Yesterday morning found me thinking about myself. I had just woken from a dream that I wish would have lasted for the entire morning until my 6:00 A.M alarm went off, screaming high notes of Celine Dion’s Titanic My heart will go on. The dream about was my friends, sister and I at the coast in a yacht and having pretty a good time there. There is one thing I like about my dreams, they are long, captivating, the graphics are orgasmic and best of all they are timeless. They show no respect to status, age, sex or enslavering norms. They express vanity in its highest order and I am always at the Centre of them all. Coast is the best place to be especially in a dream, the sea is friendly and you swim even in the deep sea beds without oxygen masks and you’ll actually see sharks mating. It’s by no wonder that yesterday I was the captain of the yacht. The next thing is that at the coast, girls are easily available, not girls but trappers, unlike those in Nairobi who are after your money these ones are ready to show you love that you even have to drop down there every end month. In a dream, it’s twice enjoyable as you chose the color of the hooker, the color of the beddings and walls such that they match and blend with the trapper’s skin tone. In dreams, you define your status and I go for the zenith.
In yesterday’s dream, it was not the ideal dream I described above. There were no trappers or mating dolphins but I felt amazing when it ended. I was in control and things were done my way. I steered the ship via Tudor Creek to Old Town and Fort Jesus where I enjoyed the culture and the ancient architecture. I now knew why Socrates and Plato became the fathers of philosophy because with all that around them, thinking was the closest ally. I danced to the Mijikenda beats and could not help but collapse on the big bosomed women. Those women who walk and talk in slow motion are terrific in D and B, dance and bed, I once overheard my friend say, I had to prove it all, in a dream. Am still dreaming, I warned you I get several gigabytes of dreams. The good thing about dreams is that the climax is never reached, making it the worst thing about my dreams. I had captured the attention of this Giriama girl and I knew time was ripe for me, her lips shone from the fish I bought her, I have a thing for shinny lips you know and she was now sucking from a big madafu. Dreams are nasty; she would be sucking a bigger one soon. That was the last time I saw her before the alarm rang.
I am old schooled, I give attention to dreams, songs of the other generation like the husky voice of Toni Braxton, the song birds in Celine Dion and Dolly Patron, the lover boys like Marc Anthony, Westlife, Backstreet Boys and Lionel Richie make a big part of my playlist. Tupac Shakur lyrics and B.I.G s beats awaken the nigger in me too. I like stories of cowboy romance, how the boyfriend and girlfriend get lost in the plains as they rode their horses, a tan-colored and a white stallion. Wait, how come they are lost, have sex for the first time in an old wooden cabin and the twenty three year old girl who is still a virgin bleeds on an old curtain. How does she bleed when she has been riding stallions since she was twelve? What a sweet lie? Why does it not happen here? I like lies; sort of old school vibe. I do not know how but the crimson sight of the setting sun behind the hills charms my soul. A kiss in the moonlight causes a stir in my pants and the thought of lovers reading each other serenades deep in the woods on a Sunday evening sends chills down my spine. Even my idea of great sex is old school. I hear people talk of no strings attached, banging, fucking, quickies and my ears itch. Sex is an art, a spell and cannot be explained with the limitation of language and adjectives. It is not developed by practice and its perfection comes with soul to soul connection. It’s a necessity for every man to have my kind of sex in their lifetime. When you experience it, you don’t have to research whether it was it, you just tell it. She looks at you and says nothing, you are maybe trans-figured and all her eyes can perceive is a chunk of swollen flesh but either way you have taken total points.
Movies, a movie date to me is appealing. By movies, I do not mean taking her to watch these movies of our future heroes, Avengers or Thor, that the only thing they evoke from her is a scream. I mean movies that search deeper within, that tell her what kind of a man you are? Whether you are the alpha or just the boy down stairs. I like movies that provoke men to take responsibility, to become family men and leaders of the society with my best movie of all times being, Courageous. Movies that appreciate women not as sex toys but as pillars the society can be laid upon. MovZAies that shun environmental misuse and those that empower everybody are just my type.
The old school me also likes cars; the mustangs, Peugeot and land rovers keep my taste buds active. It’s not until that boy with few coins in his pockets and none in his account speeds past you with half naked girls along Thika Road that you realize you are old school. Your idea of fun is getting down to Nanyuki in your Range Rover, play golf, visit your ranch and help the farm men shear sheep, administer albendazole to the flock, trim hooves and mow the lawn and watch snow on the peak of Mt. Kenya as you read books of history and culture before joining an old friend to drive down that bottle of Jack Daniels at Nanyuki Sportsman Club.
Swag. What Swag? You wear striped shirts and khaki pants during the week and would prefer faded jeans, sports shoes and track suits during the weekend because you well know that a man shall not be judged by his dressing unless it’s revealing or clinging to the skin. Your woman is decent yet stunningly stylish. She does not wear those low hanging tops or ass-hugging clothes because not you threaten her but she has learned from you. She has unprecedented respect and love for you because of how you mind your path.
If you are old school, you like to begin your day early. On Sundays, you go to church early so as not to miss choir rehearsals and development meetings. Old school men respect and fear God since they know that he is the provider of all.They do not shy from giving back. They know that the world is just a journey and they spice it up for everybody. They are angels or saints, their rewards are in heaven.
Lastly, the old school man can read. Be that proud old school chap.
This article Proudly Oldschool was first published on Friendsandcomrades.com