By Maureen Ojunga,

March 2, 2010 – Just the other day my friend stormed into my house spitting fire and hot pebbles, cursing like a sailor, pacing up and down, and huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf! Reason; she had just had the strangest encounter with her ex and…drum rolls please… her replacement!

The “replacement” was not even the reason for her flipping out. What she had looked like at the time of the encounter was. I’m thinking, if she looked anything like she did right then (at my house) then that was a BIG deal!

I’m talking busted sandals, tired shirt, unsightly mani-pedi and her hair…Well, it would be best if I just didn’t go there. Plain truth, she looked busted! Oh yeah, plus she had a huge pimple right in the middle of her forehead – but I decided not to bring her attention to that.

It had been one of those days for her. So many errands to run, so little time. Nothing going as expected and if that is not bad enough you bump into your ex. Him, looking all hot and with a beauty by his side and you… like you just completed a marathon you were ill prepared for.

According to my pal, the replacement had seemed way too mature and not necessarily prettier but oozed style and grace, which made her feel even worse. Hers was not those kinds of situations where you rush to the bathroom to powder your nose. No. Instead, it was one of those where one wishes they could just keel over and die!

The whole thing was just funny. Seeing her all upset like that was the end of the world, made it even more interesting. I could not help but wonder what I would have done if I were in her shoes. Would I have cared as much? Would I even lose sweat over it? What I have always known is that when you break up with someone you are supposed to move on.

Feeling bad and crying about it was not going to help her at all and I figured laughing at her was not going to make her feel any better. Therefore, we came up with a wacky plan to “get even”. I wonder why though because I’m sure he had not intended to bump into her that day.

Girls do stick up for each other at all times…and if she felt like she needed some support then support would be me.

We had a plan. First, we were to get her a fierce looking man to masquerade as her handsome knight. There is the luscious Lucas; the gorgeous George…the list is endless.

Second, put her in some hot little number and have her looking tres glam such that all the men will be drooling over her. Then, have her and her yummy man hit her ex’s main joint – of course we know it

However, we will do all this after the dust settles because we do not want him decoding our little secret. I’m hoping that this will make her feel better…

Meanwhile, I can’t help but wonder, do men really care about such stuff?

-Capital Lifestyles

By Charles Marwa

Nairobi weddings are wonderful. Wonderfully boring that is. Routine, predictable, tradition. Perhaps that is how a wedding is supposed to be, boring.

First, they’re all on Satos. That’s another Nairobi thing, Sato. A Sato is a super day that comes after Friday, sunny, windy, blue sky. The only bad thing about Sato is weddings. Sato must not be confused with Saturday – that plain old first day of the weekend. Me, I love Satos.

Let’s go back a little. First, this wedding was conceived in another wedding, a ‘committee’ was formed. A loose coalition of friends and relatives whose blood will be extracted to finance this concert. The wedding committee’s job is to attend meetings where relatives talk about relatives who fail to attend. Generally, people in committees take their job very seriously. They print out cards and sell to strangers who don’t know you so that you can have a good boring wedding. No one knows why they do this. Perhaps it is that deep desire within those new to Nairobi, to be in a wedding line-up.
 
Then there is a flurry of activities, colour schemes, venue visits, dress fittings, cake tastings, before the big Sato. Then the BIG Sato! Green open grounds, orange tents, expensive cars looking meek in purple ribbons. The ladies, all have the same hair do, gel, tightness, and a bun on top – shiny clothes. The chaps are in costly ‘najivunia’ suits, increasingly with an African print shirt made in Westgate.

There is an MC who will imitate a politician. There is a boy band which will imitate another boy band.

Mad aunts, often just old maids from way back may get inspired by a mathematical angel, and the mic tightly in her mouth, spank everyone with her rendition of Munishi’s unreleased.

If you’re getting married, block out that day, the wedding will take the whole day. If you’re a guest, it will only take roughly your whole day, mainly between 8.00 am and midnight. You’re free before and after that.

Sitting has rules. There is a high table, bride’s side, and groom’s side. As a rule, the further you are from people, the less important you are. You’ll also notice your plastic plate doesn’t have a small piece of stewed chicken.

When it comes to weddings, trust your instincts. At least when it comes to food, trust your instincts and eat nothing. I never understood how they can feed so many well dressed people, from small metal dishes, so much bad food, and warm soda, from a wooden crate, and get paid for it. As a rule no wedding ever has a cold soda.

A cake follows. Often a very nice cake. As nice as the cake in the wedding last week and the one before it. The cake is placed in a small flowery tent nicknamed ‘Gazebo’.

Everything has a special name in a wedding; bridal party, matron of honour, maid of honour, best man, groom, bride, stag (yay!). Even taking jpegs is called a photo session. Talking is called a speech session. Then prayer session. Then confusion.

No one knows how to end a wedding. There are murmurings, cars reversing, where next? I need a ride.

