tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69515346349276040112024-03-13T21:18:33.655+00:00Roc Naija - BlogRoc Naija blog; The anecdote that is I.
A place for everything and anything that amuses me.Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-27323591861853510752012-03-29T12:00:00.000+01:002012-03-29T12:00:13.066+01:00Light bulb Moments..<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RMzMic3e2Z4/TyhDwZv5EGI/AAAAAAAAAUw/-FYxTdT9kjA/s1600/bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RMzMic3e2Z4/TyhDwZv5EGI/AAAAAAAAAUw/-FYxTdT9kjA/s320/bed.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'd clocked them early... </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Much much earlier than she did.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When she did notice them though, a hand squeeze followed..</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her hand tightening around mine ever so lightly.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tilting her head at them in a manner she considered '<i>discreet</i>'..</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He looked like.. like he was trying to suck her tongue out of her mouth..</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Like his ultimate aim was a '<i>tongue-detachment</i>' </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her head was turned towards him at a grotesque angle..</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Body twisted in a way that would put any contortionist to shame.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"<i>They're probably teenagers</i>" I suggested.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"<i>If they are.</i>.." she started, then she stopped..</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Light bulb moment.. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"<i>We should show them how</i>..."she said, watching them thoughtfully.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"<i>How? How what.</i>.?" I asked</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Smiling, she glanced at me... Mischievous glint in her eye.</span></span><br />
<br />
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<br />Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-81546264921823840312012-02-16T12:00:00.000+00:002012-02-16T12:00:14.560+00:00What's left to love?<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
And if she had asked..</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCzJN0F3A88/TxXdjVYZSVI/AAAAAAAAAQo/Dg5rtNPwVJw/s1600/humbnail.aspx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sCzJN0F3A88/TxXdjVYZSVI/AAAAAAAAAQo/Dg5rtNPwVJw/s1600/humbnail.aspx.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">"What do you like about me?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I'd have said..</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
"<span style="font-style: italic;">I like the little pimples on your chin..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like the way your bum fits snugly in those boy shorts..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like the way your lower lip tastes..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like hearing you sigh with contentment..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like watching you sleep..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like watching you wake..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like discovering the birthspots on your body..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like tongue-tracing wet lines between them when I find them..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like your eyelashes..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like your flawless skin..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like watching you model outfits..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like watching you silly-dance..</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">I like watching you spend forever choosing what to wear..</span>"</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
And then if she had paused.. and then asked,</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">"If you like all that, what's left to love?"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I'd have smile and said..</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">"How long have you got?"</span></div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-10111819371706902482012-02-02T12:00:00.000+00:002012-02-02T12:00:09.222+00:00The she I knew..<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font: normal normal normal 100%/normal Georgia, serif; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 3px; padding-right: 3px; padding-top: 3px; text-align: left; width: auto;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 17px;">..beats the she I know, now.<br /><br />My head says she's changed..<br />But in truth, using '<i>past tense</i>' is a bit harsh<br />Maybe '<i>present continuous</i>' will suffice..<br /><br />So, I guess she's change-<i>ing</i>..<br /><br />The she I knew would call, just because..<br />The she I know can't just be bothered..<br /><br />The she I knew would banter late into the night..<br />The she I know now is too lazy to type..<br /><br />The she I knew had intriguing wit..<br />The she I know lets sarcasm drip..<br /><br />The she I knew is 'present'..<br />But then, the she I know is 'continuous'..<br /><br />If I had a choice, I know which '<i>she</i>' I'd prefer..<br />But in life, who really gets what they '<i>prefer</i>'?<br /><br />I probably just need a reality check..<br /> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 17px;">But as it's all '<i>present continuous</i>'..</span></span><br />
<div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 17px;">..Maybe a reality check-<i>ing</i>.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 17px;">Oh well..</span></span></span></div>
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<br />Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-76051287842901346802012-01-26T12:00:00.000+00:002012-01-26T12:00:05.262+00:00Wordless..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-29142915931053243362012-01-19T12:00:00.000+00:002012-01-22T01:37:39.834+00:00You've got mail.<quote></quote><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">“</span></b>Sometimes I wonder about my life...</span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In the context of the world's population, I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I don’t really want an answer. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So good night, dear void.<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">”</span></b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
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<br /></div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-2724582765548063092010-03-24T14:21:00.010+00:002012-01-22T01:36:48.111+00:00Last words I'll ever write..<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/S6ojm1Xkx3I/AAAAAAAAAN4/NNWO-6X8eVA/s1600/Untitled-2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452209448953366386" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/S6ojm1Xkx3I/AAAAAAAAAN4/NNWO-6X8eVA/s200/Untitled-2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 152px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px;" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sitting inside Musée Rodin, in the heart of cosmopolitan Paris, is a sculpture</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<h2 style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Surrounded by camera-wielding tourists and imposing French architecture..</span></span></span></span></h2>
<h2 style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Nude and bronze caste, with the sun glistening off its chiselled abs and sinewed biceps,</span></span></span></span></h2>
<h2 style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Is Auguste Rodin's creation.. A creation now known as, </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_thinker"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span">the thinker</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span">.. </span></span></span></span></h2>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b></b></span></span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Unwittingly, across the Dover channel, I re-enacted the same pose.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sitting at the foot of the bed, sweat glistening on my scalp, I was in thoughtful mode..</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The only thing missing were the chiselled abs.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh yeah, and the gawking tourists.. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0cm; orphans: 2; padding: 0cm; widows: 2;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">I could hear the water running, as the cistern filled up..<br />The air vent humming efficiently in the background.<br />The squirt of the hand-wash bottle and the accompanying splash of water..<br />The double click, as the pull-string bathroom light switched off.<br /><br />The humming got a little louder as the door opened, and then it all went quiet.<br />I looked over my shoulder.<br /><br />Standing in the doorway, she looked amazing.<br />The light from the bedside lamp cascaded shadows across her body at obtuse angles..<br />Reflecting off the only item she was wearing, the silver crucifix on her neck..<br /><br />A striking picture.<br /><br />Staring for a few seconds, I uttered my next words..<br />“You okay?”<br />“Yeah..” Came the response. Low and husky, like she had a sore throat.<br />Only it had been that way since the day we first met.<br /><br />“Had to do a quick number two”, she said, smiling like she could predict my response.<br />I groaned, “Ooohh.. You know that's a TMI moment right there, right?! Too much information!!”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; margin: 0px 0px 0cm; orphans: 2; padding: 0cm; widows: 2;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span">She giggled, pretending I hadn't said a word.<br />“Always happens to me after some good loving.” She said, her feet lightly brushing the carpet as she walked towards the bed.”<br />“Now </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span">great</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"> sex..” She continued, “..always leads to a number two and a nap. Most times I'm barely able to make it to the loo.”<br />I chuckled, “Is this a subtle way of telling me '</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span">It was good but not great'</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span">??! Gee thanks for the self esteem boost!!” </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color; border-style: none; border-width: medium; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; padding: 0cm; widows: 2;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Laughing, she grabbed a pillow and tossed it at me playfully, "You're such a joker.."<br />It whizzed right past me.<br />“And you're such a terrible shot” I countered, picking up the pillow from where it landed besides me.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I glanced back at her as the grabbed the newspaper and sat back on the bed, her left arm clutching the duvet just above her breasts.<br />“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look naked?” I asked with all the seriousness I could muster.<br />“Nope, but then people don't see me naked very often..” she said, pausing to pat the bed beside her, “..come”<br /><br />She snuggled in, as I lay down beside her.<br />“So tell me.. do you believe in love? Or, like me, do you think it's just a fad.”<br />“A fad..?” I said, with a quizzical look on my face, “..nah I don't think it's a fad at all.”<br />With a hint of a smile, she continued, “so do you believe in romance?”</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“</span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Yup.. but I find it's a subjective thing. Sometimes I find what's romantic to one person might not be to the next.”</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“</span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Really? How??” she asked, in that low husky voice..</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />I felt her snuggle in closer, as I turned to lie on my back.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I could feel her breathe on my ear, her enclasped fingers lightly gripping my forearm.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">“Well.. I remember this one time when I used to enjoy </span><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1269440433_2"><span class="Apple-style-span">writing love letters</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">. Not talking modern day emails or texts. I mean like writing with a pen and paper and all.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> It's amusing thinking about it now, but then, I used to think the object of my affections loved it, as in.. ehn..<br />Until the day I fortuitously heard her talking with her girlfriends and she saying she thought it was pretty </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">cheesy</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">.</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">was literally heartbroken, and I remember promising myself that they'll be the last words I ever write..” </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I paused, chuckling, as the memories came flooding back..</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Turning back towards her, I continued, “So that's an instance of...”</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Then I paused again..</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Cos, ever so lightly, she was snoring.. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span">La la land. </span></span></span></span></span></div>
