Sexual Mileage

I rarely dream.
Even when I do, I can’t remember the dream when I wake up.
It usually takes coincidence to make me remember I’ve dreamt.
Even then, its in bits and pieces.

But I remember this one.

Obviously the dream has been smoothened out for your ease of understanding.

I awoke in an alternate universe of sorts.
In that place, it was just like earth as we know it. Life was exactly as it is now…wherever you are.
The only anomaly was with us humans.
In my alternate universe we had luminous digits on our foreheads. Just like the dashboard of a car.

I will get to the digits later.

The digits were visible only if you wanted to see them. If I met you and gazed perfunctorily, I’d just see you. If I gazed purposefully at your forehead, the digits would come up for as long as I looked with the intent to see.

Now the digits…

Top right of the forehead showed the persons age.
The middle of the forehead showed the amount of sex had till date in kilometers… Oh yes!
Top left of the forehead showed the last ‘sexcapade’ in kilometers.

So at a glance you could ascertain the sexual experience/awareness of potential partners.

It was not clear in the dream how sexual activity was calculated and subsequently converted to kilometers, but it was a generally accepted system.

I was out on a date with a twenty-year old there. Her stats were mind boggling! She had tallied 146,646 kilometers already. Her last trip showed 2,347 kilometers… “Must have been an orgy or ménage à trois,” I thought.

Then there was my mate. A garrulous chap aged thirty. Always bragging about what a stud he was and how he had bedded all the girls (except your mum and sister of course), he had 25,000 kilometers and a last trip of 0.5 kilometers… Hmmm…masturbation or wet dream definitely.

Oh and sister so-and-so…big on church and religious activities.
Age 28
sexual mileage 205,311
Last trip 0.2 kilometers.
Guess she might have lived a tad permissively before giving her life to Christ. But, who am I to judge?

My ‘bestie’ was female. A living sexual fantasy, had all the attention and men begging with cash incentives.
Tuku had a sexual mileage of 0. Last trip 1,000. Age 33.
Incredulous I wangled a confession out of her.
She was still a virgin and was lesbian/bisexual. Always wanted to save it for someone she loved, who was heterosexual and who was more experienced… Like myself she shyly concluded.

“I’m not that experienced!” I replied hotly. Typically missing the emotional angle.

“Dan, you’re 35 years old. Your sexual mileage is 312,987 kilometers. Your last trip was 10,201 kilometers! We parted at 11 pm last night. Your last trip then was 6,000 kilometers. How did you rack up 10,201 kilometers in eight hours?!”

My live-in-lover told me I woke up crying out, “no…no…no…!!!”


Happy Eid el Kabir?

I had been driving around aimlessly. Officially the sallah holidays were slated for Monday and Tuesday, but Abuja was already empty. This was Sunday afternoon… Area 11 Garki bore striking similitude to Chernobyl.

I was bored. Lost. Pissed.
Not my ideal Sunday afternoon. I was bereft of excitement and desperately needed to get into some trouble… Yeah, I get that way occasionally.

I had just approached the intersection before the new CBN building in the CBD of Abuja. I slowed to a halt at the traffic lights, my eyes on the counter counting down at the red light; 10 seconds to green. Suddenly a Nissan 370z blazed past me. It beat the red light.

About 5 seconds later, the lights went green so I moved ahead. I was about a hundred metres from Ceddi Plaza when I saw her.

She was light skinned. Beautiful. Summer dress, sky blue I think, fluttering because of slight winds. Her hair was worn long…she looked like she was torn between keeping her hair out of her face, and her dress down.

Then as I slowed I saw her rump. The ‘miss’ had some serious ‘junk in the trunk!’ Not the obscene sort, this protuberance on the lady looked firm…worthy of closer inspection. If that sort of derrière cooked your noodles. I was not at all interested, but I slowed to perform my civic duties and issue a citizens’ arrest! We could not have seductresses and sirens causing anarchy and chaos on our streets!!

As I stopped in front of the ‘taste of heaven’, I heard the usually tragic screech of brakes applied suddenly. I braced myself for the corresponding crash but heard nothing. Looking around I eventually saw that Nissan 370z parked a little too close to my hood. He had apparently backed up and stopped too suddenly.
Looked like he had a problem with me, or the ‘Miss’.

I killed my engine and stepped out. Went round the front of my car toward the by now bewildered lady. Opened my mouth to say something to her when speedy Gonzalez intruded rudely.

“Hey darling…need a ride?”

I glanced at him incredulous, there is honor amongst thieves. I got here first! Ceteris paribus.

“I got here first…” I unnecessarily informed speedy Gonzalez.

The man actually shoved me aside to get to the Miss.

“Hey…!” I squeaked, my tenor tending alarmingly toward a feminine falsetto.

In response he whipped round and poked me in the chest. I poked him back…
He then supplied me with the hardest backhand slap I had ever received since boarding school.

“You want some more punk?” He growled at me.

“She is my wife”, I muttered evenly.

Unbelieving he turned to her for confirmation.
She nodded in affirmation.

She had called to say she had car troubles. She had gone shopping. She lived in diaspora, back only to spend a few days with me. I had been looking all over for her…worried.

I have never backed down from a legitimate cause. I do not lose battles or wars. I am not afraid; of blood or anything. And so I began taking off my Patek Philippe.

“Run…! Please!!” My wife screamed at him.