Mi’Lady This is For The Lady In You

Mi’Lady, the “hekaya” I see around here leaves a lot to be desired, if you will forgive the pun.

It has no form, no direction, but merely the thoughts, short sighted dreams, and lofty aspirations based on youthful but directionless male imagination.

Mi’Lady, a real feminine “hekaya” needs to start with feminine oriented foreplay.

A very long and boring foreplay but with direction, leading to where the forbidden fruits will be sweet for you and not merely an appeasement of the beast humping away with wild futility and abandon.

It is your show, it is your mind, and it is your spirit that needs to be made foreplay upon not your body.

It should be segmented into chapters and verses, into pictures and editing features, abbreviated with requisite quotation marks, paragraphs, and appropriate white spacing.

It should be long, every scenery, every smell, every thrust, every sigh coming out through requisite wording.

Let my promise to you Mi’Lady, be that with my “Hekaya”, foreplay will be elongated, the orgasm monumental, and the cuddle afterwards will last and last and last.

The morning after will be mutual respect.

What do you say, Mi’Lady, may I make love to your mind?

Snap your fingers and let us foreplay….

hii poem ungeandika ukiwa high school ungekuwa mbali lakini sahii umechelewa. usisahau kesho mhindi anakungoja by 7 ukuwe kwa mlango akifungua duka

Mathenge unatusumbua.

mathighs umewai kamua nyoka mkia

Siwezi jibu.

Mahe mburi…

“Buy Me A Rose”

He works hard to give her all he thinks she wants
But it tears her apart ‘cause nothing’s for her heart
He pulls in late to wake her up with a kiss goodnight
If he could only read her mind, she’d say…

Buy me a rose, call me from work
Open a door for me, what would it hurt
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
These are the little things I need the most in my life

Now the days have grown to years of feeling all alone
As she sits and wonders if all she’s doing is wrong
‘Cause lately she’d try anything just to turn his head
Would it make a difference if she said, if she said…

[I]Buy me a rose, call me from work
Open a door for me, what would it hurt
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
These are the little things I need the most in my life

[I]And the more that he lives the less that he tries
To show her the love that he holds inside
And the more that she gives the more that he sees

This is the story of you…and me

So I bought you a rose on the way home from work
To open the door to a heart that I hurt
And I hope you notice this look in my eyes
‘Cause I’m gonna make things right for the rest of your life

And I’m gonna hold you tonight, tonight
Do all those little things for the rest of your life[/I][/I][/I]

Luther Vandross
May He Rest In Peace

Pussy Cat, you better get used to it.

Because that is how foreplay works.

I was about to jot down a few lines about a kitten with grand illusions of being a Lion, but then I remembered I want to dedicate this thread to the Ladies that make KenyanTalk a wonderful online real estate.

As such, I will let it pass.

You might want to look up the definition of a poem. It might save you some embarrassments among the decent folk that are our Ladies.

Post Number #7 might, just might, work as a sample.

However, The Lady would prefer “The Lyrics to An Ode from her to him”

Oh, and by the way, I am self employed. Freelance Copy Writer is what my business card reads.

@pseudonym unaitwa

That Christmas

I went “home” this Christmas. It was so boring. Politics. Nobody investing because of Politics. The rest of the family had their children and grandchildren for our parents while it was just me. It was simply tiresome. So I walked out.

Then I met her. My very first girl. The one I first plugged my dick into. She was a virgin too but I did not know then.

She was on her way “home” after seeing her two children off to her sister’s but she stayed to look after her sickly mother. So I escorted her back to her home. I could not eat any more food so I offered to do some wood splitting to get some exercise while she gave the old lady her medicine and prepare her for bed.

The old lady had been so excited at seeing her grandchildren that she soon faded out to the radio on Coro FM.

Later we sat in the living room and she tucked her legs under her the way women do showing cute knees and we simply started talking.

Primary School, her gichagi version to my high cost boarding school, her secondary school and boys to my acne version with Michael Jackson, James Hardley Chase, Wilbur Smith, Ken Folliet, Robert Ludlum and soul music.

She told me I was the first boy she had a crush on with my neatly polished shoes, tucked in pressed shirts and having the lyrics to most of the songs played on KBC English Service at my fingertips.

She told me she let me kiss her and later have sex (if you want to call it that) after I sung to her “Careless Whispers”. She told me how she was devastated when I left gichagi for the city without saying goodbye or ever communicating.

I rarely visited gichagi and when I did she was not around. She talked of college, employment, her affairs with men who reminded her of me and two lovely children, boy and girl.

She also said I was one of the few men who never talked those crude dirty words and phrases so common in shags.

At some point, I remember making a joke and she threw a pillow at me and the next thing I knew we were having a full blown pillow fight right there on the living room.

It was raining so conversation was a little strained so I found myself undressing her bit by bit starting with the heavy jumper she was wearing after the heat of the fight.

She removed my belt and told me to bend over and I received three light ones on my butt for running away from her. Then she grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me to one of the bedrooms she used when at home.

I told her I was not going to be any good for her for I was not up to the heavy sex part and she told me she was in total control and I should be a good boy and follow her instructions.

I was ordered to undress her slowly and gently and then to run a soft cloth up and down her back.

The cloth changed to my tongue up and down her spine to the music of raindrops on the roof.

Her breasts were just as pert as when we were sixteen although lower with child suckling.

Her skin smelled like roasted ripe bananas while her pudenda tasked like strawberry yoghurt.

Much later, she spoke about the office affairs that had led to her two children and not being able to live with any man for long.

She spoke of her successes at work and was thinking of taking a Masters degree now that children were grown up and sooner or later a PHD and lecturing in one of the local universities.

She later fell asleep in my arms.

At around 4am, I slipped out and went “home” knowing that even if I had a lousy Christmas, I had given somebody a lovely gift for her Christmas.

Post Script:

This [B]link [/B]takes you to the original “discuss” post of this story I wrote five years or so ago.

Post Post Script:

I do not know if The Office of the Administrator would allow long erotica stories in this village. Have a look at this [B]link [/B]and make your personal judgement. The real explicit stuff starts towards the end of chapter three. Enjoy.