The Pain And Agony of Old Man Young Girl Relationship.
In the recent past I have seen a lot of hostility spread on the social media mainly between the so called team sponsor and the fisilets, to me they are all the same, the difference is the angle of approach that is assigned to each.
In reality of matters.
Let’s talk about sponsors. In definition they are men who should be sipping some low alcoholic drinks somewhere in company of their age mates. Else who should be engaged in endless arguments with their wives for pretense of forgetting to take their anti-hypertension pills which occupy 50 % of the bedroom side table. Those men who should be taking sugarless soya beverages that tastes like a mixture of earth and water with low sugar buns or biscuits. Those men who should be making the handles of their walking sticks smooth using sandpapers. Those men who are supposed to be visiting their dentist to have their dental impressions taken. Those men who should be basking in the sun to get their wrinkles straightened and the skin folds aired as they enjoy their pension. But instead, they choose to spend their golden years with some young 20 something year old , wild, emotionally unstable soul with a smooth soft supple skin, firm breasts, nice arse, several pairs of heels, cheap make up, flashy Brazilian weave in mixed colours, fake eyelashes, fake accents, and an empty bank account accompanied with self comforting phrases on instagram “haters gonna hate”, “watch my pace”, “imma steal your grandpa because older men are mature and rock big time”. But we all know he’s only getting ripe for God’s picking at His own time and liking. While their age mates team mafisi continue to suffer alone in their cubicles, hoping that tomorrow the sun will rise on their door steps.
After the sponsor has treated you to a five star hotel dinner for two, a full body massage, shopping, a few thousand shillings and a spank on your butt, after he miraculously changes life for you and you can’t believe how much you’ve been suffering before you met them, there comes a time to say ‘thank you sposnor, I’m blessed beyond measure’ That ‘thank you’ is a session which is not likely to last more than twenty minutes after you go out of town about a three hours drive where he owns a hacienda without the knowledge of his wife or family or a two hours flight to an exotic island. The further you go the shorter he will last.
You’re looking all glam.
So you get there and you’re looking all glam. You take room. Once inside, he touches your butt in a not so romantic way, it feels offensive, winks at you. His wink lasts longer than usual giving him a sheepish look. He has facial nerve problems. He must have forgotten not to wink, that move doesn’t look good on him, amnesia. It only the start of things, both of you decides to take a shower so you can be fresh for each other. It will take time with him or you getting to clean the skin under his belly or cleaning the skin folds you peruse and uncover. He has so much loose skin making some parts of his body yet to be discovered.
Ten Minutes turns into Hours.
After ten minutes of him struggling to take off his clothes because he has to stop to gasp for air or swallow his cardispirin, you finally get into the shower. You want to rub his neck, spice things up as he scrubs your back or puts his hands around your waist but his belly comes into the way of your romance. You literally have to go around him like a mugumo tree in order for things to change.
Out of the shower, you get touchy, tickle his feet but he doesn’t feel a thing, neuropathy. Running your hands through the few remaining strands of hair on his head only makes him sleepy and it’s not well when he sleeps, he snores like a broken power saw occasionally coughing then chewing loudly on something only God knows what.
When you engage on mouth to mouth kissing, he stops to wheeze and catch some air. Things get intense and your tongue finds way into his mouth and that’s when it happens, you break the kiss because the dentures fill his mouth. They came off. You didn’t know. You weren’t prepared. It’s not easy. You can’t undo what’s already done. You’re damaged.
He murmurs something that sounds like a sorry as he tries to hold an escaping drool with his palm, ” Fshoory” , people without molars drool a lot when they talk. When he’s fixing his dentures, you take the time to sip some wine or a strong high alcoholic drink or inhale some cocaine or inject some heroine and you even contemplate running away to oblivion.
With you now high as a kite, you somehow manage to make things rise to the occasion and hit the sheets. You try getting to some relatively normal positions but he stops, winces in pain as he holds his knee, arthritis. Minutes are spent rubbing some deep heat to get the knee function again.
He kisses your neck then suddenly stops and holds his chest. With eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets, he points to his bag. You get the bag and inside you find his antifailure medication. Jesus!! He’s going into cardiac failure!! He starts gasping!! You perform some CPR, which involves screaming as you call God, slapping him on the cheeks, fanning with a towel or the edge of your gown and pouring cold water on his naked withering body. He slowly comes back to life and asks, ” Did you climax honey ? I heard you scream baibe. I felt you pinch my skin”, he must have forgotten that he almost died. “Yes you did!” you lie restoring his ego; you’ve to secure future sponsorship. No standards needed.
The Night Turns Sleep Less
With that he slips into some coma like sleep and you’ve to keep on checking his pulse to make sure he isn’t dead rest you’re charged with murder, a gold digging murderer with red thighs. You can’t sleep for the night. You realize how scary and ugly things can get because a man would have died on you, literally.