"Take it Off"

"Take it off.."

She said I thought you'd never ask

I'm not asking..

Well alright then...

Lips pouting so i kiss them

put my hand in the small of her back and pull her close so there's nothing but desire inbetween our bodies






"Take it off

...take it all off..."


barely a whisper

from my lips into yours

grab the back of your neck

....only so i can taste it a little better

U're showing me better than you can tell me baby,  fingers inbetween ur thighs, so I already know how bad u want me

"Take it off"

She moans into my shoulders

Running your nails down my chest

Fingers telling me how much you love a 6 pack

Undoing buttons, introducing my jeans to the floor

Picking you up as my lips play with yours, your legs wrap around my waist and i instantly feel how hot you get for me




"Take it all off baby"
I'm your cheerleader

Ur panties in a ball on the floor

Our clothes thrown in places we probably wont find later

Finally..

Naked bodies frantically colliding as we fall into freshly made sheets

gyrating, grinding, kissing, pressing against each other never losing contact as my body slips into yours ...

Gasping 

purring in satisfaction..

Shaking

...dripping wet for me

Legs wrapped around me, letting me in and locking the gates behind me...
Filling you up...just when you think you cant take anymore
.....i find a little more space


A handful of your body in each hand..
... a mouthful of you too cus I cant get enough
...so in love with the way you taste


Tongue in your mouth, lips on your neck...
Teeth pulling on your earlobe..multi-tasking like a muthafucka..
...love got you feeling like ure surrounded


Touching all your spots...
...the one you told me about
....the one you showed me....
the one u were too ashamed to admit
mouth open, legs shaking cus i found it

We climb to the very top
then we jump 
and when we fall it feels like we're diving into warm velvet rain

Holding on to you as we ride each wave
Each one leading into the next
Eyes closed, arms holding you strong
Rocking back and forth till we find shore, and we start to climb again


this....time...she whispers


....take it off... ..x

"The Man Who Started it All..."

His tired legs couldnt run anymore, he dropped to the ground; exhausted. Heart pounding he feared any moment it would rip itself outself out of his chest, sharp pain in his side, chest heaving he struggled to breathe.






THEY’RE COMING! THEY’RE COMING! Thoughts racing he starts to crawl to the edge of the dirt road, inching his way slowly to the bush where he could hide and try and recover his strength. His left side was dragging, a dull pain but sharper than anything he had felt before numbing his whole body, almost making it impossible to think.




He thinks of his parents, he knows they will be looking for him, he remembers his little sisters scared face as the force of the 20,000 stampeding crowd ripped her from his sight. He remembers the smell of gun powder in the air, the screams of his terrified class mates and the look in the police-mans eyes as he pulled the trigger.




He remembers the moving speeches of Steve Biko, “Black is Beautiful!”, A tear slips from his eye as he recalls his father’s words “You can be anything you want to be”. He remembers his hero the man who started it all locked away in a dungeon on an Island, he remembers the look in the policemans eyes as the felt the lead rip into his body. .........Fear




********************




A mother wails, as her husband tries in vain to console her, she tells him she doesnt want to stay in this cruel world anymore. Her son, her shining star? How can they take what they can’t give? He holds her as she wails, in shock. Peter was only 12, heir to his everything, such an intelligent boy.




He rushes into his room and emerges moments later loading a shot gun, his wife in the background calling his name frantically begging him to stop. He doesn’t even hear her, MY SON! He wants to go on a rampage and take from those who took from him, his body trembled with rage as he struggles to get away from friends and neighbours barely managing to restrain him.




MY SON! THEY TOOK MY SON! He screams in anguish as he breaks free from one neighbour only for two more to grab him by the waist. Overcome with grief, he sinks to his knees; rage finally giving way to despair as he realizes the futility of his efforts. If the police can kill an unarmed teenager and shoot at thousands of his unarmed peers, what would they do to an angry father armed with a gun?




He remembers the man who started it all, his son idolized him so much he got a news paper clipping and stuck it to the wall overlooking his desk. He inspired him to write short poems, he called them poems of freedom, he remembers how he would get up and read them at the family table, he closes his eyes as the tears drip into his beard.




How many more have to die? Who do you go to for Justice when the guardians of it are your tormentors? A thousand emotions flooding through his body as he looks into the eyes of his consolers, consumed by his loss, barely noticing the expressions on their faces,..... Fear.