</div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-71268761940048375452009-09-02T00:55:00.001+01:002009-09-02T01:05:17.272+01:00Tattoo on Titties saying ROC..<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Sp2dUvfbatI/AAAAAAAAANE/UlRZHJK6u28/s1600-h/jay.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376626509821471442" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Sp2dUvfbatI/AAAAAAAAANE/UlRZHJK6u28/s320/jay.jpg" border="0" /></a>White rocking chairs??<br />Who has white rocking chairs in an airport terminal?!<br /><br />"<em>Classic</em>", I thought, full of mirth.<br /><br />With a perma-bemused look on my face..<br />I strode briskly through the glass-paned building in North Carolina..<br /><br />Outside, the sweltering heat and huge airplanes, made a glorious sight..<br /><br />But the sights on the inside, however, were more intriguing..<br /><br />A swaying yellow dress was in my crosshairs..<br />And like a heat-seeking missile, I homed in..<br /><br />But first, my bladder needed emptying..<br /><br />A quick glance up at the signs, had me walking briskly..<br /><br />Past '<em>Tequilaria</em>'...<br />Past <em>'Taste of Carolina'</em>..<br />Past '<em>QuiznosSub</em>'..<br />Past the guy playing the piano outside <em>'Burger King'</em><br /><br />I ducked into the closest toilet I came across..<br /><br />A couple of minutes later..<br />I caught up with her, just as she entered 'Baggage Reclaim'<br />With a baggage carousel between us, I paused opposite her, as the circular conveyor belt came to life..<br />It's rotary motors whirring; spitting forth bag after bag at a steady pace..<br /><br />I glanced across at her..<br />And that minute, it struck me like a lightening bolt.<br />Her face took me back to a place I never wanted to remember<br />Those facial features..<br />Those eyes..<br />They looked errily familiar..<br />Yeah, especially those eyes..<br />They brought back memories I thought I had banished, forever..<br /><br />----<br /><br /><em>I had known Jola for 2 years and a bit..<br />Right from the start, I had always called her, Baby Jay. She just called me, Roc.<br /></em><br /><em>And even though we knew what we shared would never last..</em><br /><em>We were too wrapped up in each other to care much.. </em><br /><em>I was devoted to making her happy, making her laugh, making her smile..<br />And she always gave as good as she got..</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>But still, we knew we wouldn't last.. </em><br /><em>Cos I was the wrong blood type and she was a sickle cell anaemic..<br /><br />A few times, she told me tales of what it was like for her growing up.. </em><br /><em>The pain, the struggle, the everyday torment..<br />In my eyes, she was 'Half woman, Half amazing'..<br /><br />Her 25th birthday came..<br />I had a few ideas on how to make it memorable.. one she'd always remember.. </em><br /><br /><em>Everyday, for the six days preceding her birthday..</em><br /><em>I'd gotten her something I knew she loved..<br /><br />The first day; Handmade belgian chocolates.<br />Second; Pair of heels from Aldo, that she had once seen and loved..<br />Third day; Books from Waterstones. She always loved a good read.<br />The fourth day; A gold swatch wristwatch..<br />Fifth; a set of white towels, with the words 'Baby Jay' inscribed in the corner.<br />And on the sixth day; Flowers. A dozen red roses, a dozen pink roses, and one white one.. </em><em>For each year.. 25 roses.<br /><br />On her birthday..</em><br /><em>I remember showing up on her doorstep, card and a little rectangle box in hand.. </em><br /><em>It was the only prezzie she had hinted at.. </em><br /><em><br />I remember her brother's face as he opened the door..<br />I remember the words. "</em><em>Crisis! Last night! Hospital!"<br />I remember her weak smile as she saw me walk in.. </em><br /><em>I remember my shock at how weak she looked from all the morphine injections..<br />I remember us laughing at her words, as opened the box & clicked the white gold necklace into place..</em><br /><em>"At this rate, I'm gonna have to get a tat on my tits with your name on it."</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Even in pain, her wry humour shone through..</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Sadly, she died ten days later.</em><br /><p><em>----</em></p><p>"<em>Excuse me.. Hi.. Excuse me..</em>" The voice said..<br />Bringing me jarringly back into the present.. </p><p>The lady in the yellow dress had walked over and was standing directly in front of me..<br />Smiling at me with a distinct twinkle in her eye.. </p>Close up, she looked even prettier..<br />Her eyelashes were exquisite..<br />The slight pout to her mouth was disturbingly seductive..<br />And even her barely concealed black spots only served to accentuate her looks..<br /><p></p><p>Just as I readied my apologies for staring indiscreetly.. </p><p>She said haltingly..<br />"<em>Hi. I was.. just.. uhm.. this is a bit odd.. but I noticed.. something.. and I just thought</em>.." </p><p>Smiling amiably, "<em>Really?" </em>I asked <em>"Go on, what's.."</em><br />She responded in a conspirational tone, "<em>Your fly's open</em>!" </p>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-61772873808545199402009-08-26T17:45:00.004+01:002009-08-26T18:08:02.738+01:00An Innocence Shattered..<span style="color:#000099;"><em>Thanks for the comments on my last post.</em></span><br /><em><span style="color:#000099;">Appreciate it..</span></em><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em>The recurring theme though seemed to be when I'll do a post..</em></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Next week, insha Allah..</em></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Pending then though, I have an intriguing guest post this week..</em></span><br /><em><span style="color:#000099;">From my fabulous guest blogger,</span><span style="color:#ff0000;"> </span></em><a href="http://fabulosityunwritten.blogspot.com/"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"><em>miss.fab</em></span></strong></a><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em>I totally inhibited my editing side on this one, just so you'll feel the raw emotion in her writing.</em></span><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Enjoy!</em></span><br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />I was 8 when it happened. I remember this clearly because I had just celebrated my birthday mere days before. It was another typical birthday in my house: there was no cake from my mother, no presents from my siblings, no phone call from my father... not even the neighbors or my best friends came to visit. My 8th birthday, one that I'd looked forward to all year, had just occurred, and apparently nobody but me even cared.<br /><br />He was 18 when it happened. He was much, much older than me, but that wasn't even the problem, you see. The problem was this: he was my cousin, my favorite cousin at that. He was my mother's sister's son, tall and good-looking and funny and intelligent, and all the girls in our apartment loved him. I didn't know many of my other relatives, and when my friends talked about sleep overs and camping trips and summer vacations with their cousins, I always felt immensely proud to be able to tout my very own "popular" cousin. He bought me a poetry book for my birthday; he was the only one who bought me a present.<br /><br />There was no electricity in our house the night it happened. I remember this because we were all watching Secrets of the Sand in the living room when the lights went out. The obligatory grumbling and hissing and cursing of the fathers, mothers, and children of NEPA employees ensued briefly, and minutes later, we all trickled out to the balcony to enjoy the breezy evening. My aunt had just begun regaling us with stories from her recent trip out of town when people on the street began screaming "Ole! Ole!" My mother, thinking our neighbors were referring to the strong gusts of wind, joyfully joined them in shouting "Ole!", something you should never do, by the way, in case there are actual armed robbers philandering and terrorizing citizens in your neighborhood.<br /><br />We all went inside after a while and my uncle went down to buy Indomie for the next morning's breakfast from our Mallam. Seconds later, he ran back into the apartment, panic and something that looked like fear written all over his face. There were thieves in the building, he said, and they were holding our two Mallams and the residents of the downstairs apartment hostage. Panic erupted in our house. We'd never been robbed before, you see. I remember thinking there was nothing in our house the thieves could possibly want, but my mother seemed oblivious to this fact. She shoved my cousin and I into his room, content in the knowledge that I was safe with him, and then locked the door behind her. The adults would stay and bravely face the thieves hands-on if they ever came upstairs, she said.<br /><br />I often wondered in the months that followed why my mother didn't put me in the same room with my other siblings, but what would that be implying? She could not possibly have known what would occur next. At least that's what I told myself.<br /><br />I was asleep when it happened. The first thing I felt was his cold, clammy fingers between my legs. My eyes shot open immediately, and for a second I wondered where I was. I was sleeping in a strange room, wearing clothes from the day before, and there was still no light. As the events of the previous night slowly returned to my memory, I again felt my dress being gently nudged upwards. Fear struck me. Timid, innocent little me, I had no clue what was going on. At first I thought I was imagining things so I gently turned on my side to face him and yawned magnanimously, closing my legs firmly shut in the process. I kept my eyes closed, surreptitiously peeking out of one eye every now and then and trying my best to keep still. Nothing happened for a couple more minutes, and I had just convinced myself I dreamt the whole thing when I felt his hand again. This time he seemed more urgent, more aware of what he wanted, and with a distinct nudge my legs were once again wide open. Before a cry of protest could even form in my throat, he was pushing my panties aside and stroking my privates.<br /><br />This is for real, I thought. I'm not dreaming this. I can't be dreaming this. I honestly didn't know what to do. I didn't want to call him out, didn't want to embarrass him. He was my cousin, my blood relation. If I said a word, things were sure to be awkward between us at the very least. But was I just going to lie there and pretend to sleep while my own family finger-raped me? There I was, torn between a misplaced love for my cousin and a fear of the unknown. What was I to do? His fingers were stroking harder, his breathing was getting louder, and I for the life of me could do nothing but lie paralyzed beside him like a corpse.<br /><br />And then the strangest thing happened. The nerves in my thighs pulsated with pleasure, blood rushed into my legs and my hands and my head, and my palms felt hot against the bed sheet. I remember thinking it was all too much; the pleasure I felt was almost unbearable. My heart beat faster; I felt myself get wet and my mind fill with simultaneous urges to jerk away from him and stay within the reach of his fingers.<br /><br />Within minutes it was over. I lay beside him, filled with immense shame for what had just occurred. I remember wondering how I would face him in the morning, what I would say, what he would say. Would he still give me a big sloppy kiss when I woke up? Would he still tickle my tummy and play Minesweeper with me? Would I still have to call him Uncle Dapo, or would it simply be Dapo from now on? Why was I even forced to think these things? How had we arrived at this place? My own cousin, my favorite cousin, the one whose words I hung on day after day, whose stories I loved to retell to my friends, whose prowess in the church choir was nothing short of legendary, had just done to a child (me!) what a child of that age should never have to go through. I did not know whether to burst into tears and accuse him right there and then or just go back to sleep and pretend the last 5 minutes did not just happen.