‘You are solid’ by Guest Contributor Ingrid

“You are solid,” he said as he patted my thighs. I smiled and asked if this was a bad thing. I don’t recall his answer. I’ve gained 45 pounds over the past 7 years since I first visited this island in 2007. For those who knew me when I weighed 120lbs, this is a lot. I’ve crossed over from wearing 2s and 4s to 8s. I’ve heard that the only people that matter in this case are me, myself, and I. If I am happy and ok with it, then that’s all that matters. So I didn’t really mind his calling me solid because I’ve actually come to take pride in it, because lord knows I have waited too long to gain this weight. I’m loving being solid and experiencing all my curves for the first time.

So I had sex with this man who called me solid, last night. After a year and five months of not having had any I had it. The tension had built up for a week. I had gone to the next island over for the day and his mother enlisted him to show me around. I had no intentions of fraternising with him beyond the day. But his smile was winsome and it felt like he had pulled out all the stops to be his best charming self. We hit it off from the very beginning. He had an inquisitive mind; he had done some research about Ghana before I showed up so he was full of questions. Our banter was friendly then slowly became a little flirtatious. He opened my door each single time we stopped for a site-see. He held out his hand to me, whenever there were steps or rocks. At the end of the evening when I got ready to board the boat to return to my island, I kissed him on the cheek. Later he said I owed him two more because it was a customary “three kisses” on the island. To say I was smitten was a bit of an understatement. We exchanged numbers so he could send me pictures from the day via Whatsapp. This morphed into a lengthy conversation and more flirting. In one of these, he managed to dampen my flame a bit by mentioning that he was just coming out of a long-term relationship and wanted nothing but friendship. I was not completely deterred though. He was coming to visit his mom in a week (on our island) so I was looking forward to seeing him again to ascertain if what I had felt was still lingering. I arranged to pick him up from the harbor, in place of his mom. He came bearing presents. 2 bottles of Porte and 2 Johnny cakes with salt fish (my favorite island food of all time). I dropped him off, said hello to the family, and left. When I asked for a kiss as he was seeing me off to the car, he refused, saying it would cause too much trouble for later and he didn’t want to open up that can of worms. I smiled knowing that I had my answer. We were to go out later, I’d bide my time.


Now, let me tell you a little bit about me. I was raised a lady, a very prude one. I’ve kept my legs closed for most of my life out of fear: fear of rejection, pregnancy, sti/ds, heartbreak…you name it. I’ve used every excuse in the book to keep them closed. I was not raised sex-positive and it’s taken me all of my life thus far to claim my sensuality. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a virgin, but up until a few years ago, I had only had sex within the four relationships I had been in, and even then, it took a lot to let myself go to fully immerse myself in enjoying the experience. I had my first one-night stand seven years ago on this very island. It was the most liberating experience of my life at that time. I did not use a condom,  because it was one of those spur-of-the-moment-go-with-the-flow things. I was on the Pill and I kept my fingers crossed that I wouldn’t contract anything or be one of those .001 % who got pregnant. I was lucky. I hate to say I am your typical “how-stella-got-her-groove-back” woman, but that trip to the island for my 30th birthday was everything I had dreamt it would be. I left with a renewed sense of confidence in myself and my beauty and above all else, a sense of owning my female power. Now for a Catholic school girl, I had always been taught that this power was to be feared and hidden. That good girls were not temptresses or seducers. So for a few weeks after I returned to the U.S. I struggled with this. Eventually though, I gave it up. I didn’t cheat on anyone and neither did he so why was I so distraught? Catholic guilt!


Fast forward to last night, seven years later. Obviously, I’ve come a helluva long way since then. I believe in asking for what I need and negotiating this space of intimacy. I have also come to truly believe in my skills of seduction. On the day we met, he told me, he had a foot fetish so I started there. I perfected my nails. Painted them with a blood-red gel and even put a white flower on each big toe. I tweezed my eyebrows. Shaved my legs. Washed and oiled my locs. I was ready for him and all his self-discipline. I picked out a rustish-bronze strap top and matched it with one of my shorter multicolored Ghana skirts. I’ve been told I have calves to die for; I figured I’d take advantage of this. I slipped on my nude strappy sandals and headed over to his house.


