Nourish me with the firmness of your breast
As I bury my head in the valley of your beauty’s cleavage
Cause my heart to race with your touch
As you take my breath away with your warm embrace
Then resuscitate me with the taste of your lips
Juggle my thoughts with the swaying of your curvy hips
And let my emotions pendulum as you tickle my fantasies
I want to kiss you deeply with a fevered tongue inside your well of souls
Then drown myself in the pleasure of your womanhood
There I will allow myself to get lost in the scent and taste of a pure woman
As I devour you without kindness and with my passionate rawness
I can almost hear the sounds of your rhythmic breath
Aroused as you whisper my name beneath the pleasure
Hold on, we are just friends now
But I dream of you as my lover
And so until that time when we can do what lovers do
Let these thoughts be a purgatory of desire
Tag Archives: Woman
Nourish me with the firmness of your breast
If you are reading this, it means two things. One, I need you to understand that there is absolutely nothing you’ll think of me that I have not thought of myself. Two, this might be your truth someday so pay close attention
Now back to the substantive issue. As a child we are taught so many things by our immediate family and people we come in contact with but one of the major things that cannot be taught is how you fall in love and who you fall in love with. So today I’m parading my naked truth through this confessional write up. I’M IN LOVE WITH A MARRIED WOMAN and I want her all to myself. And oooh I made sweet love to her Friday night. Now I am not going to be like the proverbial old lady who blames her walking stick when she falls down so let me just make it clear that I take full responsibilities for my actions and I do not regret it. God knows this is true.
So I met her some five years ago at the mall. She was on a movie date with a friend of mine. As they approached my table at the food court, I could feel my soul drool in love. The black dress she wore enhanced her figure like a magnifying glass. Her calculated steps were so rhythmic that I closed my eyes and nodded to the sound of her footsteps. This my friends, was the first time I had seen a diamond in the flesh. When we shook hands as we were introduced to one another, I felt a shock wave through my body that made me smile. She also sheepishly smiled back and I was just amazed by her. My friend hooked us up and we became very good friends and talked about everything and nothing. She knew my dreams like they were hers and vice versa. We supported each other through everything that it was clear that were meant to be together. In fact we were in love with each other. Then she got married.
Was I heartbroken that she was married? Hell no! Don’t get me wrong I have always loved her but you see my love for her is that kind of love that seeks her happiness first whether it is with me or not(You can choose to agree with me or not to I don’t care). All I know is that I was happy that she got married and that was when the relationship between us changed. I became a friend from afar and this worked for us until a month and a half ago. I had stepped out for lunch a few blocks away from my office. As I was about to enter the eatery, I saw a friend’s car at the car park and so I walked towards it and knocked on the windows. He rolled down and shouted my name as he opened the door. We shook hands and burst out into laughter as we insulted each other. Then the passenger door opened and there she was. She screamed my name and run into my arms. Wow, she looked as beautiful as I remember her. Then after a little chit chat we parted ways.
She called me an hour later and we chatted for thirty minutes. The next day we agreed to have lunch together at a restaurant not far from her office. She was twenty minutes late but I didn’t care. All that mattered was her sitting across the table. We both ordered, held hands and took turns stroking each other’s hand as we waited for our food. Then she told me how much she was not happy in her marriage and was contemplating a divorce. For about thirty minutes she went on and on about how she wished things were different. About how she felt lonely and lost in the marriage and how each of her trails in the marriage was suffocating her. My heart was broken. I thought she was happy in the marriage. Wow! She was going through all these? We barely touched our food as we were so engrossed in our conversation. Every now and then I would catch people stealing glances at us but we just didn’t care. It got to a point I felt a tear swell under my eye and had to look away so she wouldn’t see it fall. I didn’t want her to think I felt sorry for her. Truth is, silently in my heart I told myself I would do everything possible to make her happy again. Then as though we were set up we both chorused exclamatorily about how we much we missed us. After lunch we decided to walk to her office instead of pick a cab. We held hands as we walked from the restaurant to her office and occasionally giggled because one of us had said something silly. It was fun. I could feel her light up and soar in happiness like a Kongming lantern and my heart felt peaceful. We have been constantly communicating and having regular lunch dates that feel so blissful.