Some weddings are exceptional. Like mine for instance. My cake, for one, this kind lady, a full 3 feet when standing straight (about 7 feet tall when angry) this lady, she made the cake in Kampala, booked a whole bus, Akamba. On each single seat, she placed a cake. So the yellow bus, kind lady, driver, and cakes. The bus driver retired after this trip. So did all the traffic cops between K’la and Nairobi, for they had truly seen it all.

The groom’s mother, when asked to speak, told the bride that she is lucky to have been chosen at the very last minute from a shortlist of 8! The brides father asked the audience to please remind him which of his daughters is getting married this time. There were 6 grooms men, from 4 different nationalities, united by a famous bird, in a bottle, being passed around under the table. The last chap forgot and passed the bottle on to Father. The good Father, forgetting where he was, took a swig. I have since been banned from all churches. Makanisa chote!

I have no idea why we put ourselves through this, wasting precious Satos, and the lord gave us only one Sato each week. And we waste them on boring weddings. We organise them, we attend them, and we star in them.

There used to be a wedding season, from July to December, now there is no season, nor reason.

It used to be, bring your parents, friends, relatives, a holy man, and your god or gods, and before all these assembled, preferably in a holy-ish place, you declare your love for this person no one understands. You say how you’ll love, respect, honour them (and hurriedly mention something about death). That was the main thing. Commit, promise; it’s even called a vow.

And we should never forget that. You don’t have to get married, but when you do, remember, you’re wasting everyone’s Sato to declare your commitment to a union that doesn’t make sense to them. When seated at the high table being served warm soda, remember this.

So please respect the time and money people put in by at least trying to make it a good marriage.

And the rest of us, eating, sitting, getting bored. We spent time, money and energy for this one day. How come we can’t spend even one minute thereafter to try make sure this senseless union lasts. We laugh when they fall. When they fight, instead of supporting both, we take sides, strengthening one side against the other. Both lose.

So how can we help them stay together? I don’t know, the groom, si I thought he is your homie? You should know.

-Capital Lifestyle

By RENEE MURRAY
East Africa in Focus

Dear husband,

This letter is copied to all the boys masquerading as men; men who mistakenly think they are God’s gift to women; to husbands who don rings yet do not understand what being a husband entails; and every married man who is a disappointment to his wife.

Remember when I was single? You noticed me in a crowd of good-looking women, and singled me out. You confessed to need me like the air you breath. When I hesitated, you bought me the most expensive jewelry, money could buy. You promised to treat me right, and painted a rosy picture of perfection if I consented to your pleas. You claimed we belonged together and insisted that I completed you.

When I proved hard to get, the poet in you was awakened, and you spoke words that went straight to my heart. Roses are red, you said, and then you sent me red rose flowers. I received your cards every other day, my birthday, Valentine’s Day, name it, saying you were thinking about me, loved me, and to wish me a good day. You seduced the senses out of me till I could not think straight. But it felt good. It felt good to believe that I was your only reason for living.

I was not yours yet, but whenever I was in distress and needed a friend; you were by my side. We would talk for hours. The best part is that you listened when I spoke. You took me out on weekends; many are the times you forfeited your favourite game, just to be with me. You looked into my eyes, and listened to me when I told you my dreams, and plans for the future. You promised you would help me achieve my dreams. You brushed my fears when I thought anything was unachievable. You convinced me that I was upto any challenge. You nudged me to reach for the stars. You saw in me what I did not see in myself. You believed in me and in turn, made me believe in myself.

You insisted that my future with you was bright, and that I would never lack a thing. You threatened to punch anyone that messed with me. When I cried, my tears bothered you a lot. You wiped them away, and assured me that everything would be okay.

With so many phone calls, text messages, and constant ‘nagging’, I thought; ‘maybe I should give him a chance’, and so I did. You were happy when I accepted your proposal. So cute. Hence we became an item. A couple. You and me. This is where my loneliness was supposed to end.

I was in hook, line and sinker; just as you wanted. Little did I know what I was in for!

Now that you have me, I have to remind you of my birthday. Ironically, I fight my own battles! You do not see me, and I have to struggle to even maintain eye contact with you. The woman you fell in love with is buried deep inside me, but you do not see her anymore. For your information, I am that same woman, only immensely disappointed. You do not listen to me; neither do you support my dreams. Even though I support you, you refuse to help me achieve my ambitions.

You are curt and cold; you don’t talk and don’t care. What will it take for you to care? What will it take for you to listen? What will it take for you to take me as the centre of your world like you did before?

Isn’t it strange that, now that am supposed to mean even more to you, I don’t? I have your second name, I take care of you, and our children, and I am there whenever you need me. But ironically, I am not as important to you as I was, before I married to you!

Married but lonely is what I have become; even though we share the same house and meal each day. We are strangers.

No. Single and lonely is much better.

I miss being single, so that you can do the things you did for me before you had me. So that I can get that feeling I got when you said sweet things, and treated me so special; like I was all you needed. Single and lonely is better than married and lonely, don’t you think?

