Dear Right Hand

Am not one of those people who let women sit on me so I tend to be ahead in my game. I prepare answers for every conceivable question I know might ruin the perfect arrangement I have with any lady. This includes the awestruck moments when out of nowhere she asks, So what do you call what we have? Come ‘ on I have had a perfect relationship with my right hand but I’m yet to answer that question. It has seen me through lonely nights, silently watched while I fantasize over Jessica Alba before I ultimately turn to it. It has been there for me through the good and the bad but one thing it has done so well that I wish it had better tits, smoother skin and sexy lips is that it has been there for me. All this time it has never nagged me, asked me where I was, with whom and why I seem to take it for granted.

Now if any man would find a more loyal friend than his right hand then he would gladly set the target(nay vow) “till death do us part.” Most men will ferociously deny any claim that they have turned to the hand when the nights were long, and women drifting apart but none will deny that one time or the other they have toyed with the idea to let the hand do the work. After all the right hand requires no promises spoken in haste and in expectation of sweaty ordeal , the case that it transfers no STD or asks for cover when used notwithstanding.

Now one wise lonely man once said something to do with great things, acts or people should be emulated or some clap trap whose meaning is close to that. I can bet a million barrels of Turkana oil that he was talking about his right hand (even if you take my bet I have never paid a bet and am not about to start). Men, it seems have learnt to adapt and stories are told of the days when the ingwe brothers found comfort in the den of their poultry or the Mijikenda men who when they had had enough of a tight-assed woman sitting on their back they let the ball roll from their courts, literally. By the way how come Maendeleo ya Wanaume has never given this Mijikenda men a lifetime award on behalf of all men. Trust me, men adapt and Nyeri men will soon surprise the world with their ingenuity. I propose they look into the anatomy of our pig brother who gives their women 30 minutes of orgasm, Woo Hooh! Call me a pig any day and I will buy you a drink, maybe more depending on the time of the month.

Back to the right hand, few men have stood to thank this close friend for the services HE has offered and a number are still in denial for the legendary contribution our common friend has accorded. In a night when a hyena howls in the distance and the crickets shrill their prayers for morning dew, man has always had a companion in bed, whether the women like it or not. A kange on a mat once told me “you can take away sex from the life of a man but you can never successful eliminate his orgasms” and I can’t agree more.

Sometimes I have had to let this friend of man play the second fiddle, and am sorry this is one of those times and for that I apologize. I apologize because I know that when my nights are restored to default I would have no friend to turn to but RH. I seek its permission because the times I have called on it before I have raped it. I have ravished the living hell out of its naiveté. I have defiled its innocence by my superior muscular ability and it has not taken me to no court, but has watched silently from the days I lose my sanity to the ones I realize that it’s obscene to use my sacred friend for such unmentionable acts.

Till next time my dear friend, I will let you in on a little secret. This princess am using as your replacement is not going to last. Here’s a punch line: Men are like spiderman, they have sticky hands every morning.

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5 responses to “Dear Right Hand

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