This Friday we both closed from work very early and met up. We first went to her favorite ice cream joint in Osu, We got some ice cream and snacks and we went to my place. We kicked off our shoes sat on the floor as we watched our favorite movie ‘Brown Sugar’ and ate the ice cream and snacks. Around 7pm we decided that we were going to cook rather than go for dinner at a restaurant. So she changed into one of my t-shirts and we went grocery shopping in the neighborhood. We then decided to walk home than pick a cab home. We kissed on the street, and people walking by whistled. We were like teenagers who had just fallen in love. We danced around each other in the kitchen as we cooked dinner and in the course downed a bottle of wine. Dinner was another level of fun. I’m sure my neighbors were wondering whether we were high on something because we giggled throughout dinner. She was happy and so was I. After clearing the dinner table and washing the utensils I left her in the living room to take a shower. Some few minutes later she joined me in the shower and my friends what happened during and after the shower cannot be contained on all the pages of the world.
Dear friends, for the past three years that I have been married to my wife. I had never seen her wake up with the sun rising from her lips. Not even on our honeymoon. Ooooh sorry I forgot to tell you guys earlier that the married woman I’m in love with is my WIFE. Truth is, Love is not just a feeling but also a choice. So I have made the choice to love her and make her happy because she’s made so many sacrifices for me and this marriage. I have also made the choice of seeking her opinion on how to make her happy because a happy wife is a blessing to her husband. I have decide to court my wife as I did before our marriage. I mean treat her like a girlfriend and a wife, take her on dates, buy her gifts, give her attention and be silly with her. I just one lucky guy to be in love with my best friend. I think there needs to be a verse in the Bible or Koran that states that any man who makes his wife happy will go to heaven.
Chant your war songs
Beat your war drums
Call out your ‘enemies’
Accuse them of the atrocities you committed
When you spilled the blood of your infant dreams
And let it be the precipitate of the war you wage
Chant your war songs
Beat your war drums
Draw your weapons and charge
Chase the shadows of your infant dreams that haunt you
Convince yourself that getting blown like debris in the wind
Is so right because everyone seems to follow the wind’s suit
Then, swear to yourself that being different is a luxury you cannot afford
Chant your war songs
Beat your war drums
Display your trophy of self-contempt under the disguise of smiles
Call yourself the phantom slayer and have songs composed for this
Brag about how you were a badass on the battlefield
Grasp for air and pause for dramatic effects as you tell the stories
But behind the scenes curse the fright your own shadow gives you.
Chant a new song
Change the rhythm of your drum beat
You have life, there is hope
Reunite with your inner self and chase after the elephants of your dreams
Hunt them with patience, for it is a mother of a beautiful child
Let your imaginations travel far and wide
Because traveling is learning
Refuse to plant your dreams by the roadside
And do not let them eat your food and forget your name
Always remember, no one ever succeeded without making a mistake or two.
Selikem T.K Geni 2016 ©
Your gait is a prelude to seduction
Your presence the cause of riots in my emotions
Burning down all the fragments of the walls i have built
You let out the devil in me through the door
And the angel in me sneaks in through the windows
You leave me bare like a naked flame
Burning in the pureness of the moments I confess
Things hitherto I was so oblivious to
Yes I am guilty of the things I now feel
Like a sinner seeking salvation I come to thee
You have become my ministry of Love
And I willingly let you lead me on
Your grace is a prelude to hunger
Your gentleness the cause of a thirst
That makes me long for a deep satisfaction
You make the imp in me repent to a jolly good fellow
And bring me to my knees like Muslims salaaming at sunset
With my unstable countenance protruding like their buttocks
Then i begin to speak in tongues like a priest in trance
I can swear I have seen heaven
Seen the golden streets and paced upon them
I can swear I have walked beyond cloud nine
Swear my foot prints are now etched on the clouds
And experienced real madness in sanity
All my life I have felt you but only for as long as I wanted to
I have been too busy chasing the elusive bird of unknown dreams
Yet each time you find me when all seem like a mirage
You sooth my pains even when I’m stuck in the gallows of self pity
But now the self placed specks have been taken off my eyes
So now I choose you
I choose to strive for the best
I choose to standout and make my mark
I choose to fight for what is right and do what is right
I choose to look beyond obstacles and see success
I choose to live life to it’s fullest
I choose you HAPPINESS
Tapestry of the finest kente can’t compare
I’m drawn to you like the magic of a satisfactory sigh
Like a snake I dance to the charm of you
You’re the night sky brightened by the stars, I gaze at
Each blink revealing something new and blissful
On the surface you are calm but your depth I’m yet to fathom
You behold me with a pleasing eye, I surfeit with excess of joy
Draw me in the bow of your comfort and shoot me on a journey
Far beyond the mind’s comprehension
It reflects in your smile
It calls from your voice
It resounds in your being
No amount of make-up can conceal it for it’s your true nature
I have died many times
But you raise me up each time with your beauty.