****************




A deathly silence hangs over the usually busy police station in down town Soweto, an area that once housed a thriving trade centre and boasted the only African law firm in the country. Now a relic as their founders were forced out of business and locked up in jail by a government they did not support, a president they referred to as “the oppressor”, and a legal system that considered the color of your skin and a difference in opinion grounds for conviction.




He raises his head out of his hands and starts to get up, but quickly falls back to the wooden bench as his legs buckle at the knee, he thinks he might be sick again. The streets look like the warzone they have become, drying puddles of blood, shell casings, bits of wire strewn everywhere, the stench of death in the air.




He can see children playing in the burnt twisted carcass of a car on the street, he wonders at the innocence of a child and how they can be so oblivious to the death and destruction around them. He watches an old African grandmother come out and call them into the house, he watches her catch sight of him in the window and he watches the expression on her face change as she hurries them inside and slams the door shut .


He remembers all the reasons why he wanted to be a policeman, the vows he took to serve and protect, he thinks of his family and friends he has lost to the struggle and can’t help but think of those he and his comrades have taken away. Servant to a government he identifies with less and less every day, following orders he knows deep down are wrong, how did things get so bad?


They thought they could end this if they locked up the men who started it all up, but evidently that plan failed. The African community still in uproar over the riots, thousands of young black youths killed by his comrades, symptoms of an even bigger evil. The corruption of government, assassinations of rebel leaders noone will ever know about, the ones at the top give the orders but never ever get their hands dirty. They sleep well at night, they dont hear the cries of the murdered innocent echoing in their ears, they dont see the faces of victims contorted in screams of agony constantly before their eyes.




It took a long time but he can understand the blacks point of view, if I could only put myself in their shoes, we were all born into this land equal, it’s all our inheritance, is there really any difference between me and my brother fighting on the other side?




He imagines what it must feel like to be oppressed physically, economically and socially just because your skin is a different color to that of the leadership. He remembers the expression on that boys face as he shot him, he looked around the same age as his younger brother, his stomach churns and rushes to the toilet to throw up again.




Apartheid, is what they’re calling it these days, we are all victims. They hate us and we hate them, they kill us, so we kill them. As he stares at his face in the cracked dusty mirror, he remembers the old lady’s expression as she caught sight of him. The same expression he saw in the boys eyes as the bullet knocked him to the ground, the same expression he recognizes in his own eyes, the same expression that unites us all these days it seems;



.....Fear.






**********


The Man who started it all...................




They had banned his picture in the country where he was born, he had been called a “communist terrorist” by the US President Ronald Reagan, and UK prime minister Margaret Thatcher, at this point it seemed like he had spent all his life behind bars. Sometimes the fire burned fierce within him when he remembered standing at the podiums, a crowd of people in front him triumphant in the realization that a change was possible, ecstatic in the hope that one day they will be truly free.


He remembered the inequality his people faced, the mental toll and the physical toll, feeling like you were not wanted in your own country, feeling like you would never amount to nothing, ruled by a government who regarded you as a slightly more than an animal, but slightly less than a human being.


He remembered the fear and then the exhilaration he felt, fighting for his people, fighting for equality. A wry smile crosses his face as he recalls sneaking around holding meetings with fellow freedom fighters disguised as a chauffeur when the government declared him a wanted man.


But despair was his constant companion, these four walls doing their best to suffocate his dreams. He heard of pockets of support here and there, he prayed that God bless those organizations and those people calling for his freedom. Working hard even in his captivity he read and studied and gained a few degrees, realizing that true freedom can only be found by emancipating the mind.


He wonders about Peter, the little boy who used to write to him religiously, who he would love to meet some day, he probably has a family of his own by now.


He reflected on different chapters in his life: when his detractors Botha and Thatcher who bless her heart asked for his release, but on conditions that his morality wouldn’t let him accept.


He thought about Winnie, my winnie, are the stories true? He remembers holding her in his arms, swearing he would die before he let her see harm. They say she is in charge of a group killing and torturing their enemies, sometimes even child-fighters, in his name, how can this be?? Apartheid has robbed us of our humanity? How many more will we lose?


My Winnie. He remembered their wedding night, he could close his eyes and see her beautiful smiling face, How much has she changed? Has she stopped loving me?


In my fight for South Africas freedom, I have been robbed of mine...


How much has it cost me? the damage to his eyesight deliberately caused by the guards, the illnesses, the fevers, the bruises, his friends, his love, his freedom, sometimes barely keeping it together.


