DIARY

Anonymous Confesses

When I was eleven years old growing up in the townships where everybody lies their way to get ends, a friend of mine, I’ll call him Jimmy to save myself from an overdue litigation process, once came to me with this broad smile that can only be seen on Colgate advertisements (I hated that smile) and revealed to religious me that the purest unadulterated bliss ever was found in sex- or it was sex. At eleven I asked myself how did he know about that since me and him haven’t even yet started receiving every young man’s first freebie, a wet dream. I only discovered years later that he was taking me for a ride and had to find out by myself that there was indeed bliss beyond sex. I had to find out first hand and first time, as we all know by now was rather an adrenaline rush, scary, unprotected, quick and anti-climaxic.

Now when years later at college I saw a similar smile on Bobby (that’s Robert for some) I became concerned. Now Bob was Caucasian and the population demographics and perversion figures at the time suggested that he knew a lot about S&M than most of us, me included. But when he came to class one morning smiling like he’d had an overdose of happy pills I became worried, more since he had a habit of entertaining me over cappuccino and Marlboros (he smoked) at the canteen with what I called “little white lies” not because they were mythically innocent but because he was white. He, before his filter could catch the flame from the plastic lighter he was using was quick telling me that the night before he and Nikki (Nikki who?) have had the purest synthetically prepared hormone busting unadulterated round of blissfully intense oral sex, first time nogal. I swear I saw little Jimmy’s face with a missing incisor in Bob’s cigarette ravaged one as he told me how they came to it. How? Well, one thing led to another. A cliché perhaps.

I can’t lie and say it didn’t get my juices boiling and willy excited since Bob was a gifted storyteller but I resolved that minute, the longest minute of my life with Bob that I was going to do it, even if it meant planning it with the precision of Operation Desert Storm. I was going to be Norman Schwarzkopf (Colin Powell perhaps) for one week. One good thing about me is that I normally end up getting the things I want, no matter how awkward they may seem.

My first obstacle was that Mimi, my girlfriend then was a devout Catholic who not only didn’t believe in sex before marriage, but not even in condoms. She harboured ambitions of being the first female pope, I suspected. So, I concluded that not even Schwarzkopf, Dick Cheney or Powell could have conquered such a fortified faith. Thus, Mimi was out of the picture and a substitute with a big healthy appetite for adventure was found. Her name was Lizzy, spoiled-adrenaline-junkie-model C brat who not only carried a dildo in her handbag but also liked to flirt with me sucking on it gently, making willy to complain about my quiet diplomacy.

So, Lizzy was to be given the impression that I loved her and that I was a Wish For A Dream patron whose one ultimate fantasy was oral sex. She was charitable but not stupid. She wanted to know what was in it for her. Well, I placed my chips on the table and promised her a muff, which her orders were that I had to be the first one to go down then she, my willing guinea pig will milk and leave me, not only dry but a made-misogynist. I loved the dry part.

The first thing I did was to hit CNA while it was still CNA and pick up some relevant magazines and go for the juicy letters. Next, countless dirty games with myself later, I sneaked into an Adult Video shop and walked out with two fresh French flicks that only left me dying for a dose of non-realism courtesy of my Swazi spliff. Lizzy, I figured must have waxed her legs many times to get herself used to the irritation that normally comes with first time waxes. For obvious reasons I fancied her punani with all its glitz and glory not shaven. Less make-up, no pussy colognes, no inhibitions and no biting please (remove your incisors if you can Lizzy). Lizzy, like me, was no sexpert but faking it. The stage was set. The venue, my place, the setting, more like the set of Sex and the City (Carey Bradshaw's bedroom), the music, Michael Learns To Rock, lighting, red and blue with lots of candles and Moet on ice. The date, Friday, 18h00 for 22h00. Admission, her medical records to see if she doesn't get seizures and bite her tongue, which today was going to be wrapped around my friend, Willy. Voyeurs welcome.

