Written by Highest Kite
In a potential partner, what are your signs of sexual compatibility? On introduction, are you a good liar or an honest woman? What motivates you in life? Do you believe in soul ties? How do you handle stress and what is a weird kink you love in a partner?
Recently, on a Saturday afternoon, an online Kenyan female poet society took their meeting beyond Google Meet to Michuki Park. The poster read, ‘Sexual Health’ and invited everyone and a friend but by noon, apologies came in with some members citing social anxiety for keeping them indoors. By 2pm, only eight ladies turned up and a warm meeting began.
Introductions were told in two truths and a single lie. The host of the day, an award-winning poet, falsely convinced some of us she was of Ethiopian blood while two of us surprised the rest with their dislike for avocados. In our midst were four poets, a videographer, a podcaster and arts teacher, and two more occupations I cannot recall. From a heart shaped silver candy box, we each pulled out a question and looked to each other for answers.
The first asked how we knew someone was right pre-sexual engagement. I like a quiet man. He does not have to command a room to impress me nor be the loudest; we can both observe. Only one other participant agreed with me. The others liked their partners tall, funny, intelligent and life smart. One poet added that she could only have sex after an emotional connection had been made and maintained.
As a demisexual, she is unable to have one night stands. When younger, I would have been jealous of her self-control because I’m doubtful an emotional connection has ever preceded my horniness. I used to feel slutty and ashamed of my choices but growing older, I’ve accepted there are different ways to go about sex. Still, the decision has made me conservative. As much as I won’t judge anyone for having different partners in a short while, I won’t do so myself. I keep seeking a man I can fuck for a long stretch, but nothing’s guaranteed. During COVID, I abstained for over a year, and when I did finally fuck again, I was disappointed by the man’s lack of feelings for me. Afterwards, with the next partners, I was only present for sex. Once done, I’d immediately leave for home, sometimes satisfied, more times not.
The second question was not sexual but asked what motivated us in life. For some of us it was the responsibility of being the oldest sibling in a family, praying to God and reading scripture. For the videographer, it was the idea of the largeness of the world. How if she gave in to despair, she would leave behind a whole globe unexplored by her. We agreed and said every day is an empty canvas meant to be filled. The Arts teacher said apart from being in a healthy relationship, what motivated her were her young toddler students. The twenty-seven-year-old later said she taught agriculture, music, dance and colouring. The kids’ faces elevated her spirit when she was down.
“What is a weird kink you admire in a partner?” When the question was asked, many of us shied away until someone admitted she liked her man with an ass. A curvy one she could grab and fondle. We all threw a fit wondering how and why but she stood her ground and insisted it just did it for her. Afterwards, no one else hid and among us, we liked being choked, men with wide palms, their sweat, crooked smiles from faulty teeth, veiny arms, and men who could match our freak.
While discussing body hair and its attractiveness, we talked about pheromones and how strong they were. One lady said it was so strong for her, she didn’t mind putting her nose to her lover’s pits. Although I didn’t openly admit it, it was just as strong for me. From my first love and heartbreak situation, for years, what I remembered wasn’t his face or voice (which I’ve had time to admit I don’t like; maybe because it belonged to a liar liar). What I recalled strongly was his smell. The scent of him after sex was intoxicating. The memory has faded but something else stuck. From time to time, I put my nose to my boyfriend’s pits and breathe in hard, erasing stuff, forming others, I don’t know.
“How do you handle stress?” Again, I didn’t say it all but I’ve been drinking since May and it’s bad. Once, on a Monday, I passed out and woke up an hour after one class, and an hour into the next. The situation had been shit but at that moment I said I liked to isolate myself, shut down and string up a different me. When I mentioned crying, everyone understood because they did too.
Other means of refreshing mentioned included watching Nollywood movies, travelling, going for concerts or having a dance party at home, having a light beer in the evening, listening to ASMR sounds, sleeping and talking things out. While a poet expounded on what and how ASMR worked, around us, dusk settled in, giving us permission to abandon our selected questions in preference to our own.