When you see her, tell her I am tired
Tired of her running through the paths of my mind
Tell her, her charm’s gait has left indelible prints
That have stained the wings of the birds of my imagination
Etching their wing marks on the clouds as they soar higher than eagles
And glide to places far beyond
One thread for the needle, one love for the heart
We shall sew one fine garment
For the union of our hearts
Tell her that though the body is weak, the spirit is willing
Willing to tame the wild cravings of the body for a greater glory
Of owning the crown of her heart
And making her heart a castle fit for a king, Me.
When you see her, tell her I await her
On the corner of the street of my heart
Tell her she has knocked me down like a domino
And I’m drowning in her beauty
A beauty that sparks a light in my darkest moments
Like the ripe full moon’s reflection
Caught on the river with the skies lighted with patches
Of the bright bottoms of fireflies that dance to
The heavenly choruses of the toads and crickets
Tell her that though our elders say only a wise person can solve a difficult problem
I need no saving from the this problem
For she is the problem and the answer to the problem
When you see her, tell her I love her
The canoe of my soul was lost on the sea of loneliness
But her virtuousness is the current that gently glides me home
Away from these deep waters of hopelessness
Into the Eden of her grace
Where her gentleness will lock me in a warm embrace
As she revives my soul with the taste of her lips
Tell that she is the only song my heart knows
The only song it will sing
The only food my heart craves for
The gourmet of love I feast on
Oooh Yes! Tell her I’m hers.
Tell her I will always love her
There was a loud hush across the court room as I stepped into the docket to defend myself. I do not remember that last time I smiled, for life had not given me too many chances to do so but here I was smiling sheepishly to the judge as he asked me whether there was anything I had to say before my sentencing since I had opted for no lawyer to defend me during this trail. Aside politicians, lawyers were the next people I loathed with a passion. How they can insist something is white when we all see is as black and still get away with this baffles me. Moreover the more money you have the more convincing your lawyer is and so someone will steal five fingers of plantain and get sentenced to 5 years in prison whilst our politicians steal our monies and go scot free. And so with a little shivery but firm voice these were my words before the sentencing.
‘Your Honor, I can still feel my hand still vibrating from the slap I gave the Member of Parliament on his face that floored him. For some awkward reason the accompanying pain in my knuckles feels sensational. All the anger that has built up within me over the years found an outlet and indeed it was unfortunate that it had to be his face. I can sense the surprise look on your faces but I think it was just the right time to put him in his place. I am old and may not understand your modern ways of life but I will not sit down any longer and see a small boy in the name of politics literally hang the under pants of his mother on a pole, fly it at full mast at the market place with pride, call his father impotent and expect people like me to clap for him. Nonsensical nonsense!! Your honor, pardon my French expression.
Your honor, I have served this country with my sweat and blood. At age 18 I was drafted into the army to go to fight in the world war. My testicles were pinched hard every week for a month to make sure I had no hernia and I was fit for battle before we were shipped of like a tin of sardines. Lives were lost on our way to India by ship and I saw friends’ dead bodies tossed overboard into the sea without paying them homage.
|When we got to India, rumours went round among the Indians that we are cannibals, chop people and have tails So when we went to bathe in the streams, people asked us not to take our pants off in case they would be frightened by our tails. I survived all the derogatory names that came as a result of these rumours. In the Burmese jungle there was something we called tiger leech. It’s very small, very thin. If it gets to your body it sucks your blood and get bigger and bigger. So we used a cigarette end or a match on the under of that thing to take its fangs out. But if you don’t do that, but just pull it off, the fangs will stay within your body, rot in your skin and go bad – very bad.’
If you are in a war you forget everything. There was no time to pray. This jungle war was not a child’s play – it was something very dangerous, I have seen friends and acquaintances die with their intestines gushing out as though we are at an abattoir. I have choked on and somehow lost my sense of smell because of my exposure to the stench of burnt decomposing human flesh and lead that tore ones nose away from the freedom of fresh air. Experiencing war makes you a different person. You leave behind every civilian attitude, every gentle attitude that you ever had. You forgot … everything. After the war, they did not let us come home straight away. They gave us two good months, with money, to go to any part of India. It was something to refresh us, to let us come back to a human being. An action I still up till now do not understand.