How much has it cost South Africa? Countless lives lost, people killing each other over NOTHING. What does it matter what color my skin is? Can’t you see that we are brothers and sisters and the earth is our mother? Look how we treat her, Look how we treat ourselves.


If only we could see that it doesn’t matter what color our skin is or where we are from, what matters is the content of our hearts, and minds. Greed, Selfishness, Hate ..they thrive in division, if we see that man as our brother, that woman as an extension of ourselves, we wouldn’t want to hurt or exploit them, we would treat each other with love & respect, and that to me is a cause worth dying for.








Mandela, the man who started it all, sacrificed so much for the unity of South Africa, he spent 27 years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. He fought, he suffered and he paid the price for what were described as lofty ideals. He didn’t seek revenge on his enemies when he was released from prison not even when he was elected president but he looked for a way to mend fences, he led by example and showed true character, in his hands South Africa started to heal.








There is so much to say on this great man, but in closing this is what his legacy represents to me:


Reconciliation:


“As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I'd still be in prison.” – Nelson Mandela




Love:


“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.” ― Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom



Unity:


“For to be free is not merely to cast off one's chains, but to live in a way that respects and enhances the freedom of others.” ― Nelson Mandela



And Self Improvement:


“One of the things I learned when I was negotiating was that until I changed myself, I could not change others.” ― Nelson Mandela






Rest in Peace Madiba, We love you.









Thank you for reading this.

"Wifey type"

Most guys instantly recognise wifey material when they see it...

Its that something about a girl, which cliche as it sounds you don't rarely come across. Most times she got good mummy qualities, she always seem more mature than her age, may not be a perfect cook but you know she got a few favourites she can rustle up when its life and death, and somehow in some ways she always seems in control. 

Beyond that its the intangibles; a combination or a chemistry that just works, they aint perfect but they fit perfectly. She somehow seems to understand you, meets you where you are and is content to wait there with you till you get where you need to be. She knows you're not perfect and doesn't hold it against you.

Its not a body type, because body's can and will change, for good or bad or different. Its not sex, and its not a look because all these change easier than a personality and values. Its being unapologetically you with someone else, and having them reciprocate because something in her resonates with you...its when someone who was once a stranger feels like family.

She is always there when you need her, to the point where you take her for granted, yet she forgives. She's the first one you think of when you read this, she's the one you know deep down you could spend the rest of your life with, with no problems. She's that one that scares you, cus you know she could be forever, but you don't want the rest of your life to start just yet.

As a young stud who wants to play the field sometimes it might be too much for you, you want to settle down with her because you know..you know she wont settle for anything less, but not because she verbalized that or made demands, but because you recognize, and realise that's what she deserves.

But there's a little problem, and that problem is those fine ass 6,456, 899 million sexy pieces of stranger pum out there in the wild you haven't gotten to experience yet. I mean what happens if you eventually run into Beyonce and she falls into a pool of love with you, hows she gonna react when she finds out you have a girlfriend? what if it puts her off and ruins everything? How you gna live with yourself?

I feel your pain bro, you wanna settle down but these are your Channing Tatum years; you're just coming into your own as a man; you've finally mastered the abillity to last past a minute, and that stroke game is evolving so you're trying your best to test it out on the maximum amount of young ladies.

You probably got a job now, your own little bachelor pad (can't be planning booty calls around your mums prayer meetings) and quite possibly your own car...so in essence you are now James Bond.

So why should you surrender all that to the love of one woman?

The thing about fast girls and stranger pum, no matter how exciting and enticing it seems... is that its fraught with danger (and STDS) and equally importantly; doesn't last forever. 

What's the joy in travelling if you have no home to come back to? at the end of the day bro, when all the chips are down... you find yourself alone, or worse be that old guy alone on the dancefloor doing the elctric slide, one move away from dislocating your hip. 

or worse you could be this guy

or this guy...

Even with dope lines breh some of these girls ain having it, if you're chasing after girls and catching their attention with the promise of excitement, when that goes..so will they. Its an empty type of satisfaction, no substance and no sustainability..and in 2015 its all about sustainability bro. 

So ......

if you find you a good girl and she ticks all the right boxes. you can take your time to make sure she's the right one but don't make her wait too long because somebody else will claim her, trust me...and you'll find yourself years down the line in a booth beside Drake, making calls from Marvins room.

Supreme Sadness

The choice is yours

Till next time.