I wanted to know if waning sexual engagement was a sign of the end of my relationship. Those who answered said it was but I had a choice; I could walk away from the relationship or work and improve on it. (A fortnight later, skin to skin pillow talks have improved it).
When the topic of shame came around, some asked how we felt about our body hair, our vaginal discharge, and if we knew what a good penis looked like for each of us. The last question was easy enough; we liked them long with a mild girth, not too fist-like in width and not too short in height. The short kind makes it hard to ride but personally, I don’t like too wide a dick. The pain is immense and the cuts afterwards, not worth it. Two years ago, I had the last taste of such a man and while dabbing my nethers with a cloth soaked in dangerously hot water, all I could ask myself was if I’d enjoyed the afternoons and although it took months, I now know I didn’t. Every thrust was an invasion and not being in love didn’t help either. I don’t like them XL, a sentiment many more shared that Saturday.
On being wet, one of us relayed how her regular discharge had always been in excess. She had to be in a panty liner every other day. A phenomenon that had greatly multiplied since she turned thirty. When she was younger, she felt the constant need to wash up before sex. A short term solution she feared her partners wouldn’t like because the meal came without salt. We encouraged her and said ours are internal organs; self-cleaning organs. The discharge is extremely normal and helps maintain the acidic pH that keeps bacteria away. If she had to dress in a liner daily to help with the scent, then she needed to keep doing her thing without worrying she was alone.
“Should a woman shave regularly?” According to the group, only if she wanted to. It was perfectly fine to grow pubic hair because it was not unwanted hair. It was natural and anyone who thought otherwise could eat shit. On cumming, squirting and orgasms, we first agreed that sex for females was largely in the mind. One had to be actively involved or else, there was no reaching a climax. Is squirting a physical trait only some women have? We thought it was. Not every lady can flood her bed but every ejaculation is just as valid regardless of volume. One of us confessed she’d only once had such a climax. Now, she was seeking pointers on how to squirt again but there are no pointers. Everyone’s body reaches their climax individually.
We warned her against falling prey to porn which is scripted and geared towards impossible ways of having sex such as gushing like a burst water pipe. Someone else introduced the notion of cumming without physical touch. Kegel exercises? No. Tantric sessions. Her description relayed an afternoon in a room with several participants and a guide who talked them through breathing exercises. The afternoon resulted in several members cumming while in their seated/yoga positions and now, the lady was convinced climaxing was a game of the mind. I thought so too. When I was bored and not in the mood, I rarely reached my climax but let my boyfriend finish and hug him tight to let him know I still feel him.
“Do you believe in soul ties?” The second last question sparked a fierce defence from the two of us who did believe in such ties. The ladies reiterated sexual encounters that had left them feeling empty, and in need of their lovers. One said it wasn’t just sex but a transfer of energies and emotions. The man she’d been seeing was depressed and she too found herself out of balance when, before the relationship, her happiness had been standard. The other victim had been through years of celibacy to forget her ex whom she was sure was affecting her thinking and ability to form other loving relationships.
The rest of us thought soul ties were caging and limiting to a healthy sex life. Sure, love was strong but a woman was stronger and could move past even the strongest of connections. I voiced that transferring emotions and energies was real but not permanent. It would take time but eventually, we had to take responsibility for our own lives and not blame our state on others. Even if someone else was the cause of our pain, we had to decide to heal on our own.
Our last question that evening floated great ideas when asked, “What would you like to master better with time? Among us, we wished to learn how to ask for help more, how to follow through with plans, how to set up better boundaries, how to gain more confidence, and how to be self-controlled especially emotionally. The advice that came about said we had to learn not to take things to heart and capitalize on experiences that made us feel good about ourselves. In the poet’s experience, the well one poured into was not the same one that gave water. Her statement was a metaphor not to expect anything in return when we share our art, time and life.
All in all, I had a wonderful day and hope the next meeting will have warm cooked food and focus more on female bodies: our different shapes, skin colour, sources of self-esteem and so on, for example, “How does your body physically signal you’re stressed, burnt out, hurt, in or out of love?”