<br /><br />But then, what did it matter? I had sinned also, that was for sure; this had to be my fault somehow, and even if it wasn't, I had just aided and abetted a crime, enjoyed it even, and I was going to hell for it. Ten whole years after this event occurred, and I still cannot fathom my young body's reaction to his touch. I could not possibly have foreseen what was going to happen, could not possibly have known he was going to betray my trust and my innocence like that. I did not even know my body was capable of feeling or reacting that way. I hadn't even grown breasts yet!<br /><br />I was only 8 when it happened; he was only 18. We were both very young, one of us much younger than the other. One of us didn't know what was happening; the other one did. In the space of three hundred seconds, one of us lost her virginity and her innocence forever.<br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">This story is fiction, but sadly, situations like these are much more common than most people realize. 1 in 4 girls is sexually abused before the age of 18, and 30 - 40% of all victims are abused by a family member. More than 20% of children are sexually abused before the age of 8, and nearly 50% of all victims of forcible sodomy, sexual assault with an object, and forcible fondling are children under 12. </span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;">There are many more statistics and preventive measures available online. </span><a href="http://www.darkness2light.org/KnowAbout/statistics.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color:#000099;">http://www.darkness2light.org/KnowAbout/statistics.asp</span></a><span style="color:#ff0000;"> is a good resource for more information.</span><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#000000;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span></strong><br /><em><span style="color:#000099;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#000099;">PS. Please visit </span></em><a href="http://fabulosityunwritten.blogspot.com/"><em><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>miss.fab</strong></span></em></a><em><span style="color:#000099;"> by </span></em><a href="http://fabulosityunwritten.blogspot.com/"><em><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>clicking here</strong></span></em></a><em><span style="color:#000099;"> to leave comments.</span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#000099;">Thanks again good people!!</span></em>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-73925642765228038552009-08-19T12:33:00.000+01:002009-08-19T12:34:20.531+01:00The Father of my children..I did promise you a poet this week, didn't I?<br />Make una no vex..<br />Should have posted this yesterday..<br />But yesterday was.. Hmm.. Let's just call it a blog post for another day..<br /><br />I present to you, <a style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)" href="http://pearlsofmine-ty.blogspot.com/">Oluwatoyin</a>..<br />Personally, I've always been impressed with her writing style..<br />She has a way of making otherwise complex issues quite simple..<br /><br />Enjoy..<br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">I hate it</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">When he comes home late</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Reeking, reeking rum</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Hanging his jacket by the door</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Throwing his smelly stockings on the floor</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)"><br />I hate it when he grabs my waist</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Rubbing his rough chin on my tears</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">"<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Give me a kiss will ya?</span>"</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">All I see are green veins</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Swimming in his eyes like eels</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)"><br />Such slothfulness</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">He wouldn't even buy me flowers</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Even when I bore him three angels</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Sometimes I wonder how we did it</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">-how I did it</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">How my angels were conceived</span><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">Did I love him then?</span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,153)">I cannot remember.</span><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /></span>Please <a style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)" href="http://pearlsofmine-ty.blogspot.com/">click here</a> to visit <a style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold; COLOR: rgb(255,0,0)" href="http://pearlsofmine-ty.blogspot.com/">Oluwatoyin</a>'s blog, to show her some love..<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><br /></span><br />Next week, another guest blogger..<br />I nearly shed a tear when I read her post..<br />Then I got angry.. Then I felt empathy..<br /><br />It'll be interesting to see everyone else's reaction to it..<br /><br />Enjoy the rest of the week, beautiful people!!!! <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><br /><br /></span>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-69396804651253785342009-08-11T10:20:00.001+01:002009-08-11T10:22:43.277+01:00It's okay but it's not okay..<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Featuring a new guest blogger on </span><a href="http://www.rocnaija.com"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">rocnaija</span></b></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">today..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">One of the more better writers in my opinion..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">I pronounce her name, 'Lowly-ah'..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">She spells it </span><a href="http://theartofrememory.blogspot.com"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Lolia</span></b></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Enjoy..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">P.S. - I don't insist my guests write on anything in particular..</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Anything from soaring gas prices to melting glaciers is welcome..</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"></span>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div><div><br /></div>My mind was racing.. <div>What to do.. What to do…<br /><br /><i>“So you’re staying here tonight then?”<br /></i><br /></div><div>I snapped out of my reverie…<br /><i>“Huh?”<br /></i><br /><i>“You’re staying here tonight.”<br /></i><br />It wasn’t a question anymore. It was a statement. Perhaps even a subtle command.<br /><br />Why was I so afraid? We had talked about it so many times before. We loved each other so it was okay. It wasn’t a one night stand. I wasn’t giving it up for nothing. It was going to bring us closer together. We were going to get married. So why was I afraid.. uncertain.. overcome with guilt?<br /><br /><i>“Ummm…I need to get back to Lola's* house. “<br /></i><br /><i>“That settles it then.”<br /></i><br />He turned out the light and came to join me on the bed. I looked around the room. I looked round, taking in the flat screen TV, the black and red sheets, the walk-in closet. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is what I wanted wasn’t it? I wanted us to spend time together. And spend time we had. We had played tennis, hung out with his friends, played PlayStation..</div><div><br /></div><div>We had done everything, except…<br /><br /><i>“Babe?”<br /></i><br /><i>“Yeah?”<br /></i><br />He was rubbing my back. I couldn’t concentrate if he was rubbing my back. There I was, wiser than my age and a proud virgin, trying to…What was I trying to do? It didn’t matter because he was tracing circles on my back with his finger. We had been dating for six months and in that time there had been no pressure, so this couldn’t be wrong could it?<br /><br />Nah.. There was no way this was wrong.<br /><br />I could feel my resolve weakening with every passing second...<br /><br /><i>“I love you.”<br /></i><br /><i>“And I love you.”<br /></i><br />He started kissing my neck. I reached for my phone and texted Lola* telling her I’d be back in the morning and that I would call her if I needed her.<br /><br />And then…I stopped being afraid.<br /><br />I'm sure he could sense it, he picked me up and carried me into his bathroom, placed me carefully on the sink counter and slowly pulled off my t-shirt. It was black…and tight.. I had worn it for him and now it was on the floor. It didn’t matter anymore.<br /><br />I began to panic. What if I wasn’t doing things right? I had never done this before, with anyone. And he was so…experienced.<br /><br />I cupped his face in my hands…<br /><br /><i>“What are you thinking?”<br /></i><br /></div><div><i>“I’m thinking you should take off those jeans.”<br /></i><br />And then he did a very curious thing. He turned around and walked out. Oddly enough that only made me want him more.. it made me want it more.. I pulled off my skinny jeans and walked back into the bedroom clad in nothing but my underwear. I remember trying to be sexy, wanting him to want me.. </div><div>I knew he did, he had said so, countless times but I wanted him to want me more.<br /><br />In the moments that followed, I realized that I wasn’t a baby anymore. I was a woman. </div><div>And that scared me beyond words.<br /><br />I climbed into bed and reached for him. He responded, taking me in his arms and kissing me. They were sweet kisses. On my neck, my face, my shoulder, between my breasts…<br /><br />A low moan escaped my lips. He knew it was working.<br /><br />I had never gone this far with anyone. Not him, not anyone, ever.<br /><br />He reached around my back and unclasped my bra. It fell silently to the ground. He traced a ring around my nipples, first the left and then the right. I moaned again. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh…He was as hard as they come…So he did want me. I relaxed a little. I reached for him, but he stopped me. Instead his index finger traced a line from my belly button, around my waist and into my panties. He pulled them off, lay beside me and allowed his hands to explore my inner thighs…<br /><br /></div><div>Then his fingers disappeared..</div><div><br />My mind was racing. "<i>How did I let it get this far? Was I really naked in my boyfriend’s bed? Where was this going to lead? Would I just be a statistic to him or was he telling the truth when he said it would be special because it was with me?</i>"<br /><br />My body buckled. And then I felt it. A warm glorious feeling as he fingered me into orgasm. As I breathed heavily, I remembered his words from months before:</div><div><br />“<i>Baby the day you’re ready, I’m going to kiss you, every inch of you. Make you pine for me, all of me. And then…and then I’m going to make love to you.</i>”<br /><br />This was it then? Overcome by a sudden boldness, I reached for him. I heard his intake of breath as I grasped his manhood with my cold soft fingers. He moaned my name and slowly turned so his body was facing mine. </div><div><br /></div><div>I waited for him to reach for a condom…But he didn’t. I felt him against me, silently begging me to let him make love to me. It was a good…no, a great, no…it was a wonderful feeling…the feel of his hardness against my wetness. </div><div>Maybe he had put one on when I wasn’t paying attention? But when hadn’t I paid attention? I remembered every single detail.<br /><br /><i>“Babe, no.”<br /></i><br />He tried again. I looked him straight in the eye…<br /><br /><i>“Babe…NO”<br /></i><br />He sighed.<br /><br /><i>“Okay.”<br /></i><br />I felt bad. I’m sure he could tell because he held me just a little bit closer.<br /><br /><i>“Baby it’s okay. I mean it’s not okay but it’s okay.”</i><br /><br />I laughed and kissed him as hard as I could.<br /><br /><i>“I love you.”<br /></i><br /><i>“I love you more.”<br /></i><br />And then we slept. Naked in each others’ arms. Or he slept. I watched him, thinking how lucky I was to have a man who said things like “<i>It’s okay</i>.” and “<i>I love you more.</i>”<br /><br />How so very lucky.. I was.</div><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">I enjoyed reading this.. And hopefully you did too..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Please </span><a href="http://theartofrememory.blogspot.com"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">click here</span></b></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"> to visit </span><a href="http://theartofrememory.blogspot.com"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><b>Lolia</b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">'s blog</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">And leave her comments if you will..