals after them.

Take home message is be careful how you leave people. It’s fair, do best. We all want love and permanence, when you take that away from someone be considerate.

Postscript and other things (you don’t have to read this bit)

1.       When you’re dating (having a fling, testing the water) you actually don’t need to be the breaking up martyr. This is for people in relationships. Really an email is will do just fine if you’re dating. I see nothing wrong with that. Smses, post-it notes etc are a little too curt. But a well thought out email is enough. Also, if you’re quiet long enough, they’ll get the message. Jokes.

2.       Meera and Robert had been together for four months, but Meera felt that the relationship had run its course. One night they got back from a party together, slightly inebriated. They proceed to drink more on Meera’s request. Robert always knew Meera to be a coward, he just had no idea how big a coward she was. He was in for a rude awakening.

After a number of vodka tonics she had all the Dutch courage she needed to leave him. She tells him that it is over and she’s not in love anymore. She then insisted that he has to leave. They argue for a bit and he tells her that he’s too drunk to drive. So she lets him sleep on the couch. She could hear him crying from her bedroom until she passed out. On the next morning she wakes up with him hovering over her with his lips quivering and his eyes twitching. With his voice shaking Robert asked “can we get back together?” Being the coward that she is, and at this point terrified for her life and her property, Meera took Robert back. They hugged and she convincingly explained that she was stressed and didn’t mean to break up with him. They stayed in bed for a little while chatting. Meera then sent Robert for breakfast.

Soon as he was out of her complex, Meera called Rob to explain that she did indeed mean to break up with him and that she was scared of what he would do to her, so she had to take him back. At this point Robert hung up on her. She rushed to security and informed them never to let him again.

Moral of the story break ups are messy enough, don’t be clumsy.

3.       Lastly, to my T and S. If you’re reading this. I killed a little part(s) of me when I let you (y’all) go. I think about you (y’all) often and I really wish I could’ve handled things better. I hope you’re both doing well. #MeeraTendencies

The Good Mistress


A few days ago I had a conversation about mistresses with @KopanoMashishi. She said that she’d never be able to be with another woman’s man. It’s admirable that some women choose to stay away, but I don’t necessarily condemn women who don’t. Women who have side dick…The Good Manstress, this is for you too. Diane Lane was too convincing in Unfaithful for us not to recognise this growing pandemic.

The word “mistress” seems to have glamorous connotation. Mistress (I looked it up) means: a woman who has a continuing extramarital sexual relationship with one man, esp a man who in return for an exclusive and continuing liaison provides her with financial support. The penny chaser and the sex fiend. I’m not talking about this woman.

I’m also not talking about Glen Close’s character in Fatal Attraction.

I’m talking about a single woman who gets pursued by a married man and ends up giving in to his advances. What’s the name for her? Why does she also have to be degraded into the same class as penny chasers and sexual fiends? And if she’s lucky enough to not be called a mistress, she gets called a “home wrecker”. I’m not trying to come up with a new word for this woman, so for simplicity I’ll keep calling her a mistress, the good mistress.

We all need to understand that a relationship is between two people. The demise of a relationship and any issues that may arise can never be blamed on a third person. I believe this to be an absolute statement. I don’t think mistresses have the power to end a marriage. Every time a mistress in blamed I feel like women (society) has completely given up on men, and it is now every single women’s responsibility to make sure that all husbands don’t stray.  It’s bullshit.

Maybe there aren’t enough men to go around and the “good ones” are taken, what’s a single lady to do? I’m not advocating for bad behaviour, all I’m saying is that when “bad behaviour” happens anyway, we must be very careful who we condemn and if they even deserve condemnation.

I just wanted to advocate the good mistress. She too needs, wants and deserves companionship. If this world were perfect she wouldn’t have to accept it from a married man. It’s not fair for her to say no when it’s a perfectly viable option for her. Even when it’s not every night, on Christmas, on her birthday or on nights her lover has to be with his wife.