First times are always scary and nothing can prepare you for a moment of crossing the bridge, the rite of passage. All the glossies and videos plus seven breath-ins never prepared me for when I heard a knock on my door. I swear my heart skipped like it did when I first tasted a kiss. Lizzy was all that and like Eric Clapton I echoed, “you look wonderful tonight” she said thank you and proceeded past me to the lazy-boy to perch herself there. She smelled so good I felt that I needed to brush-floss-brush my teeth again before I took the honour of going down on her.

I went to the sofa and touched her silky legs, she asked me if I had condoms, just incase. I said "no" she wanted to know why? “Because condoms are superficial, they think they are the best things to happen to human beings since sex was invented”. She reasoned that if sperm was liquid gold all males would be using condoms and whores wouldn’t allow any condom wise male to procure from them. Busy seductively sucking on her index finger she said that men didn’t like condoms because sperm was sh*t and of no monetary value and they were just dumping it on women. To me all the sex politics didn’t matter as long as she was not resisting my journey northwards.

When amid all the ecstasy and adrenaline rush she peeled off her clothes I felt myself losing control and contemplated excusing myself so I could light a ready-made pencil spliff, inhale hungrily to slow down my responses and delay my nut which was tired of knocking and threatening to break down the door. I thought of proposing a 69 since there were chances that she might not give me my blowjob, which was the reason why we were around such decadence in the first place. 69? Amateurs? No ways.

When she perched her naked self on the sofa and invited me, I played my part, damn, my fantasy was coming live and I was suddenly nursing a rippling heartbeat. I idly took off my clothes to her blushing at witnessing Willy standing to attention like a soldier on parade.

To sound less explicit I today confess for the first time in eight years that I failed to stop my seed’s explosive emergency exit courtesy of Willy just ten seconds into sinking my teeth into the juiciest saucy piece of flesh since the fruit of wisdom. The oomph was just wow. Lizzy couldn’t stop herself losing control and calling me names (all names except of Bill Clinton)

Just as I was disappointed that I had lost the drive for good, it was Lizzy’s turn to make me a misogynist. I thought about Viagra since I couldn’t imagine Willy rising to the occasion. But then I guess the doctors who invented the blue pill obviously used some sticky female saliva as Lizzy’s fellatio defied everything Freud ever dreamt of. The job climaxed in an earth-shattering-twenty five volt-electrocuting-spasmodic-gravity defying-tantrum-throwing demon -evoking giant boo-ya-ka (a throwdown or a nut to end all nuts). Fifteen minutes later I was madly in love with Lizzy and far from misogynist. It was the first time for both of us but unlike with sex it never left me disappointed. The truth was, I enjoyed it but the thrill wasn’t exactly what I read about in the dirty magz I used for preparation and what Bob described to me, neither was I lost in passion like the paid actors I saw on the skin flicks, French men with curly oily hair who, though they were paid couldn’t fade Lizzy’s acting at the cunnilingus.

First time it was good, but years later I’ve got an addiction. Can anybody please get me a Blowjob Anonymous number? I think I’m so into it I might as well write a book about it. I discovered earlier this year that my Mimi has got a baby (out of the wedlock nogal, if only I stayed a little bit longer) and named it after me (such a funny name, ha-ha) that Bob was lying that morning at the canteen as he confessed to me this year (minus Marlboro filters later) following his discovery of reality and his new found born-again Christian status. Lizzy disappeared into the glitz of sub-urbia (good for her). And me damn, I just kissed and told. Well, that’s a page from my 1994 diary and it feels like an oomph.

UPDATE; Lizzy has just been appointed Project Manager for Blowjob Anonymous and her real name is Nomonde
Willy's name has been changed to Judas, after a few betrayals following alcohol and narcotics binges
Bob was recently promoted to Station Commissioner for Gr************k SAPS
The little lying friend passed away last year of complications related to a heart bypass surgery