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Thanks!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Got a poet guesting on the roc next week..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Looking forward to what she comes up with..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Have a good week people, and stay blessed!</span></div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-73141118152515131322009-08-07T18:14:00.002+01:002009-08-07T23:10:07.051+01:0015 questions for RocNaija!<div>So the celeb bloggers over at <a href="http://blogsvillegist.blogspot.com/">Blogsville Gist</a> came up with a spanking new idea..<br />A new segment called '<a href="http://blogsvillegist.blogspot.com/2009/08/blogsville-gist-interview-fridays.html">Blog(s)ville Gist interview Fridays</a>'..<br /></div><div>Basically, it involves getting to know bloggers a bit more, by featuring them in an interview segment every Friday..<br /><br />And guess who they had debut in the first interview?<br /><br />Yup! <a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/"><strong>Yours truly</strong></a>.. :)<br /><br /><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://blogsvillegist.blogspot.com/2009/08/blogsville-gist-interview-fridays.html">Click here</a> to read the interview..<br /><br />Gotta show my appreciation to <a href="http://juiceegal.blogspot.com/"><strong>Juiceegal</strong></a> as well for making it happen..<br />Thanks babe! </div><br /><div><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ </div><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /></div><br /><div>Sequel to my post last week..</div><br /><div>The one with the humourous car adverts..<br />Well, I discovered a few more that tickled my fancy..<br />Thought to share..<br /><br />Shout out to Miss B & Cerberus for hooking me up..<br />Thanks for sharing guys.. </div><br /><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnxfyorpBOI/AAAAAAAAAM8/6BgfxARfz2o/s1600-h/3427670079_fa8f403233_b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 400px; float: left; height: 347px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367270179437348066" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnxfyorpBOI/AAAAAAAAAM8/6BgfxARfz2o/s400/3427670079_fa8f403233_b.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So apparently, Audi thought it was a good idea to place a billboard opposite a BMW dealership..</div><br /><div>Err.. Bad move!!! </div><div><br />By the following morning, BMW had responded with a billboard three times bigger..<br />Game Over..<br /></div><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnxdFhrl5PI/AAAAAAAAAMs/HSzditdZ8mw/s1600-h/audi_bmw_quattro_ad1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px; float: left; height: 213px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367267205440726258" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnxdFhrl5PI/AAAAAAAAAMs/HSzditdZ8mw/s320/audi_bmw_quattro_ad1.jpg" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Snxd0Uqc4cI/AAAAAAAAAM0/pPQtraJ_ySE/s1600-h/audi_bmw_quattro_ad3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px; float: right; height: 198px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367268009400132034" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Snxd0Uqc4cI/AAAAAAAAAM0/pPQtraJ_ySE/s320/audi_bmw_quattro_ad3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Then of course two similarly themed adverts criticising each other...<br />You can't beat these guys..<br /><br />New guest blogger next week..</div><div> </div><div>Have a good weekend people!!<br /><br /><br /></div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-13927075459849576692009-08-04T09:36:00.005+01:002009-08-04T09:36:01.040+01:00Power Struggle!<span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">A new week.. And a new guest blogger..</span> <div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">It's a beautiful thing..</span> </div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">As per the feedback I recieved the last time round..</span> </div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">I refrained from tweaking with this as much as possible.. :)</span> </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">I present to you </span><b><a href="http://fabulo-la.blogspot.com">Fabulo-la</a></b></div><div><a href="http://fabulo-la.blogspot.com"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Most of you know her already anyways.. </span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Oh well, I'll just shut up now..</span></span><br /></b>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br />With each kiss.. I felt my heart quake<br />His lips felt light.. They felt soft<br />He sucked on my lower lip gently..<br /><br />He was kissing me<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I wanted to kiss him</span><br />His lips tasted like nectar<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But I wanted more</span><br />He was showing me he was in charge<br />BUT I WANTED TO BE IN CHARGE..<br /><br />So I struggled<br />My hands reached for his wrists<br />My lips pushed back against his<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">But e no gree</span><br /><br />Pausing.. He pulled back.. and looked me in the eye<br />Eyes piercing, like he was staring into the depth of my soul<br />I returned his stare unflinchingly..<br /><br />Shifted his weight, he pinned me against the wall<br />Holding my hands high above my head<br />This time kissing me hard and forcibly..<br />I felt my resolve to struggle, weaken as the adrenaline pumped<br />Just then he slowed down again<br />I felt my hands drop back to my sides, as he released them..<br />His fingers raking through my braids..<br />The band holding it together came off easily, braids falling freely around my shoulders.<br /><br />He cupped my face in his hands..<br />His fingers tracing lines over my face..<br />He kissed my eyes<br />My nose, My cheeks<br />My ears, My neck<br />And then my lips again<br />Slowly he worked his hands across my shoulder<br />Undoing the buttons of my sweater letting it fall to the ground.<br /><br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Why is he wasting time?</span>” I thought to myself<br /><br />I struggled to take charge again.<br />Or maybe he just let me this time?<br />I pushed him back against the lone table in the room<br />Sending his hefty <i>criminal law</i> books, crashing in one motion<br />I guess Law School would have to wait.<br /><br />I climbed on top of him, as his back hit the table<br />I was clearly in a hurry<br />He watched amusedly, as my fingers reached for his shirt<br />Fervently, I began to rip his buttons off</div><div>Thinking to myself<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Why the heck was he wearing such difficult clothes anyways?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Who does that?</span>”<br /><br />Shirt off, my braids tickled his face as I bent lower,<br />He giggled as I sucked on his earlobes<br />His neck.<br />His nipples.<br />He giggled again. </div><div>I liked that.. I liked that I made him giggle.<br /><br />Feeling all tingly with anticipation..<br />I decided to take my time with his belt.<br />Slowly, I worked my way down from his neck to his belly.<br />Then out of nowhere.. WHOOSH!<br />He was back in charge again, pinned against the wall helplessly.<br /><br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">How the hell did he do that?</span>” I chuckled to myself<br />Me likey.<br />All this struggle for power.<br />Now that got me giggling harder.<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">I know you were as intruiged as I was, right?</span> </div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Please visit my guest, </span><b><a href="http://fabulo-la.blogspot.com">Fabulo-la</a></b><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">, and show her some love..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><b>Imoteda</b>, <b>miss.fab</b>, <b>uNWritten</b>, I dey wait una oh..</span><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Stay blessed beautiful people!!</b></div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-64860321142151617712009-07-31T18:44:00.001+01:002009-07-31T18:44:00.763+01:00Tickling my fancy on a Friday..Shout out to all the commenters on my previous post!<br />I was sort of caught in between responding or not, seeing as I had a guest blogging..<br />Appreciate all the feedback though.. Y'all too <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">gbaski</span>! :)<br /><br />Took on board the critique as well..<br />Seeing as I have a new guest, blogging on Monday or Tuesday..<br />I'll be looking forward to everyone's feedback on that too..<br /><br />In other news..<br />I've been looking to change cars..<br />Get something more.. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">whatchamicallit..</span>?!<br /><br />Anyways, there I am, browsing a few car shops online..<br />And I noticed a lot of car manufacturers take low shots at each other, in their car ads..<br />As in, proper beef, but it still struck me as hilarious..<br /><br />So, apparently <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Jaguar </span>started it, slagging off <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">BMW</span>'s M5..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMiRmuV2yI/AAAAAAAAAL8/6iJ6iyB_F6U/s1600-h/spadjagxfr_MHY_PakWheels%28com%29+copy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 244px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364669266976430882" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMiRmuV2yI/AAAAAAAAAL8/6iJ6iyB_F6U/s320/spadjagxfr_MHY_PakWheels%28com%29+copy.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"></span><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">BMW </span>responded swiftly, with this ad underneath..<br />Note the <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Jaguar </span>icon on the hood taking flight on sighting the <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">BMW</span>?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMi6o3HSdI/AAAAAAAAAME/rW6p685dqYs/s1600-h/jag+bm.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364669971924732370" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMi6o3HSdI/AAAAAAAAAME/rW6p685dqYs/s320/jag+bm.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Not content at just taking shots at the <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Jaguar </span>brand, they got <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Audi </span>in on the act..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMjbuxFd8I/AAAAAAAAAMM/B99-CxC34sg/s1600-h/bmw.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 287px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364670540445743042" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMjbuxFd8I/AAAAAAAAAMM/B99-CxC34sg/s320/bmw.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />After seeing that, I was like "<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Damn!</span>"<br />That.. was until I saw <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Audi</span>'s response..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMjxP2LWRI/AAAAAAAAAMU/uC9MM8CgTMw/s1600-h/audi.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364670910102722834" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMjxP2LWRI/AAAAAAAAAMU/uC9MM8CgTMw/s320/audi.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Six consecutive Le Mans races..<br />Showed consistency, efficiency and mechanical excellence..<br />I couldn't think of anyone else who could top that..<br /><br />Until.. I saw <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Bentley</span>'s response..<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMj_w8XxfI/AAAAAAAAAMc/ENdXT76fBS4/s1600-h/bently.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 251px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364671159505241586" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SnMj_w8XxfI/AAAAAAAAAMc/ENdXT76fBS4/s320/bently.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Classic!<br /><br />Have you seen any funny car ad's recently?<br /><br />Stay blessed beautiful people!!Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-46914680278251956952009-07-27T12:44:00.000+01:002009-07-27T13:17:34.671+01:00Bubbles... on the Roc!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">A while back, I wrote a post about opening <a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/">rocnaija</a> to guest bloggers..</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">Seems like eons ago now.. Anyways, my first guest blogger came through..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">And I was actually quite impressed..