We attended a cabaret that evening and then went back to his parents to hang out. He is rehearsing for a play that will be performed in 3 weeks so I volunteered to help him with his lines. When his parents went to bed he joined me in the hammock. It sagged under both our weights and automatically threw us together, a hair’s breadth away.  I told him that all I wanted was to just kiss him. His lips were full, I got turned on just imagining sucking on them. He gave me the same excuse from earlier in the day. Won’t start nothin’; won’t be nothin’. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I inched towards his feet and began playing footsie with him. I heard the shorter intake of breaths. He said he was really digging my toes. “It’s not everyday you come across such pretty toes.” I already knew this. I’d been a foot and hand model for an artist years ago. I was glad I knew how to work it. I played with his feet, moving up a bit towards his calves, trying to work around his jeans. He still wouldn’t kiss me. We held hands and I brought them to my lips, debating whether I ought to go in for the kill and suck them. I decided it was too soon. After a while, he stood up and helped me out of the hammock. “We should go to bed.” Now I was torn. Did I want more than a kiss? I knew it was too late to drive home so I would have to spend a few hours in his bed until dawn, but was I ready to go all the way? We walked into the kitchen to get a drink and hugged, locking hands for a few minutes. He reached his face down to mine, but still resisted the urge to kiss me. We locked up the house and headed to his room downstairs, he holding out his hand to me, I was holding on for dear life, embroiled in an internal debate about whether I should go all the way.


When we walked into his room and locked the door, I realized we hadn’t really talked about what we each liked or wanted done. I had been so single-minded in just getting him to kiss me, I hadn’t thought that far yet. I decided I would stay in my clothes for the meantime, just taking out my bra so I’d be more comfortable. He got into bed with a pair of shorts on, still determined to start nothin’. I teased him. I lay down in the bed and he spooned me. For a few minutes, I thought I was going to lose it. I could hear my inner self begging: “please kiss me already!” The suspense was just too much. I was so wet I didn’t know what to do with myself. As though something shifted in him, he scooted me over and crawled on top of me. I did a silent mental happy dance. He began to play with my lips, still not actually kissing me. I thought I was going to lose it. I tried to snag his lips whenever they brushed mine, but he was quicker and seemed to be enjoying the role reversal. I just lay there, my legs tightly wrapped around his waist, waiting. Then he kissed me and it was just as I had imagined. Full lips opening and closing around mine, pausing to drag out my lower one and nibble on it. When he had me going, he slowly brought my straps over my shoulder and started to suck on my breasts. He expressed surprise over how firm my breasts were. I laughed and asked who he had been dating. I remarked that I was only 37. He said: “…but still, definitely not what I was expecting!” We flipped and I was on top so he could feel my ample bottom in his hands. I’m not big by any stretch of the imagination but my parents certainly did endow me with certain inalienable gifts. Again, he expressed surprise. I shook my head really feeling for him. Who had he been with? Anyway, he flipped me over again and asked to take off my underwear. The moment had arrived. We both knew we didn’t have a condom, so it was a minute of reckoning. Me: “Would you want a baby, if I got pregnant?” Him: “Yes, I’ve always wanted a family.” Me: “Are you sure?” Him: “You?” Then, we reviewed briefly when we had each last been tested and after a few more seconds of indecision, he was in.


Now friends, this is where I’d like to tell you that my wildest dreams came true. Alas, the long-awaited, penis-induced orgasm did not happen. As I began bucking, trying to ignore the minor tear that had just occurred, he came! Yes o! Hmm…at first I was mortified. Then angry. Then a smile spread throughout my body. I had succeeded in exactly what I had set out to do: give him pleasure. I climbed on top of him planning to sit on his face to test him, and he squirmed underneath me and giggled uncontrollably. I was kicking myself. I really should have started out with this, but I was so bent on breaking his resolve, I wasn’t really thinking of me until it was too late. I eventually got off his face knowing that I was too sore to even enjoy it if he had been game. We fell into a fitful sleep, reaching for each other every now and then.
I crept out at the crack of dawn feeling a tad bit disappointed, and a whole lot mad at myself for having seduced him so successfully. What was I turning into? I crawled into my bed cussing my prudish upbringing for feeling this way. As the day wore on though, I began to claim the experience as just that: an experience for my life’s journey. I also began to shed the guilt that had wrapped itself around me. I was a sensual being. I owned that. I was sexy. I owned that. I was solid. I was working on owning that. I had seduced a man. I will come to own that in time.