Your Honor, when I came back, all the remunerations that were to be paid us were never paid. To make matters worse my wife whom I had married before my enlistment left me for Efo Dzidefo the corn mill operator behind the cathedral because she could not stand my screaming at night due to the nightmares. To make myself employable, I worked as a laborer on farms and paid for numerous private teachers to teach me
I have been called hideous names and hear rumours about myself that I knew nothing of and surprises me like a mouse caught in a trap just because of a bait of roasted fish head yet I have never for once reacted violently towards anyone in this community. But alas, your honor, the actions of the MP over the years has become the blisters on the soles of my feet that had dragged patience off my bed. I have seen governments come and go, I have met minister and MPs from different regimes but honestly speaking, the disrespect of this young man who can be my great grandson not only towards me but towards this entire community stinks like the flatulence of a pregnant woman who has had her fair share of boiled beings with egg and washed it down with a snack of ‘wagashi’ and ‘di na ta’ milkshake. Last election he promised to make sure the local LA school was fixed and stocked with the relevant textbook, he promised to make sure the was a scholarship for brilliant students from this village, he promised to fix the road for us and make sure we had good drinking water if we voted him as our MP. Me I do not trust him oooh because aside all the empty promises all he brought to us solicit for our votes was four bars of key soap. Your honor, four bars of keysoap for a community of four hundred people. After he won the elections, ask him when the last time he came here was or whether we have seen the shadows of his promise?
Now that it is time for another election he rides in his big car into this community that breastfed him into who he is, choking us with clouds of dust and comes blinking like a malfunctioning disco watch to solicit for votes.
Your honor if you are working very hard to look after a lean man who says he is a sickling and this man begins to win snoring contests against the plump you at night, then something is wrong somewhere. I do not regret slapping him. At age 88 there are quite a number of thing I regret in life but not slapping the idiot. In fact, If I get the chance again I will slap him or any other politician that takes the citizenry for granted. I am tired of all this nonsense and so your honor If you will sentence me make sure it is to death because at least there I will have my piece of mind.’
I was sitting observing the stars of the skies
Trying to heal my heart’s scars
then you shoot my heart with your brightness.
Now my skin has split where it is the softest
I am tranquilized with these deep feelings that are deeper than the Volta
Like a bird in a trap, my song has changed
Changed to the that of the loom and the thread
as it churns out a beautiful cloth
I do not know whether I have sold my freedom to the devil
or I’m under captivity of my guardian angel
And so lost in thoughts and emotions I declare to you Obaa Yaa
I hate you for the same reason I love you
I was at the dance of the masquerades
dancing to my own dance steps under my own mask
There was a reason to my madness
A joy that I alone understood
Then you came
danced and stole my heart away
erasing my joy and replacing it with another
turning my half moon into a full moon
All I do now is howl you name in a silent song of fulfillment
My dance steps are in unison with yours but incomplete without you
for you are the music that makes the head and feet of my heart nod and tap
My mask is off and I’m exposed like naked buttocks under torn cloths
Why Obaa Yaa? Why?
Now I hate you for the same reason I love you
I must have been 6 months old when Mother left for the city because aside her yearly visits, she was a total stranger to me. Indeed Naana, my old fragile grandmother whose skin wrinkles were like the abomasum of a ruminant was the only mother I knew. Though almost in her late seventies she possessed the strength and grace eight of the best young maidens combined in the village did not match up to. Who my father was, is as a mystery as whether elephants have stretch marks or not. Life to me was all about my grandmother and I. It was out of the norm not to find her sitting at her usual spot when I got home from school. This was where I had to go through everything I was taught in school with her. She would first display her golden brown teeth that shined like freshly roasted dry maize in a grin that I can neither describe as a frown nor a smile and then ask me to pull out a stool from the corner of the veranda. Spreading out my exercise books on her laps, we would go through all I was taught at school for the day. For someone who had not gone beyond standard six, her arithmetic and basic English was impeccable, well let’s just say by the standards of a thirteen year old who was now in class three, in a village school my grandmother had a very high IQ.