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">I present to you... <a href="http://thechart-michelle.blogspot.com/"><b>Bubbles</b></a>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">Feel free to comment on her writing and please visit her space to extend the love you've always shown me to her as well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;"><br /><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">PS</span></b>. If the writing style looks similar to my usual posts, it's because I adapted it a bit..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">Enjoy..</span></div><div><br /></div><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div><div><br /></div>My room was quiet..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SmzSQ-t9EBI/AAAAAAAAAL0/vq5ijnsDVtc/s1600-h/green.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SmzSQ-t9EBI/AAAAAAAAAL0/vq5ijnsDVtc/s200/green.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362892445446901778" border="0" /></a><br />Eerily quiet..<br />Except for just one sound..<br />Tic.. Toc.. Tic.. Toc..<br /><br />I glanced over at my table clock..<br />It’s green metallic base, reflected the lone bulb in the room..<br />It was the same one I’d seen online and fallen for at first sight..<br />The same one my mom had given me over Christmas..<br />All wrapped up in my favorite pink-colored wrapping paper..<br />The same one she had..<br /><br />The slight movement beneath me broke me out of my reverie..<br />His hardness was pressed firmly against the base of my spine..<br />His arms wrapped around my waist..<br />His labored breathe rustling the hair on the back of my neck..<br /><br />I’d always known this day would come..<br />I had read too many books.. Seen too many films.. Heard too many tales..<br />I felt I was ready..<br />Ready to lose it to someone I truly cared about..<br />Ready to.. pop my cherry<br />Ready to finally lose my virginity..<br /><br />Not like this though..<br />This was not how I imagined my first time…<br />I’d pictured a bed..<br />Maybe some silk sheets..<br />Sweet nothings in my ear..<br />Butterfly kisses all over my body..<br />But on a hard uncomfortable chair in my college room?!<br />No! Definitely not like this..<br /><br />He flicked open my bra hooks..<br />And ran his fingers lightly down my back..<br />I felt the goose bumps on my skin before I saw them..<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">You ready</span>?” he whispered, as his fingers roved..<br />My back.. My rib cage.. My waist.. My thighs..<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">I.. I.. I think so.. </span>” I stammered in return..<br /><br />A mental battle raged in my head..<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“What if I was terrible?”</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">“What if I didn’t have a clue what to do?”</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">“Wouldn’t he compare me with all his past lovers?”</span> But the further his fingers travelled, the harder it became to think..<br /><br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Are you sure?</span>” he asked, as I turned round to face him..<br />Legs apart.. Gingerly easing myself on to him, I bit my lip and nodded..<br />Couldn’t bring myself to say a word..<br /><br />I reached down to grasp him..<br />The feel of his bare skin sent shock waves through me..<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">You are not wearing.. a condom</span>?” I whispered, my eyes widening in shock..<br />He looked at me like a deer caught in the headlights..<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Uhm.. y’know.. you can’t really get pregnant the first time.. And uhm.. y’know we could just.. y’know.. do it for like a minute.. I’ll just put it in.. but…</span>”<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Are you freaking kiddin’ me??</span>” I retorted, rising back to full length.. “<span style="font-style: italic;">That’s not gonna happen.. forget it.</span>”<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Oh! Come on!! Just a minute..</span>” desperacy creeping into his voice, “<span style="font-style: italic;">I promise, not longer than a minute.. please!</span>”<br /><br />He put my forefinger in between his lips..<br />And sucked it.. slowly..<br />I felt my iron-cast resolve weaken..<br />Then, it evaporated..<br /><br />I barely recognized my voice as it croaked..<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">Fine... Just one minute.”</span><br />Closing my eyes..<br />Images flashed at the speed of light..<br />Pink wrapping paper..<br />My clock..<br />My mom..<br />Her words of advice..<br />One minute?<br />18 years of keeping my virginity..<br />18 years!<br />And he only wanted it for one minute!!<br /><br />I shook my head vigorously..<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“I don’t think I’m ready.. not just yet.”</span> He sighed in exasperation…<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“But I’m horny… can you at least suck me or something??”</span> I got up and crossing my arms to cover my modesty..<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“That’s not going to happen..</span>” I said, emphasizing each word, as I picked up my clothes,<br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">I think its best you leave, now</span>”<br />He glared at me as he dressed up..<br />Not a word exchanged..<br />Then swearing under his breathe..<br />He nudged the table as he stormed out..<br />Slamming the door shut behind him..<br />And sending my table clock crashing to the floor in his wake..<br /><br />Thoughtfully, I stood there and uttered a quick prayer..<br />I thanked God for giving me the strength to avoid a possible mistake..<br />With only one sound piercing my train of thought..<div>Just one sound..<br /><br />Tic.. Toc.. Tic.. Toc..<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div><div>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br />It's a wrap, people.. :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">Be kind with your critique of my guest, <a href="http://thechart-michelle.blogspot.com/"><b>Bubbles</b> (Click here to visit her blog)</a>..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">If anyone else would like to do this..</span></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">Holla at your boy..<br />One.<br /></span></div></div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-8324887713414193672009-07-24T02:11:00.010+01:002009-07-27T11:01:54.746+01:00A yellow dress in the distance..<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SmkVz3ZUulI/AAAAAAAAALs/bEAMBNa5OOM/s1600-h/dad+and+son+copy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 199px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361840812148963922" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SmkVz3ZUulI/AAAAAAAAALs/bEAMBNa5OOM/s320/dad+and+son+copy.jpg" /></a> I had my Google reader open..<br />167 unread messages and counting..<br />It was something else that made me look up though..<br /><br />The boy in seat 20C was crying again..<br />He’d been at it intermittently, since lift off..<br />He didn’t look a day older than two..<br />And at that age, it’s probably to be expected..<br /><br />The wailing got a bit louder..<br />He sounded like he was in pain..<br />Or just extremely cranky..<br /><br />His mom sighed and muttered under her breathe..<br />His dad stood up, again..<br />Blue tee shirt..<br />Big yellow ‘S’ across his chest..<br />Lifting his son up, he stood rocking him between the dimly-lit aisles..<br />Whispering soothing words in his ear..<br />People, with full bladders, circumnavigated them, heading for the toilets in the rear..<br />Air hostesses hustled past, running a variety of errands..<br /><br />Father and son..<br />Little arms round his dad’s neck..<br />He whimpered as he succumbed to the clutches of sleep..<br />A sight to behold..<br />The only thing missing.. was a cape.<br /><br />“<i>Superdad</i><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">..</span>” I chuckled inwardly, from my seat in 24A..<br />Tearing my eyes away, I glanced back at the little gadget in my hand..<br />Then at the Indian bloke sitting besides me..<br />He was glued to the screen on the back of the seat in front of him..<br /><i>Valkyrie</i> was on..<br /><br />I cupped my face in my hands..<br />My neck hurt..<br />My eyes stung..<br />My back ached..<br />The left side of my head was pounding..<br /><i>Paja paja</i> in both feet, from sitting in one spot for too long..<br />Plus, I needed a wee..<br />And I had 167 unread posts..<br />Damn..<br /><br />Three hours later..<br /><br />I was standing behind a yellow line..<br />Watching the blue uniformed guy, play <em>Larry King</em> with the lady in front of him..<br />She glanced away.. Rolled her eyes..<br />Then glared at him in exasperation..<br /><br />Earphones buzzing in my ears, my eyes travelled south..<br />Curly weave.. Short yellow dress.. Abortion belt.. Black shiny tights.. Heels..<br />Waiting my turn, my lips moved to the voices of <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Lil’ wayne</span> & <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Shawn Carter</span>..<br /><br />"<i>Hey Mr Roc</i><br />I am him!<br /><i>Tell me where you been? </i><br />Around the world and back again<br /><i>They been asking, they been searching, they been wondering</i>.."<br /><br />The blue uniformed guy motioned me over..<br />I pulled the earphones out..<br /><br />"<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">How you doing today, sir</span>?" He asked.<br />"Great.." I replied<br />"<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">You been anywhere else before arriving here today</span>?"<br />"Yeah.. Amsterdam and Guadalupe.. "<br />"<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Okay, enjoy your stay there</span>?"<br />"Enjoyed the weather better" I responded<br />"<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Great stuff.. Place your thumb on the screen..<br />Now the other four fingers..<br />Now the other hand..<br />Now stand in front of the camera..<br />That's fine.." </span><span style="font-size:+0;">Handing my passport back to me</span><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><br />"Have a great stay in the United States.."</span> He said, as he motioned the next person to the glass partition..<br /><br />"<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Thanks</span>", I muttered, slipping my passport back into my pocket..<br />My head swivelled 180 degrees scanning the terminal, as I walked away..<br />Eyes honing in on what it sought..<br />A yellow dress sashaying in the distance..<br />Hands flicking hair over a bare shoulder..<br /><br />I quickened my step..Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-12940445303449206002009-07-01T14:57:00.004+01:002009-07-01T15:19:36.599+01:00When grandeur plans fall..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Skttymq6oPI/AAAAAAAAALk/0M-ZmbBsj34/s1600-h/beach-couple-silhouette.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Skttymq6oPI/AAAAAAAAALk/0M-ZmbBsj34/s320/beach-couple-silhouette.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353493298201403634" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:arial;"><div class="plainMail">It had been 360 days..<br />Actually, three hundred and sixty one days..<br />From the first day..<br />When we'd first become.. official<br />She figured I'd forgotten..<br />But that was always the plan..<br />To surprise her..<br /><br />I read the online reviews..<br />The hotel had a <i>four</i>-<i>star </i>rating..<br />But the customers rated it a <i>five</i>..<br />A five minute walk to the beach..</div><div class="plainMail">Buffet breakfast included..</div><div class="plainMail">English speaking staff..<br />I booked it..<br /><br />Bought the plane tickets..<br />British Airways..<br />Departure time.. Friday, 1920 hrs..<br />To return sometime on Thursday..<br /><br />I emailed the hotel..<br />Added on a few extras..<br />They confirmed..<br />There'd be, champers on ice...<br />A dozen red roses waiting, when we arrived...<br /><br />I packed her stuff..<br />Shoes..</div><div class="plainMail">Bikini..<br />Clothes..</div><div class="plainMail">Lingerie..</div><div class="plainMail">Make up...<br />Travel documents..<br /><br />Then I packed mine..<br /><br />Showed up at her office..<br />Just before she closed..<br />Approximately 40 minutes, before..<br /><br />"<i>Roc?</i>" She said, as she walked into the reception..<br />"<i>What are you doing here?</i>" she asked, quizzical look on her face..<br />"<b>Do you reckon you can leave now?</b>" I asked..<br />Her brow furrowed, "<i>Probably.. I'll just need to shut down my computer, but</i>.."<br />"<b>Go on then</b>.." I replied, easing into a seat, "..<b>quick as you can</b>"<br /><br />Twenty five minutes later..<br />Sitting on the Heathrow Express, from Paddington station..<br />She battered me with questions..<br />"<i>So where are you going?"<br />"How come you never mentioned it before?"<br />"Is this work-related?"<br />"How long will you be gone for?"