Silk Sheets

Love, lust, desire and all that spicy sweetness in between. The hopeful romantic in me invites you to indulge.


I miss your laugh. I miss listening to our playlist, Strawberry Sunshine. I miss how you clean up my kitchen to my level of ordered perfection . My tongue misses your balls..Lord they are unique! I miss pulling your beard. I miss rolling my eyes at you when you buy chocolate because you are sure my snobbish addicted ass might like it. I miss looking at you admirably gaze at me when I talk about issues I’m passionate about. I miss taking a spoon of your party Jollof..okay three spoons, before I begin eating my Amala and Ogunfe. I miss our lunch dates..gosh I don’t eat there anymore because you were a major ingredient to its flavour. I miss strutting around in white cotton thongs and bodysuits while you call me your Goddess.
I miss closing my eyes when you whisper my name. Only my parents call my name so exquisitely. I miss enjoying the many ways you show interests in my wants with credit alerts. I miss, I miss, oh I miss how my nipples bud browner when you say passionate and romantic words to me in Hausa. I miss praying for your soul while you give me reallllyyyy great, toe-curling, back arching head. Lotus misses dripping on your bearded chin. I miss how patient you are with my sporadic silliness. I miss us being goofy in the shower. How do you never see that splash of ice cold water everytime?! I miss I miss you. but I’m not so pathetic that I’ll look for you in another man. I miss how you cheer me on, telling hard truths and being so supportive. You are empathic, compassionate, loyal, fair, ambitious, emotionally intelligent, too much for an African man. I’m patiently waiting to show you how much I’ve missed you when you’re back. So I can watch your eyes brighten like a million phone flashes of a concert crowd when I tell you I love you.



How we met was almost romantic, almost.  Was it amazing, sensational? Nah, cosmic maybe. That was two weeks ago. Our connection was instant. We had literary talked every day since then.  Until yesterday night. I had dropped off the phone at the Slot office alongside my warranty for repairs this morning. I had been working online when he had called my line. So engrossed in noting the trading of Bitcoins, Rippler, and other cryptocurrency for the day, I hadn’t noticed my phone vibrating. My white earphones were blaring Burna Boy’s new rhythmic album, Outside. The phone vibrated till it fell off the sofa unto the tiled floor. Through the unresponsive spiderweb-like cracked screen I saw his caller I.D. I was furious and sad.

We hadn’t spoken since and I missed listening to his voice. I wonder what he was up to this Thursday afternoon.  I left my cubicle and walked closer to Abigail, our social media expert. We decided to walk to KFC before the Alimosho roundabout to eat lunch. We began talking about out how the Chinese new year had devalued the coins. How I had to explain that to account owners at their month’s end account analysis. She listened and laughed. She complained Twitter was a landmine where any and everyone could get dragged and turned into a meme. If they were simply stupid, dishonest or politically incorrect. I complimented her for the new series of short articles, ‘Cryptocurrency: What You Need to Know’, she publishes on the firm’s Medium blog. The sun shone down on her long black braids and my ankara sneakers. Our melanin of chocolate and mocha tones were popping!  I put my hands in the pockets of my peach cotton dress. The flared details framing my wrists fell out of the side pockets.  My sunglasses and sunscreen thankfully blocked the sun rays. We had walked for 5 mins with a few people walking past. The occasional hawker with a large bowl on her head filled with ice-cold plastic bottles of water, Bigi, Pepsi, Fanta, Coca-cola, Big Cola would slowly walk by. The sound of conductors calling passengers to halting yellow Danfos , honking speeding cars and slowly building traffic up ahead at the wide roundabout. The bustling sounds of Lagos added a beat to our chat.