I do not know whether it was out of fright or just because I expected her to be sitting there when I got back home that made me scream her name as I run across the compound in search of her. I could feel my heart race like that of a little squirrel that had just escaped from the jaws of a starved hound. My ears folded like ‘wele’ as I tried to block the voices in my head that were narrating the possible scenarios playing tricks on my mind like an out of tune church organ. Just as I made the sharp curve towards the goat pen at the back of out hut still screaming her name, I was brought to a halt be when I heard my name from the main compound. It was Mother’s. Now my confusion was as conspicuous as that of a newborn baby when the midwives and everyone smiles at it when it comes out of the womb. Then Nanaa emerged from within the room, her demeanor something I had never seen in my thirteen my life. Her facial wrinkles all of a sudden had become as deep as gullies caused by the tsunami of thoughts and pain that had engulfed the plains of her mind via the reality of me leaving her. In her deep but calm voice she told me she had packed all my things for me and I was to leave with mother to the city that very afternoon. A part of me wanted to be happy that I was going to the city but who was going to keep her company, who would fetch her water and fire wood, for would cut grass for the goats and take care of the fowls? Without uttering a word I walked to her, hugged her and began to cry. It was the first time in many years that tears had rolled down my cheeks and this time Naana did not ask me to be a man and stop crying. Together we bathed in the tears and the memories of the times we had together. After a while she pulled me away from the hug and held me by the shoulders.
‘ I know you will do well in the city, never forget the things I taught you. Respect people, be kind to them even when the dislike you, learn as much as you can from your failures, fear God, appreciate life and be thankful to God for everything.’ She said.
I opened my mouth to speak but words failed me. My whole body was shivering like a faded and torn Ghana flag hanging on a pole. Then my grandmother surprised my mother and I. She pulled out her flaccid breasts and pushed her palm kernel looking nipple into my mouth without any warning. My head was greeted by a heavy knock from her hard knuckles as I pulled my mouth away.
‘Suck my breast’ she commanded.
Afraid of what was to follow if I refused to do as asked I sucked on her breast. After a few seconds she pulled it out of my mouth.
‘How does it taste?’ she asked
‘It has no milk and so all I tasted was my own saliva.’ I replied.
She looked at me and smiled.
“Life is going to offer you opportunities and some of them will have no taste like a non-lactating flaccid breast like mine. You can use your imagination and believe it is giving you the best milk you’ve ever tasted or choose to just taste your own saliva. You are a man and so life expects a lot more from you.’ She held the base of the cloth around her waist and wiped my face with it. Without saying another word she picked her cutlass and basket and left the house.
This was twenty years ago. After living with my prostitute mother for five years at Sodom and Gomorrah in Accra, I was kicked out when she discovered my friends and I rob her clients after they patronize her services hence the derail in her business. I served a three-year jail term for selling Indian hemp (this is another story to tell) and it was during my jail term that I decided to do something positive with my life per my grandmother’s last words to me. When I got out of jail, I did manual works as a laborer on farms and construction sights and went into apprenticeship as a plumber. After completing my apprenticeship I decided to work with my Master until I could establish myself. It was during this period that I had met her. She had come to ask my former boss if he could recommend someone to fix the taps at her new place. My boss told her I was the best person to do the job for her and that is how we became friends and eventually got married and now have three lovely children who are doing great and fighting their own demons.
I’m highly intoxicated with excruciating excitement to write you this letter, as the brightness of the sun has given me this opportunity to be ‘francofactically’ frank with you on an issue that has had my heart throbbing like drums of an agbadza ensemble.
They say a picture tells 1,000 words but when I look at yours all I see are these 3, I Love You. Yes I love you like a ripe hamattarn pawpaw. The one appatipre’s have not discovered yet ooooh. Shiny like a clean shaven albino’s head that has been oiled a little bit.
Sweetie Pie Pie whether it is meat pie, onion pie or tuna pie you are sweet papaaa. I have not tasted your love yet but in my mind it is sweet. See, me, I stare at your lips and fall in love with the way they form what you say when you talk ooooh. Your awirishrish kotomire is very beautiful like my grandmorda’s freshly painted clay tripod stove. It cooks sweet tickling sensations in my ears laaa.