Sincerely,
Disappointed wife.

By Elizabeth Black, AlterNet. Posted December 23, 2009

If you thought that only women faked orgasms, you’d be wrong. Plenty of men fake their way out of the sack. How on earth can a guy even fake an orgasm? What is he going to do, spray dish detergent and try to pass it off as semen? More importantly, why would a man want to pull off this kind of bluff?

Apparently, lots of men fake the Big “O” and some were willing to talk to me about it. I asked men in an online sex forum how many had faked orgasms, and I received some very fascinating – and distressing — answers. Steve found himself in an awkward position when he bedded a woman to whom he was not very attracted, but he felt the pressure to perform. “I wasn’t able to manage to keep it up for long because I really, really wasn’t enjoying myself,” he wrote. “So as I realized that I was going to be a limp noodle at any moment anyway, I pretended to cum then quickly disposed of the condom. Definitely not one of my prouder moments.” Alex expressed similar sentiments when he admitted his reasons and method for faking. ” … there were a variety of reasons. Most commonly, it was just pure boredom and my attention span with someone had ceased or a very determined girl that wouldn’t accept the fact that I just wasn’t going to get off at that moment in time.” Chris admitted that exhaustion was his reason for faking it. “To be fair, I think each time it was at least the third fuck of the day,” he wrote. “And it was nice at first, but after a while I just wanted it over with. I wouldn’t dream of doing that now though.”

The exact percentage of men who fake orgasms varies depending on the source. The ABC News Primetime Live Poll: The American Sex Survey (2004) reported that eleven percent of men surveyed said they had faked orgasms. A study by Muehlenhard and Shippee of students at the University of Kansas (2009) found that as many as twenty-five percent of men surveyed reported that they faked orgasms on occasion. While there are many ways men who fake orgasms get away with it, the most common way is to use a condom. What will the partner do, inspect the rubber? Another way men fake orgasm is to say they don’t make much ejaculate. When a woman is already wet and slick with her own arousal, she’s likely to believe him.

It turns out that men fake orgasms for many of the same reasons women do. The most common reasons for faking orgasms cited by men in that internet sex forum were (1) not particularly aroused or into their partner, (2) boring sex, (3) difficulties holding an erection or coming, (4) not wanting to disappoint their partner, (5) performance anxiety, and (6) fatigue. While men’s stated reasons for faking orgasms are similar to women’s reasons, the question is, why fake an orgasm instead of just saying that you want to stop having sex? What kind of pressures are men under that makes them feel as if they have to fake it? Alex, Steve, and Chris described a very common pressure men experience: they feel a strong need to perform, and this pressure is based on the influence of porn culture, media, advertising, and magazine articles. Bombarded with pornographic images, commercials touting erection-enhancing drugs like Viagra, and magazine articles about how to keep thrusting until she screams for mercy, men are under a tremendous amount of pressure to come hard, come fast, and give their partners orgasms so intense that plaster falls off the walls.

No wonder so many men have trouble enjoying sex and coming to orgasm!

So what’s to blame for such dismal sexual experiences? Patriarchy, of course. Sexuality under patriarchy has long been known to penalize women. However, patriarchy has also negatively impacted men’s sexuality by placing most of their focus on their erections, penis size, performance, orgasms, and ejaculation. 

How can men rethink their sexuality in such a way that opens up all the possibilities for sexual enjoyment and emotional closeness that is discouraged under the stunted view of sex according to patriarchy? According to Patti Brisben, the CEO and founder of Pure Romance, in her article “Why You Shouldn’t Fake An Orgasm”, “by faking pleasure, you’re not only neglecting your needs, but you aren’t being honest with your spouse. Let’s face it, if you’re faking in the bedroom, where else are you faking? Being in a committed relationship is about being open enough to communicate about all aspects, especially the tougher topics that may embarrass you like issues regarding your sexuality.”

When men equate good sex with a huge erection and a rocking climax, they overlook the rest of the sex act and especially the emotional closeness that makes sex such a powerful and caring experience. Women have always had the “Not tonight, honey. I have a headache” excuse to get out of unsatisfying sex, but men have no similar alternative. The patriarchal view of men encourages them to rut like dogs, as if they were animals that cannot control their sexual urges – fuck anything that moves and fuck it hard. Rather than focus so much on their erections and ejaculation, as they have been instructed since they found their first lad magazine touting performance and orgasms, men can change their sexual outlook so that not only they but their partners benefit.

Once David admitted to his ex that he had been pretending to come into a towel, their sex life improved. He said, “I used to fake it on a regular basis with my ex. She was a selfish lover and after a good hour of doing all of the work I’d get tired. Rather than dealing with her being upset that I didn’t come, I would pull out and fake cumming into a towel. Once I realized how stupid that was, I told her and our sex life did improve.” Communication is the key to unlocking more rewarding sexual experiences: it helps both genders toss aside societal pressure to perform and help them enjoy the trip as much as the destination.

Source: Alternet