6 comments On ‘You are solid’ by Guest Contributor Ingrid

  • Owning my sexuality without guilt or embarrassment, even with the associated foibles took time too. I’m still not quite sure I’m there. There are still times I beat myself up over stuff. It’s easy to claim it when the experience is explosive and toe curlingly good. Not so much in the land of failed erections, adamantly dry vaginas, the orgasm free zone or pussyfartsvile. Or when I leave the encounter thinking “Should I really have…?” But little by little…nayo nayo asthey say in my country.

  • This issue of setting out to give pleasure- succeeding in it- and the being frustrated at having none reciprocated is so for real. Part of me wants to be a bit more of a selfish lover- but the other part of me asks why my partner shouldn’t be as equally invested in my pleasure as I am in his. And wouldn’t it balance out if that was the case? I think part of me resents the way he so easily gets off- and I’ve had penis envy because of this. But I think a big part of it like you said is being able to fully let go… So many issues, so much of the sex-negative upbringing to detangle

  • I skipped the two paragraphs in the middle because I felt a bit ill thinking of all the guys who have done the same thing to me. It is a well-written story (the technical side of things) but ‘No’ should be no (the ‘moral’/feminist side of me).

    This is what I feel.

  • Interesting! The issue of being a prude, I think is one that many African women are PLAGUED with. In as much as I’m vocal on here, I never broach sexual topics with friends because they are even over pruder than I am, and would probably get cardiac arrests should I dare broach the subject. Religion and culture are to blame, for this lack of transparency between us girls, AND not even that, with ourselves. Sex as most of us have it is (not necessarily want it) within the confines of a relationship and even then we are PLAGUED with guilt because well, we are not married. By stating not necessarily want it, I mean, sometimes you just want to sex somebody and send them on their merry way home. But because of societal expectations, you skip over fantastic opportunities. They just remain fantasies in our heads.

    Nana, I would love for you to either comment or blog about this issue and how you overcame it, if ever it were a problem.

    Couple of questions:

    1.) Why were you pissed? He came too quickly, you weren’t satisfied? Please clarify.

    2.) The issue of condomless sex, especially given that both of ya’ll were not in a monogamous relationship together is a glaring one. What made you believe him about his health status and vice versa? The morning after did you rush for a check up??


  • This hits home for me because I’ve found myself in the same situation on at least 2 other occasions in past – battling my inner prude and wanting desperately to seduce a man.

    I COMPLETELY understand your anger. Yes! You wanted to seduce him, but that gives him no moral right to come before you! The cheek of it.

    As for the (lack of) condom usage dierrr, aluta continua. It’s not easy to get into the habit of using condoms if you are not habitually having sex. You’ll get no judgement from me on that score!

  • I went thru some similar experience, I wanted to explore my sexuality and I thought one night stand would be some night of freedom and night of fantasies coming true. The night I won’t try to cover my complexes and an opportunity to let my sensuality out. Ofkors it wasn’t like that, men seem to be into their satisfaction only. So ofkors I had guilt trip after and felt dirty, coz it was my special night and his ordinary night. Even when u are connected and in relationship it seems like you need to tell and show what you like. Ok, women are different but not so different, and we are very alike when it comes to our orgasm, silent. I still have a fantasy I will meet a man who knows exactly what to do with my body, but It is going to happen sooner if I start talking, and then ofkors I will know my man man better, coz he might won’t do the effort is satisfying me and its better to know that sooner then later. European girl

Leave a reply:

Your email address will not be published.