My right hand collected my debit card from our server and returned it to my tiny hot pink sequins wallet. The hand shot up above my left ear and tucked away some of my long, kinky hair into the large low puff. I turned around to find a table while Abigail carried our tray  filled with packs of crispy chickens, ketchup, cutlery, rice, chips and ice cream cups. I looked around the red decor of the restaurant and saw him walk in. His gaze was on me and I knew by the way my heart beat faltered I was falling in love. My breath was caught as Abigail walked around my still curvy figure. The red tray was a sharp contrast the beauty of her wine ARFICAN QUEEN t-shirt tucked into dark blue mom jeans. I noted as she walked towards an empty small table.  His tall slender frame looked so handsome in a plain grey t-shirt and denim. A tiny gold chain glistened and disappeared into the round neck of his t-shirt. The glistening accented his glowing yummy coffee brown skin as he strode closer. I knew I was blushing, which means my dark chocolate plum cheeks shone with excitement. Isn’t it magical when the stars aline in front of you? ‘Hurry up’, I wanted to shout. Wait! So I can catch my breath I murmur to myself.

‘Hey’. He said stopping in front of me. His blank expression metamorphosed into a worried small frown.  ‘You! You called me till my phone fell and broke!’ I blurted accusingly. He froze and frowned. ‘I haven’t been able to reach you so I went to check you at the office. I was so worried! I was told you came to eat here’. He responded, continuing ‘I’m sorry about your phone. Where is it?’

‘I’m fixing it over at Slot’, I said calmly smiling. The phone is less than a month old. I had saved from two months salary after removing investments, emergency savings, bills, responsibilities, tithe each month. It had been a gift to myself for a wonderful financial year in 2017.  We walked towards seated Abigail. I felt his gaze on my wide hips and round butt that pulled my dress higher at the back. I introduced him to my colleague then we sat down. He was polite, listened to our techie conversation and asked questions. Then confessed he was a bitcoin multimillionaire himself. He bought us more chicken and ice cream. Watching him fare excellently well in a conversation with semi-militant feminist, Abigail about women and tech in Nigeria made me happy. Once in a while he held my left hand and gave me brief loving looks. It reminded me of our first conversation where I realised I could fall in love with this man. Sitting back I spelt the firm’s blog address while he typed it into his browser. We had met at a mutual friend’s fashion store launch party. He’s an start-up investor, software analyst, YouTuber and retired investment banker. He is also a darling for driving all the way to Ojo to look for me. Odd, I was wearing the dress I purchased that day. We silently stared at each other when Abigail asked how we’d communicate till I got my phone back.  I wanted to kiss his soft brown lips. The silence was broken when I started arguing I won’t take one of his offered iPhone. I mean we are still dating after all. My colleague stood up smiling. We all walked back to his polished wine Benz.


My Female Condom(FC2) review

Diary Entry Date- February 3,2018

Spot the Female Condom (FC2) sold at a subsidized rate in Nigeria by Society For Family Health. Female Health Company (UK) Plc manufactured this condom. I bought this from a female student selling it on campus. It is the most affordable female condom I have come across in Lagos. Many are sold for N2,000 to N3,000 unlike this N200(prices may vary with vendors).


..the pack the condoms came in.

Society For Family Health always have affordable contraceptives. I used their Combination3, an oral contraceptive sold at the subsidized price of N100 for months last year. I love the packaging of these female condoms. It’s bright, unique, durable and lightweight. There are a manufacturing date and expiration date. Also a NAFDAC registration number is printed at the back of the pack. These are important because they show it is fit for use and not counterfeit.


an illustrated direction of use circled for emphasis by African waist beads.

Now the instructions on how to use the condoms seem easy.  


Diary Entry Date-March 18, 2018

Finally! I decided to  end my abstinence spell. After being eager to try out the female condom, I was rather hesitant. Emotions I associate with trying a new sex position, contraception or toy.

It was a whole new experience inserting the female condom. Initially, I stood with one small feet on the floor the other feet on a sitted thigh and tried inserting the smaller ringed tube end in it. The ring was the circumference of an unused male condom. It bounced out of my vestibule–twice. My attractive nude partner sat patiently watching with erect interest. Then I had to lie on my back to try insertion again. Frequently checking instructions on the back of its large white wrap that he held. I successfully inserted the condom—pushing it as deep as I could—wondering if it would shift from the 8 shape (I had bent it into to make insertion easier) into a circle. It was different experience from a diaphragm usage direction my mother described to me years ago. Unlike a male condom, it felt like the superlight latex tube had dissolved. Only its larger circumference ends stuck out of my vestibule like a tiny dainty napkin. I rubbed my lubricant oiled fingers on his chest and pulled his shoulder forward with my right palm.

