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February 23, 2019

Samantha's Chronicles: For the love of sex

I feel a little groggy this morning. I definitely did not sleep well. First, there’s that business with Mr N. It’s anyone’s guess why he’s upset with me. One minute, we are cuddling, the next, he is slamming the door after him.

Secondly, I slept late after reading through Eric’s online account of the one time I tried something kinky with him. Ok. I may have taken things a little far, but I feel he overreacted.

Thirdly, it’s damn near impossible to get a good night’s sleep these days with all the mosquitos constantly buzzing around, just waiting for the opportunity to suck the life out of you. Where have they come from? It’s like there’s an invasion in Nairobi.

I remember reading somewhere about male genetically modified mosquitoes being released in huge numbers into the air (males don’t bite humans) so they can mate with the females, who then blow up or something. Seriously. The males are carrying something (like an STD) that messes with the female’s eggs.

I’m skeptical. Every time science starts being a know-it-all, something goes wrong. And please note that these Western scientists have been using Africans as guinea pigs for the longest time. I’ll bet the males they released have somehow mutated and can now carry eggs and are the ones feasting on us.

How can you explain how emboldened mosquitos have become? They have become immune to insecticides and the only way to get rid of them is armed with a book or newspaper. They used to hide away before but now they come up to your face, buzz around, taunting you. It’s like they’re saying: “What you gonna do, bitch?”

I even saw one sitting on the mosi kill things that you plug into the wall. It sat there unfazed for 10 minutes then came to buzz around my face again. What sorcery is this? Leaving the light on helps, I have found, so I do that every night. Unfortunately, I’m one of those people who like darkened rooms when I sleep, so with that compromise comes waking up feeling like a freight train went over me.

Coffee will help. I turn on the kettle and place two tablespoons into my coffee plunger. The best part of my day is always my morning coffee. A text message comes through as I pour the hot water to mix with the black roast. It’s Mr N. He has target No. 4 ready. The information is in my email. I slowly stir two sugars into my coffee after it has brewed a couple of minutes and I take it to the sofa where I left my laptop. I turn it on and take a sip as it boots up. It tastes great.

Target No. 4 is an Arab. He has a thing for black girls and will be an easy mark. I send a text message to Mr. N.

Me: Aren’t they allowed four wives? Who cares if he cheats?

Him: It’s not his wife that’s the problem. It’s his mistress he wouldn’t want to piss off.

Me: Why?

Him: He is in love with her.

Me: Ha ha.

Him: Did I say something funny?

Me: Yes. Love is so abstract in these situations. How can he be so in love yet cheat?

Him: Who says the two things are mutually exclusive?

Me: Why would you cheat if you’re in love?

Him: To bust a nut.

Me: What?

Him: Men can have sex with absolutely no feelings or emotions.

Me: I get that. But if you are in love, would you not reject being intimate with someone else?

Him: I could ask you the same thing.

Me: Me?

Him: Yes, you. Do you have feelings for anyone?

Me: (slight pause) Well, um…

Him: Yes or no?

Me: Yes.

Him: And are you about to sleep with someone else?

Me: Yes.

Him: Case closed.





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