Yesterday I saw you buying ayi borbor from Aman). Herh! Aman)’s borbor is sweet ooooh. she know the right amount of dzomi to add to make it red like the new version of Yvonne Nelson. Yvonne Nelson 3.4 and couldn’t help thinking how pleasant it will be to be a fart escaping from your gbigorooo that jiggles like a maracas being played during a pentecostal praises session
Hmmm, I spend every waking moment second guessing my decision to write you this letter and right now I am second guessing my second guessing but no worries ok! Cos even if you don’t love me, I can love the two of us for us.
I love you twiiitwiii like yesterday fufu in 3 day old palm soup.
*Ayi borbor — Boiled beans
* Gbigoroo— Well endowed buttocks
If I tell you that I was thinking straight when I entered the chapel, I would be sure God would have at once gone back to the Exodus era, and made the earth swallow me for lying. All of sudden life was just as stinking as a room fumigated with a village drunk’s fart generated from eating combination three day old boiled beans and eggs after a long week of constipation and hangover. Of all the things I had seen during the war in Burma, I had come to the conclusion that nothing would shock me to the core again but little did I know that I was wrong. I had suddenly found this new faith in God that was unshakable. I revered men and women of God and held them in high esteem. I would willingly offer my last pesewa to them and induce an unnecessary fasting that lacked prayer and purpose.
People who knew me before the war were most often than not, surprised at my reserved nature. Someway, somehow I think most of them still wanted me to be that vibrant, no nonsense talkative they knew. But trust me if life pinches your balls as hard as the CO did during our recruitment just to check whether we had hernia or not, you’ll learn that being tactful and reserved was the best option. My only consolation however was the fact that Akos my love waited for me all this while.
I hear when I was away, many rich men from even within our village had asked for her hand in marriage but she had vehemently rejected them. Saying Akos was a village beauty was an understatement. In fact how she fell for someone like me must indeed be added to the seven wonders of this world to make them eight. She possessed the kind of beauty that slapped you hard on the face with your running out of your skull, leaving you dumb. When we started dating the were fireflies of rumors here and there that I had charmed her but these we not strong enough to generate any confrontation with anyone.
As a member of the Elders of the church we went to, it was a normal thing to have Akos wake up at dawn on Sunday to go to the chapel to get the place ready for service and prayers. And so when she woke me up at 3:30am to tell me she was off to the chapel, I just nodded in my sleep and the last thing I heard was her gentle footsteps and the closing of the door. After tossing in bed for about thirty minutes or so, I decided out of the blue to go the chapel to help out with preparations for the day’s service. I put on a pair of shirt, grabbed an already chewed upon chewing stick and off I went.
I noticed the door to the chapel was locked from the inside and as I got closer I could hear soft moans instead of brooms greeting the floor and I became stiff like a carcass of a dead chicken on the refuse dump. My mind raced back and forth like the pendulum of my grandfather’s clock. The moaning was more audible and defined when placed my ear against the door. Wanting to confirm my innermost fears, I went round the building and found one of the window opened. And with the little light from the lantern in the room I made out the people in the chapel.
On the floor near the pulpit was Pastor James, lying there with his manhood erect yet somehow bent like a pole-vault in action with Dzakpa the self acclaimed village fetish priest’s mouth all around it as he stroked James’ balls. Not far away was my Akos stark naked like snail out of its shell. In between her thighs Mary, the pastor’s wife had buried her head and licking like a dog drinking water. One the far end of the pulpit was the new convert and Mary’s brother doing their own thing. My only luck was that I had not had anything to eat, either than that I would have puked but even at this sight I feared I was going to puke me stomach. The pain I felt within was like being pricked all over my body with pins by fifteen people.
I slid into the chapel through the window without being noticed. I hid behind one of the pew for a few seconds to gain my composure and then screamed.
‘Ayeekooooooo! May God punish you and conditionally. I just can’t wait to tell the whole world about this!!’
My scream startled them, and they froze. Then as if possessed they all moved towards me with a speed and courage I was surprised to react to and pinned me down. Then, Akos came over smiled at me and began to blindfold me. The more I wrestled them, the more I felt the weight of them pinning me down.
I began to cry and beg them to leave me alone, no one responded to me. Then I felt the blindfold taken off my eyes, I strained to open my eyes but my eyes lids were as heavy as lead. When I finally opened my eyes I realized I was in the hospital and had been bitten by a Hobo spider and I was still as single as 1 since no lady was interested in an old soldier who couldn’t command his cannon to shoot liquid fire.