Sex. | June 21, 2016

Sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Hope that didn’t make you too uncomfortable. I’m sorry I had to say that forbidden word-so vulgar it is. Oops I accidentally let my tongue slip and caused you to look around and make sure no one is creeping behind you as you read this. I was simply saying “SEX”.

If I dare utter that word in a Kenyan household I have committed an admonishable sin worthy of long lectures about pregnancy and HIV Aids. No mom, no dad I simply wanted to have a conversation about it. Let’s talk about penetration, orgasms, body fluids; let’s talk about it ALL.  But please spare me the gory details of why we can still hear you through these walls (seriously America with its thin walls).

Sex is natural. I mean if we were talking about eating or pooping no one would stutter. Sex is like farting– it happens and we all know about it cause we can smell it. Remember being in those primary classrooms and somebody would fart the nastiest smelling sewer in Githurai. So putrid, but of course no one in the room got uneasy about it, they just blamed it on Njuguna and kept it moving.

We’ve surrounded sex with such a glass shield that should not be cracked at all. The immigrant mentality is an unbreakable brick wall. Even with one of those truck machines things that I always used to see on Extreme Home Makeover it’s practically impossible. My parents are clearly aware that I have had sex even without protection, yet my dad still refers to sex as “electricity.” Come on, it’s no secret that I’ve already been exposed to the many different ways in which my tongue can glide to bring a man pleasure. Why does that make you want to change the topic?

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From my encounters with sex, I have learned that sex is about intimacy, not satisfaction. The pleasure wears off, but the best sex was more than an act. It was when a union was created that contentment lasted longer than the after smell of the devourment. When you could feel the love pierce through every bite and scratch, that’s when you surrendered your body for annihilation.

These memories are still very evident in the back doors of my mind and they peek through during rainy season. They don’t go away. I remember everything, I remember it all. Doesn’t matter how many times I cast the demons out, they still revisit me with needy spirits telling me to create more. Then I am left reminiscing the things which I regret questioning if one more time will hurt. I need a doctor to diagnose me for I have too many symptoms. I’m itching for more, but every time I scratch blood spews out. I’m still left itchy  doctor! Is there a cure?

I am tied to those souls that I took away from their future spouses. Imagine them on their wedding night ready for action and here I am laying on the bed with them being a part of their sacred union. I am deeply sorry for entering your marriage bed and for you entering mine. For he was once one with me and now the pastor has proclaimed him to be one with you. Somebody grab the mic and say, “Sorry pastor, I think you are mistaken. He might be one in body, but in spirit there are many others residing.”

Dad, mom, let’s talk about that.

Let’s talk about how sex hurts. Let’s talk about the wait. We have too often heard about ending up pregnant or catching an STD, but what about us having sex with our spouses and screaming the names of our exes? What about how to control these symptoms of itching?

Sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Are you still uncomfortable?

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