Break me off, show me what you got/ ‘Cause I don’t want, no one-minute man are the lines to the song “One Minute Man” by Missy Elliott and Ludacris which must have had the plight of single mamas in mind.
Single mamas have needs too. The sexual kind. They might not say this often but every once in a while, they reach out to the most convenient source to satisfy this need.
It usually starts with a “Want to have a drink?” SMS to Johnnie, the immediate former ex ( Not the current ex, because that is a danger zone. Feelings may be exchanged instead of fluids and before you know it, you will be calling him sweetie again from the kitchen as he lazes around in his boxers waiting for you to serve him kienyeji chicken you purchased with your money). Phew.
Anyway, as I was saying, single mamas have needs and if it’s not the immediate former ex they text, then it is Kama; the sweet young man from IT who always tell them how nice they look and “Is that a new hairstyle?”
You get the drift.
On one of those needy days, I texted my immediate former ex who we shall call Johnnie Dick. JD. And it rhymes because we had Jack Daniels when I asked to come over. And exes know “Can I come over?” is code for “Can we have sex, please?”.
It had been a year since I had used the code so when I sent the ill-fated WhatsApp text, my appetite could have broken the Ritcher Scale. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you have probably never been sex-starved.
Let me tell you about how much I prepared for this romp. I waxed. If you know me then you might know how averse to pain I am. So waxing is torture for me. But I did. Both my armpits and vajajay were as smooth as a carrot ( baby’s bum sounds inappropriate here, don’t you think?).
Anyway, I dressed in my best undies, sprayed myself and took a glass of wine to loosen me up a little. By the time I showed up at his door, he was ready. I was ready. The only thing that I wasn’t ready for was the flatness of the sex.
This is how the sex went. After a few shots of JD. After we had established –through looks and touches–that we both wanted this.
“Hello! Grunt! Hum! Puff!Aaaaah! Goodbye!”
And all I could think of as this man I had waxed for huffed and puffed on top of me was: why did I wax?
And: Why are men like this?
I know, I know, I told you I was Miss Independent and that I could voice my opinions but this man was done before we even started. And then he started snoring. I quietly packed my stuff and asked him to see me off.
He asked me if I enjoyed myself.
I said yes, it was great. I was on auto-response. Women are wired to auto-respond like that.
But men, please don’t one-minute-man single mamas. Take your time with them. Some of them have been celibate for so long and this is probably their one shot at 7th heaven so worship our bodies until they say Hallelujah. If they say “It was great!”, just know it was really, really, bad. Because if it was great, you would see it in her face. You would tell by the cat-like sounds she made. By how much she gripped your back. As in, she would not have to use words. So please don’t mess up that one shot.
Single Mama is a thirty-something-year-old single mum who likes to laugh, learn, read and write. She's a hopeless romantic who hopes to write a story with a happy ending one day but for the time being, before Alejandro sweeps her off her feet and rides with her on a horse to his ranch and millions, she will share her dating misadventures and skewed opinions on life.