<br /></i><br />And to every question..<br />She got the same answer..<br />"<b>You'll find out, when we get there</b>"<br /><br />We alighted at the airport..<br />Walked into the terminal..<br />Her eyes widened, as we joined the queue..<br />"<i>You're going to.. Nice? South of France?</i>"</div><div class="plainMail">The queue shuffled forward..<br />"<b>We.. Not I.. We</b>.." I responded<br />"<i>You know I can't do that, Roc.. Work and all</i>.." she cantered..</div><div class="plainMail">"<b>We'll just have to think of something to tell them then, won't we..</b>?"</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail"> </div><div class="plainMail">The trip was.. exotic..</div><div class="plainMail">Six days of pure bliss..</div><div class="plainMail">She looked amazing in her orange and white polka dot bikini..</div><div class="plainMail">The sight of the beach at night.. words cannot describe..</div><div class="plainMail">We shopped and window shopped at Lafayette and Monoprix..</div><div class="plainMail"><div class="plainMail">And strolled past glitzy casinos where millions were wasted..</div></div><div class="plainMail">Watched the sun rise every morning & set every evening, sand in our feet..</div><div class="plainMail">We marveled at the glorious sight of yatches banked on the Riviera..</div><div class="plainMail">And giggled at the rubbish Chinese vermicelli that made us fart all night..</div><div class="plainMail">It was fun.. it was beautiful.. it was heaven..</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail">The days flew by..</div><div class="plainMail">And all too soon, it was time to go..</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail">Sitting on the plane together..</div><div class="plainMail">I fell asleep with a smile on my face..</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail">Not long after...</div><div class="plainMail">I woke to the sound of her sniffles..</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail">Her face was turned away..</div><div class="plainMail">Looking out the window..</div><div class="plainMail">Sniffling..</div><div class="plainMail">I whispered her name..</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail"> </div><div class="plainMail">Tears rolled down her face as she turned to face me...</div><div class="plainMail">"<i>Roc.. I've been.. I been meaning to tell you.. but..</i>"</div><div class="plainMail">I cupped her face in my hands..</div><div class="plainMail">Whispering sweet nothings..</div><div class="plainMail">She sobbed a bit more..</div><div class="plainMail">"<i>I can't.. I couldn't.. It's so hard to say this but..I don't think...</i>"</div><div class="plainMail"><br /></div><div class="plainMail"> </div><div class="plainMail">Watching as the tears dropped off her face..</div><div class="plainMail">I thought to myself..</div><div class="plainMail">"<b>Is this what happens, when grandeur plans fall... flat?!</b>"</div></span>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-8114335841116386622009-06-23T08:56:00.005+01:002009-06-23T09:43:31.254+01:00If I had an Italian son, it might be different..This morning..<br />At approximately 08:24am<br />Somewhere in between Euston and <span style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(0, 102, 204); cursor: pointer;" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1245743793_0">London Bridge station</span>, on the Northern line..<br />I thought to myself, "If I had an Italian son, how would I raise him?"<br /><br />Weird.. I know..<br /><br />It was a bumpy ride..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SkCUApmwyJI/AAAAAAAAALc/Uz1uiPzQ1ak/s1600-h/Berlusconi_577683a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SkCUApmwyJI/AAAAAAAAALc/Uz1uiPzQ1ak/s320/Berlusconi_577683a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350439096205494418" border="0" /></a><br />I was flipping through The Times newspaper..<br />Then I turned over.. to page 29..<br />Berlusconi's story.. The Italian prime minister..<br /><br />A quick breakdown..<br /><br />He's 72.. His wife is 40 something..<br />And he's embroiled in a sex scandal..<br />He's allegedly been getting it on with girls as young as 18..<br />He, apparently, showed the French prime minister a soft porn mag, and said..<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I've had her, her and her.."</span><br />He has escort girls attend dinners and parties to make it more 'pleasant'..<br />Girls with nicknames like '<span style="font-style: italic;">long thighs'</span><br /><br />He, of course, says it's a smear campaign..<br /><br />But that's besides the point..<br /><br />This is not a post about whether prostitution is right or wrong..<br />Or a man cheating is right or wrong..<br />It's easier playing judge & jury..<br />So I'll leave that to the bible-brandishing firebrands..<br /><br />But..<br /><br />The part that caught my attention was the opinion of Italian men..<br /><br />One said.. <span style="font-style: italic;">"Men of power need a lot of sex"</span><br />Isn't that like totally passing the buck?<br /><br />Another said "<span style="font-style: italic;">If Berlusconi doesn't gain sexual satisfaction, he governs badly..</span>"<br />Err.. Ok.. So being able to execute your job properly is directly related to how many orgasms you have???<br /><br />But the one that took the cake for me, was the minister that said..<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"If he spent the night with a call girl, he was only the 'end user' "</span><br /><br />Like WTF? Since when did a woman become an operating system like <span style="font-style: italic;">Windows Vista.</span>.<br />And the man is only using what is available..?? The end user??!!<br />Now that just smacked of total disrespect, to me..<br /><br />At this point, I sort of came to the conclusion that it probably all boiled down tothe mentality of an Italian man..<br />Plus, the stereotype of them being hot-blooded and all..<br /><br />Made me wonder, how they were brought up to percieve women, when they were boys..<br />Made me wonder, if I had an Italian son, how would I raise him..?<br /><br />I believe..<br />If you teach a boy to ride a bicycle properly..<br />When he becomes a man..<br />He won't try pedalling with his hands down a hill..<br /><br />If you teach a boy to drive a car..<br />When he becomes a man..<br />He won't sit in the boot and wonder why the car isn't moving..<br /><br />So when I do have a son..<br />He probably won't be <span style="font-style: italic;">eye-talian</span>..<br /><br />But..<br /><br />I'll watch his fingers curl around mine, in that delivery room..<br />I'll hold his hand as he learns to walk..<br />I'll teach him to ride his first bike..<br />And wipe his knees, everytime he falls..<br />Maybe even one day, teach him to drive..<br /><br />But the day he walks out, to go on that <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1245743793_1">first date</span>..<br /><br />I'll walk him to the front door..<br />Put my hand on his shoulder..<br />And say to him..<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"If you have a good woman in your presence, feel blessed..</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You wouldn't disrespect God and she deserves that same treatment.</span>"<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:78%;" >**I wrote this yesterday but forgot to post**</span>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-17289408421921970942009-06-16T19:35:00.003+01:002009-06-16T19:48:37.745+01:00For a minute.. I felt violated!<div>The house was quiet..<br />Eerily quiet..<br />Most of the stuff was in the van outside..<br />The few items left, were..<br />The couch, we sat on, in the lounge..<br />The king-sized bed upstairs..<br />The American fridge-freezer in the kitchen..<br />And the stack of empty boxes in a corner..<br /><br />"<em>Oh! Stop it, Roc!</em>" she pleaded<br />"<strong>What</strong>?!"<br />"<em>Stop playing with my hair</em>" She said, playfully swatting my hand off..<br />"<strong>Why</strong>?" I paused "<strong>You don't like it</strong>?"<br />"<em>It's err</em>.." Her voice went down a notch "<em>It's making me.. horny.</em>"<br />"<strong>Awww</strong>.." I replied, as my fingers returned to her spliced kinky braids..<br />"<strong>We wouldn't want that now, would we</strong>?"<br /><br />Not long after.. her shoulders twitched..<br />My index finger traced a line..<br />From the base of her neck.. down her arm.. to the inside of her elbow..<br />She crossed her legs<br />Then she uncrossed them..<br />My finger traced their way back..<br />She sighed, crossing her legs again..<br /><br />A couple of minutes later, she turned to face me..<br />But her eyes were already closed..<br /><br />My hand slipped under her shirt..<br />Two fingers nimbly unclasping her bra..<br />"<em>That was quick</em>" she murmured, as she lifted her top off, and got them out the way..<br />"<strong>I do magic tricks</strong>.." I whispered, "<strong>Poof! And your clothes are gone</strong>"<br />"<em>Yeah right</em>.." She replied, leaning towards me..<br /><br />I could taste the nicotine on her lips, as we kissed..<br />Her tongue, darkened from that dire habit..<br />Was all over mine..<br />My teeth..<br />My gums..<br />Behind my lips..<br />Under my tongue..<br />The roof of my mouth..<br />Everywhere..<br /><br />One minute, I felt so violated..<br />Next couple of minutes.. Insanely turned on..<br />A myriad of emotions..<br /><br />"<em>So</em>.." She paused, pulling away "<em>Will this end up on the internet as well..</em>?"<br />"<strong>Huh</strong>?!”<br />She reached for her smoke-box on the floor..<br />Lit one.. Took a drag..<br />Then asked again..<br />"<em>Is this going to end up on your thing.. your <a href="http://www.rocnaija,com/">rocnaija</a> thing.</em>.?”<br />"<strong>Uhm.. I dunno..</strong>” I responded.. "<strong>Wait.. How did you..</strong>"<br />She smiled.. "<em>I'd be curious though</em>.." pausing to take another drag,<br />"<em>If you did write about.. y'kno.. I'd be curious as to how you'd write it</em>"<br />"<strong>Do you mind</strong>.." Picking my next few words slowly..<br />"..<strong>if we.. have this.. uhm.. conversation some other time? You're kinda messing up my mojo here.</strong>." </div><div><br />She rolled her eyes..<br />Took another drag..<br />Stubbed it out and stood up..<br />"<em>Come</em>.." she said, unbuttoning her denim skirt, wiggling her waist as she stepped out of it, "<em>let's go upstairs</em>.."<br /><br />Glancing from her eyes.. to the only item of clothing she had on.. her boyshorts..<br />My clothes joined the heap on the floor in seconds..<br /><br />Walking up the stairs behind her, I smiled, imagining the sight we made..<br />She, looking pretty in pink, in her boyshorts and waist beads..<br />Me, one step behind, in my boxers and socks..<br /><br />The next hour plus was absolute bliss..<br />Everytime she got close..<br />I slowed things down..<br />And everytime I got close..<br />She slowed things down..<br /><br />We both knew when it did happen..<br />It'd be amazing..<br /><br />I heard her squeal..<br />Looking up at her, my hands held her waist..</div><div>Expecting waterfalls..<br /></div><div>She stopped..</div><div>Squeal caught <em>mid-sentence </em>in her throat...<br />Her eyes opening wide in shock..<br />As did mine..<br /><br />A key rustled in the front door downstairs..<br />The lounge light came on..<br /><br />Shit. </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 203px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347996238792355410" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SjfmPolX7lI/AAAAAAAAALM/wlGdSCKBsj8/s320/clip.jpg" />Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-86588602475319933322009-06-09T13:26:00.004+01:002009-06-09T13:57:03.047+01:00My heart is obliterated..<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Si5XYhf8ZdI/AAAAAAAAALE/RmT4a2IIsxQ/s1600-h/heart+copy.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 179px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 161px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345305886556186066" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Si5XYhf8ZdI/AAAAAAAAALE/RmT4a2IIsxQ/s320/heart+copy.gif" /></a> <i>"Sorry..! Just wouldn't do it..<br />My heart is obliterated..<br />I'm trying to move through..<br />But it's like.. moving mountainsss.."</i><br /><br />Sometimes you be going through stuff..<br />Then you hear that <em>one song</em>..<br /><br />I listened to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ue0aItaRMQ0&feature=related"><strong>these guys right here</strong></a> sing this words…<br />And it redefined what the words of the song meant to me..<br /><br />Cant remember whose blog I was on, when I virtually bumped into ‘em..<br />First song I listened to was a cover for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=absqiy8_deI&NR=1"><strong>Bey’s Halo, right here</strong></a>..<br />Amazing harmony.. Never knew the song could sound that good..<br />If you got time.. Give 'em a listen..<br />Timeless music..