Using the female condom was easy and comfortable. I knew I wouldn’t be allergic to the condom when my vestibule and vagina expanded without peppery painfulness I usually experience with Durex.  Although I felt the stretching pain of not having had penetrative sex in months. At first my partner said he could only feel it and not me. This I found odd because I felt immerse uninterrupted pleasure his penis and glorious paced thrusts gave. After a few thrusts the sheath went invisible I suppose. The female condom didn’t slip out with thrusts while in the missionary position.  While rocking my hips back and forth atop him, I asked if he could feel the condom and he said no. To feel the intensity of my sensual, rhythmic rocking and thrusts I closed his eyelids. I whispered erotically, ‘keep your eyes closed and feel me, the sensations and our orgasms.’ Leaning back and holding his hands I increased the tempo of my bouncing on my erect sheathed penis. I slowed and rhythmically picked up pace. Occasionally I moved his clutched palms to my breasts and butt cheeks. Repeating the ride with full control on top, I slowed to a halt when I felt sore.

‘I was worried you’ll penetrate and withdraw with the whole condom.’ I told my cute, fair-skinned companion after our beads of sweat and heart rates slowed down. He chuckled then kissed my left nipple.

Removing the condom was interesting. I gathered the protruding latex to avoid warm, cream spillage and tugged. The condom had stretched to line the walls of my vagina. After tugging thrice and pulling four inches of latex that stretched. Without pain the smaller ring popped out surprisingly as a circle. There were no spillage or tears. It was a pleasure filled, interesting experience.  I can ascertain its the perfect fit for me. Using it made me confident that I was proactive about my sexual health. My male partner who doesn’t enjoy male condoms felt absolutely comfortable using it. Also, I had no allergic latex irritations or soreness. Now I have to restock more FC2 into my medicine bag because the honeypot is officially open for 2k18!


my Vagina is not an embassy!

There are a lot of harmful sex practices that inhibit me and other African women from being sex positive. I had a conversation over the weekend with an admirer about a no-bra day to treat heat rashes underneath my full breasts. I got upset that he referred to my no-bra day as me “terrorising/ tormenting everyone”. This ‘joke’ led me to converse about ascribing free female sexual expression as terrorism, oversexualization of the black female form and rape culture. For chocolate sake! My nipples are not nuclear war heads of mass destruction. I tried discouraging him from saying that because it encourages negative sex perceptions and rape culture. Phew! It feels good to rant. I am still on my abstinence spell and its been rejuvenating and peaceful. Sometimes I wonder where my sex interest travelled to. I am grateful to have a sex diary to record experiences, share musings and encourage sex positivity. #blessed. I’m also grateful for a few sex positive spaces for African women online. I MIGHT share some of my favourite works from them soon.

Apart from jokes that promote rape culture or invalidate free female sexual expression. I dislike despise other negative sex practice. Like exs or past sexual partners who try to have sex after an ended relationship or sex-utationship.

“A woman’s body is her country.”- Ruth Behar

Your ancestors are not citizens of my body. My vagina is not an embassy! You CANNOT fuck and go as you wish. Once our relationship/sex-utationship has ended I take no dick applications to enjoy my body.  This Okafor’s Law (once you’ve had sex with a woman you can always have sex with her) nonsense has got to stop. We all aren’t horny, emotional unintelligent, affection starved, low self esteemed wreaks. It’s just as harmful a sex practice as assuming first consent suffices for further sexual acts. I feel it erases a woman’s body autonomy. It isn’t yours or society’s booty. It is MINE. Deported past sex partners negotiate for “friendships” which is often times awkward. Taking advantage of this uneasy treaty, some exs try manipulating dead feelings to have sex with me. It’s appauling. It’s not bad to try, I know. Previous emotional connections may be a valid reason to initiate sex.

