I once had to cut ties with chick I really liked for a shallow reason. It’s a shame because I had really fallen for her. I had pictured her as my future girlfriend, someone I could try to be loyal to, but then the non-negotiable deal breaker reared it’s ugly head.
She was cute – lean, enticingly angular facial aesthetics, pert tits, nutella skin, ebony hair. She had a nice job, she was sweet and she went to church every Sunday. I actually met her in church – All Saints Cathedral in tao to be precise.
I know some of you are like “Etemesi goes to church?” Yes! Several weeks ago, after being nutmegged by good luck a couple of times, I figured it was time to renew my relationship with The Lord. Not getting saved, just getting closer to God. I began going to church every Sunday and that’s how I met this girl.
The sad part was that she dragged me through that annoying three-date rule before sex. I don’t know how I agreed to that but I figured it would be worth it. Some girls just cannot be pressured into same-day panty removal, especially church girls.
So, she finally agreed to come to my house for a sleepover. She cooked and after eating, we watched a movie for a few minutes….only a few minutes. Before we knew it, it was munju upon munju. The kisses were exchanged heavily and quickly. I unzipped her knee-high boots (she hadn’t taken them off), stripped her woolly red skirt off and caressed her inner thigh with a free hand.
I decided I was going to bend her over right there on the couch. The bed could wait for the second round. Gradually, my hand hopped her panty border and day-labored in the fields of her life-giving lips. I listened intently for the liquid smacking of vajlube peeling from vajflesh, and redirected my glistening hand to her freed left breast….whereupon an odor most foul drifted from drenched digitalis to my nose, triggering an olfaction reaction inescapably pronounced. I retched a little.
The smell that came out was somewhat of a collabo between Dandora Dumpsite and Pan Paper Mills.
I never use this word but allow me to say it – WUEH!!
Her vaginal odour instantly ruined the mood. I don’t know what produced it — natural musky scent? yeast infection? madondo consumption? It was horrible.
I wore a CD and endured for as long as I could, but every time we changed positions and her bush passed through my smell zone I got blasted in the face with toxic fumes. The sting of fetid juices actually made my eyes water. Doing her doggy style I was forced to press her ass cheeks together to keep the odour trapped.
A few minutes after starting, I couldn’t go on any longer. I had to quit so I pretended to fall sick all of sudden. She was seemingly enjoying it, so a cloud of worry and suspended disappointment encroached on her face. She tried to act as a nurse for me but all my mind was saying was ‘Kaa mbali na mimi please!” I could have said it out loud but my mama didn’t raise a rude boy.
When she left, I was afraid to smell anything on me. I scrubbed my hands like a surgeon prepping for an operation and hours later I still had paranoia that the stank was still on my fingers.
I spent the next day smelling my own farts to get rid of the memory. Then I shaved my pubes completely, just to make sure none of her DNA was still on me. It was like radical lice therapy.
I go down on girls once in a while, mostly without them requesting but funny enough, this one, with her smelly opening actually requested it. Imagine!
“Unaeza nilick huko down?”
Even Rihanna would stop me cold in my tracks if her pussy smelled that strongly. If I can’t go down on her without suppressing a gag and crying like I was peeling onions with a clothespin on my nose she will never be a long term prospect. I may as well cut my losses.
I had a nightmare that night about being tortured by ISIS who forced my face repeatedly into this girl’s snatch while yelling SMELL IT YOU SILLY AFRICAN! over and over.
Long story short, I avoided her completely and when she asked why, I told her politely that her her punani stank and she should do something about it if she would like us to meet again. Funny enough, she hit me back with insults. Church girl? Hmm….
No wonder I always recommend that people have sex on the first date. That way, you discover any maroon flags early enough. See how I wasted my time going on three dates with her only to discover that she had a pollutant between her legs.
So tragic, such a waste of an adorable face, but whaddaya gonna do? Stinky vagina is the deal killer. The boner imploder. The Darwinian dental dam.
Maybe girls can’t smell their own pussies the way people can’t detect their own bad breath. In that case, it’s the duty of every man to inform a stinky girl that she has issues down there. If she can’t be bothered to fix a problem with her number one asset then that tells me she does not care for my desires as a man. If she refuses because of a hippie belief in going au naturel then dump her.
Fast forward to two days ago and I spot a pretty girl as I am walking around The Hub in Karen with one of my buddies.
Fishnet fuckme stockings carve the contours of her long legs. A fleeting familiarity sparks my mind. I look a bit longer at her; she doesn’t notice. Could this be the same Stinky Punani Girl I so adored dearly?
Our whiff of a tryst, a long-faded memory, suddenly wrenched to consciousness, as freshly manured as if it had occurred the day before down the block. I shook off the thought. Then she walked toward the exit. That walk, endearingly clumsy and lopey….I couldn’t possibly forget that walk, no woman I have known walked like her. It was her.
None of this happened all that quickly; I had time to run her down and say her to her and probably try for another stab at her stankflaps. But as powerfully as the memory of her face and body and weird walk flooded my corticalleys, so too did her pussy stink. That smell memory — smellory — punched my gut as hard as any pungently hectoring specter could.
So I watched her walk off, dissipating into a crowd. There you have it, ladies: an incredibly coincidental re-meeting, an opening for love created by divine intervention some would say, and the mere memory of stinky vagina shut the possibilities off a second time as strongly as they were shut off the first time when the stink was fragrantly real and aromatically macroaggressive.
On the way home, all I could wonder was what her kids, if she were to have any, would telegonically or frictionally acquire on their way out of her ill-fumed womb; if for instance the poor sprogs would squirt out while surrounded by smokes of toxic gas that followed them everywhere.
Stinky vagina is unacceptable ladies. Do something ladies. Eat pineapples ladies, scrub that area well ladies. See the gynecologist ladies. I don’t know. Just do something to make sure there’s no smell ladies.
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