<br /><br />Anyways.. For some reason..<br />Yesterday, my random mind was thinking.. <br />What's the literal opposite of a '<i>one night stand'</i>?<br />Two days sitting?<br /><br />Fashion faux pas?<br />Or am I just so old school all of a sudden?<br />Saw a girl at Wimbledon yesterday..<br />Black gladiator sandals, with gold studs.. Nice..<br />A black knee-length pencil skirt.. Nicer..<br />A white figure-hugging tank top.. No comment..<br />Pearl necklace.. Exquisite..<br />Hair looked <a href="http://www.marieclaire.com/cm/marieclaire/images/OC/hairstyle-gallery-0508-Stephanie-017-md.jpg"><strong>exactly like this</strong></a>.. Dunno what it's called..<br />Bob with front fringe or whateva..<br />And then..<br />She dons huge bright purple peacock earrings..?! Screeeeccchhh!!!<br />Am I odd to think it was all going so well, then suddenly went downhill?<br />So wrong..<br /><br />I’ll be changing the web address to this site in the coming days..<br />All depends on how long it takes me to figure out how to do it..<br />I’ll probably be moving from <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">http://www.rocnaija.com</span> </strong><br />To <span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>http://blog.rocnaija.com<br /></strong></span>The main hassle for my enlightened readers, will probably be that my blog may no longer update on blogrolls..<br />And my 23 email subscribers will probably have to re-subscribe to continue getting email updates..<br />I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there..<br />You’ll still be able to access the blog via <span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong><a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/">http://www.rocnaija.com</a></strong></span> ,<br />'Cause there'll be a link to the blog there..<br />Anywaysssssss… I’ll try it first and let you guys know what’s up!!<br /><br />Hypothetical scenario here.. :-)<br />Girl says, "<em>Please.. Let’s not.. I don't want to..</em>"<br />So.. You don't touch her..<br />But as she says those words..<br />She's unbuckling your belt..<br />Unzipping your trousers..<br />Reaching into your boxers..<br />Do you take her '<em>no</em>' to mean '<em>yes</em>'?<br />Does her '<em>no</em>' mean '<em>maybe</em>'?<br />Or does her '<em>no</em>' mean '<em>no</em>' until otherwise instructed?<br />Just wondering..<br /><br />Shout out to everyone who took the time to comment on my last post...!!<br />My apologies for being such a lazy bugger..<br />Y'all are stars!! Roc appreciates..<br /><br />Enjoy the rest of the week!!Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-55618888054885635812009-06-04T09:54:00.004+01:002009-06-04T10:17:33.925+01:00Roc, Rape & Retribution..<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SieQA7Z2QdI/AAAAAAAAAKk/FMJgS1bMLag/s1600-h/rape.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343397828518887890" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SieQA7Z2QdI/AAAAAAAAAKk/FMJgS1bMLag/s200/rape.jpg" /></a> I stopped..<br />"<strong>This ain't working</strong>" I muttered..<br />Buried deep within Emem, I lay there..<br />Motionless..<br />Her hair tickled my nostrils, with every breathe I took..<br /><br /><em>We'd been spooning..<br />Her head lay on my left arm..<br />My right arm circled her waist..<br />Pulling her towards me with each thrust..<br />She'd been making all the right noises..<br />But it felt mechanical.. emotionless..<br /><br />“Did you come baby?” She asked..<br />I chuckled.. “</em>Not even close<em>..”<br />"I told you we should have done some li..”<br />"</em>Don't even go there<em>” I said gruffly, cutting her off abruptly..<br /><br />A while back she had brushed off her drug habit..<br />Just something she & her ex had indulged in whenever they got intimate, she’d said<br />Now she rarely enjoyed sex without a lil’ something on the side..<br />Mary j.. x.. sizzlers.. coke.. lsd.. pebbles..<br />“</em>Bull crap<em>” I’d responded..<br /><br />An hour and something later..<br />We were pretty much just going through the motions..<br />'Cause it just wasn’t happening.. </em><br /><br />“<em>Be back in a minute</em>..” she whispered, sneaking off to the bathroom..<br />I lay there.. and fell asleep..<br /><br />I woke up with a start..<br />Twenty minutes later..<br /><br />Glanced round the room..<br />Stautus quo.. Clothes everywhere..<br />Her handbag was gone..<br /><br />I rolled off the bed..<br />Walked towards the bathroom..<br />And tried the door handle..<br />Locked..<br /><br />“<strong>You okay in there??</strong>” I asked..<br />Her voice sounded muffled..<br />“<em>Uhm.. I’ll be out in a minute..</em>”<br /><br />It wasn’t exactly rocket science..<br />I knew what she as up to..<br />I walked..<br />Grabbed my boxers.. jeans.. shirt..<br /><br />The door opened behind me..<br />“<em>What do you think you’re doing?</em>”<br />“<strong>What does it look like? Think I'm gonna let you OD with me here?</strong>” I replied as I pulled on my boxers..<br />“<em>But.. What do you.. Don’t you dare walk out on me Roc</em>...” she shrieked, raising her voice..<br />“<strong>I told you I’m not down with that shit.. and then you go lock yourself in the toilet.. Do I look like I’m stupid?</strong>” I buttoned my shirt..<br />She ran towards me.. grabbed my jeans off the bed..<br />“<em>I’m not letting you leave</em>..”<br /><br />Her eyes were red.. her hair dishevelled..<br />“<strong>You’re crazy! Gimme my</strong>…” I reached for my jeans..<br />She dropped it and rushed at me.. screaming..<br />Her nails clawing my face.. my shirt.. my arms..<br />I held her hands off..<br /><div>She had left scratch marks on me.. & was kicking wildly..<br />My shins.. my knees.. and everything in between..<br />I pushed her back.. forcefully.. on to the bed..<br />She looked round for something to throw at me..<br />I swiftly picked my jeans up..<br />The bedside lamp crashed against the wall behind me as I bent down..<br /><br />“<strong>ARE YOU MAD</strong>???!” I shouted at her.. "<strong>ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR..</strong>"<br /><br />She responded.. but..<br />I didn't hear her the first time..<br />Or at least I didn't think I did..<br />My eyes narrowed as I focused on her..<br />"<strong>What did you just say</strong>?” I asked her<br />"<em>I said don't you dare walk out on me, Roc</em>.." She replied, breathing heavily.. “<em>Or.. I'll call the police!</em>”<br /><br />I'm rarely surprised.. but still..</div><div>Her words caught me off guard..<br />"<strong>Me? Roc..?</strong>” My hands clenched tight in my pockets.. </div><div>“<strong>You'll call the police on me? And then what? Tell them to strap me down, while you have your way</strong>?”<br /><br />“<em>No</em>..” her voice still high pitched..<br />Adrenaline pumping through her system..<br />“<em>I’ll tell them.. that you raped me</em>..” </div>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-58154910001897626162009-05-29T14:50:00.004+01:002009-05-29T20:33:07.278+01:00A Cobweb Clearance..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Sh_sTCF3MCI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/g_Gz7NdYsxw/s1600-h/cobweb%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Sh_sTCF3MCI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/g_Gz7NdYsxw/s200/cobweb%5B1%5D.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341247494807826466" border="0" /></a>Random thoughts on a Friday afternoon. Sue me..<br /><br />'ECILOP'..<br />That's how 'Police' in the UK is spelt in front of their cars..<br />Wrong way round..<br />So when they're following you and u look in the rear view mirror you won't have to guess who it is..<br /><br />My friend Zee lost her baby.. The baby’s vital organs weren’t developed enough to survive..<br />I wrote her a poem that I was going to post.. But it made me feel worse when I re-read it.<br />So I didn’t, as she reads my blog as well.<br />Thanks a lot to everyone that left supportive messages..<br />She saw ‘em.. and it made a difference..<br /><br />Does anyone else chew sweets?<br />I chew sweets all the time. I don't lick.. suck or whatever..<br />I whizz through peppermints at the speed of light, just crunching along happily.<br />Once in a while I think about it though.. Am I weird?<br /><br />An ex once told me she had ovarian cysts, that could potentially develop into fibroids...<br />Her dad had kidney problems and was diabetic...<br />Her mom had had a partial stroke a few years earlier..<br />We broke up not long after.<br />Weird coincidence, of course...<br /><br />Meanwhile, does anyone else vex when they see the way Africa is depicted on non-African tv stations? That ish gets on my nervessssss...<br />Or am I just weird, again?<br /><br />Was in Lagos for three weeks for a wedding...<br />Met her at the wedding..<br />She was bridesmaid, I was a grooms man..<br />Said she'd been celibate & '<i>bobo'</i>-less for 3 years..<br />Four days later, we talking in my hotel room, somewhere off Opebi.<br />The one with the staccato air conditioning..<br />She’s wearing a mini & a floral spaghetti top.. without the spaghetti's.<br /><br />Reception calls when they see her hail okada, one hour later..<br />To crosscheck I haven't been drugged and robbed..<br />Or robbed and drugged, as the case maybe..<br />She stops off to get condoms from <i>Juli </i>pharmacy..<br />& Charcolate chicken from <i>Tastee</i>..<br /><br />Spends the night..<br />"<b>Usually I don't do this</b>" she whispers..<br />I re-acquaint her with what she'd been missing for 36 months plus..<br />She was eager to make up for lost time..<br />Eager to clear out all the cobwebs..<br />Wee hours of midnight, she whispers “<b>You make me feel like a woman</b>”..<br /><br />Next morning.. showered..<br />Looking fresh to death..<br />Sits on the bed, facing me..<br />Legs crossed in yoga position..<br />Looking all serious, she asks..<br />"<b>Now that you've seen my C.V..... do I get the job?</b>"<br /><br />Do I look like the head of a human resources department?<br /><br />Have a good weekend people!!Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-23965603718857207372009-05-27T13:22:00.003+01:002009-05-27T13:31:39.787+01:00Everybody Nose..<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Sh0w33Dg90I/AAAAAAAAAJs/zV-MswGtx_Q/s1600-h/simple+face.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 181px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340478469360908098" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/Sh0w33Dg90I/AAAAAAAAAJs/zV-MswGtx_Q/s200/simple+face.bmp" /></a>I was lying on a bed that felt.. sinfully soft..<br />And the view..<br />Was glorious..<br /><br />Her hair, fresh from a steamy shower, was wet..<br />Her eyes, closed in orgasmic expectancy..<br />Nipple rings glistened off the rays of the rising sun, straying through the open curtains..<br />Her tummy honed from years of pounding treadmills..<br />Knees bent as she squatted..<br /><br />Her third piercing..<br />Hovered just above my face..<br />Just above my lips..<br />Nestled in a delicate place between her legs..<br />Between those labia majora lips..<br /><br />I flicked at it..<br />Spelling imaginary letters of the alphabet with my tongue..<br />Swirling in circles and straight lines round the little silver ring..<br /><br />Not sure what it was exactly..<br />The general ambience of the room..<br />Or the redbull & vodka coursing through our veins..<br />Or my vicious tongue game..<br /><br />’Cause one minute..<br />She was sighing quietly..<br />Her body rocking backwards & forwards..<br />The next minute..<br />She was talking gibberish..<br /><br />"<i>Do you la la la... baby?<br />Ohhh.. it's so.. Ah.. Slooo..<br />Bay.. Baby.. See how.. No..<br />Oh no.. I don't want to.. Oh no..<br />Don't let me.. Please don't let..<br />What are you.. what are you doi..</i>"<br /><br />She paused..<br />For a few seconds..<br />Then her body quaked..<br />Letting out a blood curling wail..<br /><br />A couple of minutes later..<br />She was lying besides me..<br />An occasional shiver traversing her body..<br /><br /><i>"Damn..!! That was gooooood.."</i> She said smiling smugly, looking sideways at me.. "<i>I did say you'd enjoy finding my little gem.."</i><br /><b>"Uhm.. Only you forgot to mention you're a walking tsunami"</b>, I replied, as I looked round for tissue...<br /><br />She reached across to hold my hands down..<br />As she licked her juice trails off me..<br />My ears..<br />My cheeks..<br />My neck..<br />Slowly.. Sensually..<br /><br /><b>"You know what you're doing to me, don't you?”</b> I whispered hoarsely..<br />She glanced over her shoulder, saying "<i>Roc, I can SEE what I'm doing to you</i>"<br /><br />"<i>You know</i>.." She kissed me "..<i>what I</i>.." and kissed me "..<i>feel like</i>.." and kissed me, "..<i>right now</i>?" she asked as she kissed me again.<br />"<b>What? </b>" I asked, watching her warily...<br />"<i>Everybody nose</i>" she replied, as she stepped off the bed..<br />My eyebrows creased, as I tried to make sense of what she said "<b>You've lost me babe, 'everybody knows' what? </b>"<br />"<i>Roccc!! Not 'everybody knows'.. I meant.. </i>", she giggled, "<i>..Everybody nose</i>" tapping her nose for emphasis.