But, my vagina is not an embassy!  What is bad is when you don’t respect and accept my NO. What is hurtful is when you want to have sex with a person you’ve hurt and or abused. What is wrong is you trying to dump toxic lust wastes in my country. Respect our boundaries and manage your sex expectations. There is nothing wrong in talking about having sex or a mutual decision to have sex with a past partner. Don’t create false safety only to be rubbing my sleeping butt with your penis at 2am. Or steal kisses when I’m being supportive during your break up.  Or text me in the middle of a work day to “seduce” me with crude recollections that you’ve previously slut shamed me about. I thought back to the great, good, hilarious and horrible experiences after my last sex fast.

I recalled when a past sex partner who reverted back to a friend tried this with me during a sleep over. Inappropriate comments compliments, propositions that reopened healing wounds, crawling fingers mapping my body during the night, me swallowing repulse, irritating promises of emotional investments. I had to grab his hands, insist on my no and state my vagina is not an embassy. Before I could sleep peacefully. His girlfriend’s hand bag glared at us. The next morning as I typed up an article and read Medium a cute lady walked into his room. Surprise, Surprise! That was his side chick. I felt humoured and relieved about my choice. Previously, I had ended our short romance because he was dishonest about his other relationships. I guess I might have varying levels of attraction to exs or downright miss sex with them but I own my body. I did have sex with an ex once. What?! We mutually agreed to have sex and I was horny. He and his girlfriend made up two days later. That would have been painful if I was pressured or persuaded to have the sex.  Plus I don’t have a sexually unhealthy thought that if I have sex I have diminished in some imaginary, societal dispensed “value”.



Compliments and Body Positivity

Kneeling down between my silky smooth thick thighs he gazed admirably at my breasts. The sun had finally set. It’s blueish gray cast from the window hid my discarded bra on his sofa. I smiled as his warm palms cupped my breasties. Darkness was descending to color our underwear clad nudity like brush strokes. Like past and future lovers, he whispered. ‘They are so soft’. To this statement of fact I blushed. ‘They deserve to be worshipped’, he added in awe after gently stroking and fondling their lush fullness.  ‘I know. I’m a goddess! That’s what most lovers say.’ Were a few responses I bit back into my mouth. With the pleasure budding in my nipples I had no time to cripple egos or be haughty. I used my left calf and right heel to pull his body closer to my smooth stomach demarcated into slouched folds. While his soft lips playing a love song to my breasts a few things came to my mind. Growth, Body Positivity and Compliments.

I had grown from the young woman who wouldn’t let her breasts out of their cages because I wasn’t comfortable with the faint streaks of cellulite on them then.  Neither was I still the self conscious lover that couldn’t strut around naked under the glare of a lit room nor slouch because I didn’t want my stomach folds to show.

The plus size woman I am now is body positive, healthy and wrapped in more fabulous skin! The real fashionistas are the fashion retailers that sell lingerie for my voluptuous size, sleeved tops for my flabby arms and denim that hug my smaller waist, big butt and curvy hips.  Being body positive isn’t only tied to stylish clothes but to increase. Increase in my self acceptance from hours of self compassionate compliments in front and away from mirrors. Increase in respect  for my unique body. Increased care about my physical well-being and its relation to my mental health. Staying hydrated, exfoilating, moisturizing, butt lifting lunges to core tightening crunches are some ways I take care of my body.

Remember that rad selfie I posted a while back? I wore a tight grey crop top, ankara neck piece and denim shorts. What did I caption it? ‘I no longer have the four stomach folds you used to play with’. I loved that post!

“I feel, being body positive means my body shape, structure, type matters enough to exist. To be loved, beautiful, taken care of, desired, lusted after or complimented. ”

It doesn’t need to be reengineered by fastenings, exercise or starvation dieting. I note the types and amounts of compliments I get from a lover during every interaction. ‘I love how you think’, isn’t the only compliment I accept or want.. Being body positive means I have sex with persons who respect and desire me. The partners who say ‘hey beautiful’ from miles away or waking up beside my kinky hair in chunky twists. Not someone who body shames or keep all their compliments in their throat.  I love appreciating sexual partners with compliments anywhere. Their time, scents, clothing, personality, ambition, support, etc. I’m there to help them get body positive or learn to appreciate compliments.