Postscript

  1. Dr Mamphela Ramphele is the perfect example of this good mistress I’m talking about. One of the greatest women on our continent, she was Steve Biko’s mistress and everyone knew. See how terrible the word mistress is? You can’t be calling the great Dr Ramphele a mistress. It’s rude!
  2. I asked people if there was a euphemism for mistress. I got two funny responses.  @Onklez : Ad hoc companion. @KopanoMashishi Mistress is already a euphemism for whore.
  3. But what about the kids? Truth is kids are resilient if you have a relationship with them. Many of my friends have philanderers for fathers and they turned out just fine. Many of my friends have faithful fathers and they’re fucked up. So really, leave the mistress out of it.
  4. With polygamy it works out perfectly for The Good Mistress. She can get promoted to The Good Second Wife. I guess all our first ladies, before the first wife were mistresses at some point? Not sure how it works with polygamy actually. Grey area…
  5. I love Angelina Jolie. If you want to hate someone hate Brad Pitt. Yes, I went there!
  6. Ladies, if you have to have men on the side, please don’t use the excuse “if men can do it, so can we”. You don’t need to be like men. So that really is the worst excuse ever! Cheating isn’t cool, if you do it, it best be for quality dick or untamed passion that you really can’t help…or love.
  7. That song Women To Women by Shirley, was in bed taste.
  8. If you are The Good Mistress your favourite songs are “Saving all my love for you” by Whitney Houston or “As we lay” by Kelly Price, than you deserve that call from Shirley! Smh!

MORAL OF THE STORY…DON’T BE TO QUICK TO JUDGE!

Top Ten Things Mistresses Say


First top ten in ages!!! Last one was in October.

10. Your wife doesn’t have a gun does she?
9. Lady, what I’m doing to you, they did to me. You must just be strong.
8. Please don’t talk about your wife when you’re with me, makes me feel cruel.
7. The kids adore me, they call me aunty Nomonde.
6. What did you say your husband’s name was again?
5. If he was your man, he wouldn’t be here with me.
4. He’s going to leave his wife to be with me.
3. Sharing is caring.
2. #nowplaying Kelly Price, As We Lay.
And the number one thing mistresses say
1. OMG, he’s married? I had no idea!

Proper blog on mistresses coming soon.

The thing about my baby it don’t matter if you’re black or white. Or does it…


Last night I had a conversation with my buddy and she mentioned that she likes white boys. I’ve had friends who’ve dated outside their races, but I’ve never had someone actually own up to it as a staple. This got me thinking about dipping into vanilla and maybe even caramel and cinnamon, never custard or malva pudding though. *insert appropriate races*

I once had a conversation with a seemingly open minded (she drinks, smokes, does coke and weed and hangs out with young people of all races) lady in her forties. I asked her if she’d ever had any choc (or others, see above) lovin’, she coolly replied no. She said it’s something she’s never been interested in. Then she said, maybe it’s because of the way she was raised. No idea why she’d bring that up, considering she grew up as a white person in apartheid South Africa. But whatever, that’s a different post altogether. Point is here’s this woman in her forties, she’s travelled everywhere, she’s done so many interesting things in her life; most of them would give my dead grandmother another stroke. She loves all people, but she’s never shagged outside her race. Looking back I wish I’d probed her further, but that comment on how she was raised put me off completely.

So what is it then? The only times I’ve dipped outside my race, was when I was extremely inebriated. Even then, it was never a full dip. More like a “oh, look at that our lips touched…let’s make them un-touch”. Well there was this other time I might or might not have gone all the way…one of those nights, if I don’t remember it doesn’t count right? For the record, I’m a very different person now. #thingsinmyyouth I’ve never consciously targeted or thought of deviating from my race. Right now, I can’t even decide if I’ve ever even been attracted to someone outside my race. Sure it would be interesting to tap a hot piece of white ass…but is that what I want?

Now let’s talk about the relationships.

Interracial relationships are made hard by cultural differences. A relationship is hard enough. It’s easier when you’re both born and bred in Sandton I guess. The challenges are much greater when Parkhurst is dating QwaMashu (rural KZN). Dating is one thing, but a relationship is a whole different animal. You’re in a relationship with a person’s whole life. If you’re lucky enough, you’ll find that your friends and family are receptive. Political correctness and walking on eggshells…I feel like interracial relationships thrive on one person’s race (the race the couple hangs out with most) being more dominant, depending on who can provide less awkwardness etc .

Bringing a legoa (white person) into my mother’s house on some “yeah mom…this is who I’m going to marry” it would be interesting to say the least. I’ve always said that I’ll try everything once. This of course limited to crystal-meth and the likes. I told my friend that this year I want to date someone who likes doing out doorsy things. I want to go hiking, camping and fishing this year with my lover. Her response “Then you might just have to cross over to the white side”. So I guess I’m putting it out there, I will entertain jungle fever this year.

P.S. Dear black women, here’s some food for thought. White women don’t complain about white men like y’all do about negroes. This is why white women often remarry after their divorces. Find you a Ryan or a Jacques, if tooooooooo many Siphos, Thabos and Mandlas have shown you flames. Look at Halle Berry, she aint never dating a negro ever again!!!