<br /><br />Reaching into her handbag..<br />She brought out a slim metallic case..<br />And showed me the contents..<br /><br />“<i>Coke baby</i>..” she said<br />Pouring a bit on the table..<br />She made a straight line with a bank card..<br />Whipped out a little straw..<br />And glanced at me..<br />“<i>Are you still lying there, Roc?</i>”Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-8567293705301608522009-05-20T16:22:00.006+01:002009-05-20T16:38:44.041+01:00Speechless then & speechless now..<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/ShQgnbSYJdI/AAAAAAAAAJk/t3NUR1bsiAw/s1600-h/black+man.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337927320052704722" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/ShQgnbSYJdI/AAAAAAAAAJk/t3NUR1bsiAw/s200/black+man.jpg" /></a>Yesterday was a bit odd..<br />Every couple of minutes..<br />The rain and sunshine kept interchanging..<br />And every couple of minutes..<br />My usually-calm-mind went into overdrive..<br /><br />My emotional sided brain was mulling over..<br />What post to should go up next..<br />There's the sequel to my last post, ‘<a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/2009/05/when-celibacy-calls.html"><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>When celibacy calls</strong></span></a>’, titled, '<em><strong>So Google wrote me</strong></em>'<br />There's the sequel to Paige's story, ‘<a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/2009/03/nipples-and-nibbles-sequel.html"><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Nipples & Nibbles</strong></span></a>’, tentatively titled '<strong><em>Me, you & who??</em></strong>'<br />There's my take on a little excerpt from Ms. Shona's manuscript, that I titled, '<em><strong>Death was her addiction</strong></em>'.<br />There's the sequel to Emem's story ‘<a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/2009/05/every-girls-got-secret.html"><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Every girl’s got a secret</strong></span></a>’, tentatively titled '<strong><em>Sex Weed, Everybody Nose</em></strong>'<br />Then there are a couple of in-the-pipeline posts..<br />'<strong><em>Roc, Rape & Retribution</em></strong>', as well as, '<strong><em>Arranged marriage needed! ASAP!</em></strong>'<br /><br />However, my rationale sided brain was also telling me to..<br />Finish sorting out the designs for <a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/">Rocnaija</a> Apparel & get that site up and running..<br />Read the small print on book publishing that my friend thoughtfully sent across..<br />And start working on that collection of short <strike>erotic</strike> exotic stories, that might one day evolve into a book..<br />GidiBlogs..<br />Plus, I hadn't even touched my 'Spoken Visuals' concept, inspired by the spoken word..<br />Coupled with my day job.. And my usual random thought process..<br /><br />Yesterday was a bit odd..<br /><br />Somewhere in between though.. I had a call from Zainab..<br /><br />Might go more in-depth about her someday..<br />But basically, I've known her for about seven years..<br />She's been through some harsh & dire situations..<br />I was one of the few people she knew she could count on asides from her family.<br />After loads of different stuff.. She finally moved to the UK.<br />In a better zone, mentally & financially, but going on 37 with no man was hard...<br />Anyways, she finally met someone..<br />They been married a year plus some..<br />They’re both not young.. and they were trying hard for a baby..<br />But no luck.. So it meant more drama from his family..<br />Then some months back.. she called.. she was ecstatic.. she was pregnant..<br />After all the prayers.. the drugs.. the day-counting.. the hospital check-up's.. the tears..<br />I was so glad for her, I was speechless.. didn’t know what to say..<br /><br />Yesterday, we spoke again..<br /><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: Hi, Roc..<br />Roc: <em>Hey! What’s up? </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: I’m in the hospital..<br />Roc:<em> Really??? Why?? What’s wrong? What’re you doing there? </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: Noticed some blood, two days ago.. The doctors did some checks.. and they said my womb had opened..<br />Roc: <em>WHAT?! How? Why?</em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: They did a surgical procedure to tighten it.. and they said to go home and just monitor it and call if anything happens..<br />Roc: <em>Oh.. So what happened..? </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: My water broke yesterday.. and I’ve been having contractions..<br />Roc: <em>How far gone are you?</em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: Twenty three weeks and two days, today. The doctors said the baby or myself might catch an infection with the water breaking.. But the chances of the baby's survival are next to nothing.<br />Roc: <em>Nooooo... How old does the baby have to be?<br /></em><strong>Zee</strong>: At least 24 weeks, to at least have a slim chance of surviving.. I’m a week short..<br />Roc: <em>Oh no.. How about your hubby? Have you told your mom? </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: He’s here.. Yeah, I've told her.. She's praying..<br />Roc: <em>I’m speechless Zee… We can only pray.. That’s all we can do.. Pray. </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: I know.. I’ve cried so much over the last few days.. but me crying isn’t helping matters or changing anything..<br />Roc: <em>What hospital are you in? </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: St. Mary’s..<br />Roc: <em>Okay.. I’m driving now.. I’ll call you back when I get home..<br /></em><strong>Zee</strong>: Alright Roc, talk to you later..<br />Roc: <em>Yeah.. Bye.. </em><br /><strong>Zee</strong>: Bye..Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-22625652647206643132009-05-17T20:05:00.006+01:002009-05-17T21:28:30.158+01:00When celibacy calls..Just a couple of random thoughts here..<br /><br />Bored.. On a train home..<br /><br />Never blogged on a Sunday..<br />Don't think I have anyways..<br />So breaking a <strike>meaningless</strike> unspoken rule..<br /><br /><strong><a href="http://sexywriterchic.blogspot.com/">Flabby</a></strong> & <strong><a href="http://theartofrememory.blogspot.com/">Loila</a></strong> - '<em>loosely based on true occurrences'</em> a la Roc definition..<br />Real people, real situations..<br />But sequence & timing of events might differ in some cases.<br />Sometimes identities are protected.. And sometimes not.<br /><br />Why are trains so noisy?<br />Can't someone come up with some electromagnetic technique?<br />Where trains just hover over the railtrack..<br />Using GPS or something to stay on course?<br /><br />Ms. <a href="http://shonavixen.blogspot.com/">Shona</a> didn't get my '<em>Kanye - Good life</em>' gag on her last post. :(<br /><br />Best philosophy for when celibacy calls?<br />Switch your phone off!<br />"<em>Sorry bro, no network</em>"<br /><br />Thinking about having guest-bloggers on <a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/">rocnaija</a>..<br />On a monthly basis.. or something..<br />So if you're interested holla at your boy..<br /><br />For early adapters with internet-enabled phones..<br />I’ve just re-upped a ‘<em>RocNaija</em> <em>on your mobile</em>’ link..<br />At the top of this homepage..<br />Quicker upload time for your iphones, pda’s and all that..<br /><br />Uhm.. Just out of curiosity..<br />Can you get sore throat from cunninglin-<em>kini?</em><br /><br />A few good people seemed to misunderstand my penultimate post..<br /><a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/2009/05/waste-of-saliva.html">Waste of saliva</a>.. As a critique of gossip sites like bossip & perez hilton..<br />Wasn’t the case..<br />They get paid to do it.. Can’t hate on their grind..<br /><br />Got an email from some travel company in Asia..<br />Wanting to place ads on <a href="http://www.rocnaija.com/">rocnaija</a>..<br />I reckon I'll wait & hope <em>LaSenza</em> rings.. someday..<br /><br />A friend wants an appreciation day after every birthday.<br />Says “<em>one day just isn't enough</em>.”<br />I think it's easier to just name the month after yourself, like <a href="http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/730112/posts"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">this dude right here</span></strong></a>..<br />He even a month after his mom..<br /><br />Does anyone believe in horoscopy, psychics, palm readers & all that bladderdash?<br />Here's what mine said in the <em>londonpaper </em>last week.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Click to enlarge</span></em><br /><p><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/ShBzF5SKbQI/AAAAAAAAAJM/H6QJejN8PEo/s320/lpaper2.jpg" /><br />And yes, the sole reason for mentioning that, is to alert you.<br /><em>October </em>sounds pretty boring, <em><strong>Roc</strong>tober </em>has a nice ring to it, no..?<br /><br />Anyways some weeks back, Google wrote me a letter..<br /><br />**<em>Hmm.. this post is getting too long.. So, more on Google after the cut.** </em></p><p>Have a good week beautiful people!!</p>Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6951534634927604011.post-58070249545215977982009-05-14T15:52:00.004+01:002009-05-14T16:04:48.295+01:00Every girl's got a secret.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SgwwgOaY9bI/AAAAAAAAAI8/kDbxkxPFc1Q/s1600-h/next+post+copy.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 163px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335692988709926322" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_tuuxSC7-ofU/SgwwgOaY9bI/AAAAAAAAAI8/kDbxkxPFc1Q/s200/next+post+copy.jpg" /></a> I didn't look at the number.. I just picked it when it rang..<br /><br />“<em>Can you pick me up at Kings Cross station, in about three hours, Roc</em>?”<br />“<strong>Why</strong>?” I replied “<strong>What’s happening at Kin.. Wait.. hold on a sec</strong>..”<br />Quick glance at the number again.. Perplexed..<br />“<strong>Hey, I thought you were in France</strong>?” I said..<br />“<em>I am! But I'm getting the Eurostar any minute now.. Swapped sim cards early... So, quick, can you</em>?”<br />“<strong>Uh.. uhm.. no worries.. call me when you get in</strong>..” I said<br />“<em>Aww.. thanks! You’re a star</em>!”<br /><br />I hung up..<br />Surprised the call even came through in the first place..<br /><br />I’d not seen Emem in close to two years..<br />Or heard from her, for that matter..<br />We’d always had a platonic..<br />But not-so-platonic relationship..<br />We’d kissed but not a lot..<br />Touched but not a lot..<br />Never really gone beyond that..<br />Then.. she said, she’d met someone..<br />She was moving to France with him..<br />Plus she was tired of London..<br />Plus she’d learn a new language..<br />Plus..<br />The list went on..<br /><br />Three hours & a quarter later..<br />She walked out..<br />Looking prettier than I last remembered..<br />We hugged.. talked.. laughed..<br />She was hungry.. For a burger..<br />I put her suitcase in the car boot..<br />And we walked..<br /><br />I watched as she picked out the pickles from her Big Mac..<br />She really did look.. different..<br /><br />Looking at her quizzically, I asked “<strong>Did you.. dye your hair</strong>?”<br />She giggled.. “<em>I didn’t think you would notice.. Had did it like this for about five months</em>”<br />“<strong>How come? What did</strong>…” raising my eyebrows “..<strong>have to say about it</strong>?”<br />“<em>Oh him.. we broke up just before I did it.. so in some ways dying my hair was kinda like therapy for me</em>”<br />“<strong>Really? Aww</strong>..” I said, smiling as I feigned pain.<br />She laughed.. “<em>Don’t even go there</em>..”<br />“<strong>So what else did you do..? Scratch his car? Paint Monaco red on with his credit card?</strong>”<br />She smiled at me mischievously..<br />Her lipstick staining the straw she sucked on..<br />“<em>I... I’ll just show you</em>” she said, leaning forward..<br />She placed her left hand over my right..<br />And pulled it towards her left breast..<br /><br />She wasn’t wearing a bra..<br />I could feel her sheer blouse..<br />I could feel her nipple..<br />And I could feel metal..<br /><br />“<strong>Girl! You didn’t</strong>!!” I chortled, drawing away, shocked..<br />“<em>Oh yes I did! Both of them</em>..” she had that mischievous smile again.. “<em>…and …somewhere else.</em>”<br />“<strong>Really</strong>?!”<br />“<em>Hmmm.. Roccccc</em>!!” she said as she laughed.. “<em>What are you thinking</em>?”<br />“<strong>Err.. Nothing.. How come you never told me..</strong>”<br />“<em>My lil’ secret, Roc.. Every girl’s got one.. Besides</em>..” she replied as she finished her drink and reached for her coat. “..<em>it’ll be more fun watching you find out yourself</em>.”Rochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12910241839180201273noreply@blogger.com