How do I really begin?
Is this really necessary?
Do they…need to know?
What would change if they did? They already think the worst of me.
Honestly, I haven’t done much to alter their preconceptions. It almost seems like I enjoy the bad publicity.
But do I?
Am I really the devil they know, or an angel in disguise?
Honestly, I’m not sure anymore. One minute, I’m all sane, decent, and consumed by the spirit of Regency romance, professing love like my sanity depends on it.
In the next, I feel nothing but manic lustful desires, prepared to hunt down anything in a skirt but Scottish men and cross-dressers.
The good thing is, I rarely act on impulse. But the pulsating sensation in my penis is evidence of the introverted demon I’ve refused to acknowledge.
Some might say I’m a madman torn between heaven and hell.
But I know I love love.
I’m thrilled by the idea of spending the rest of my life stuck on an island bedecked with shipwrecks from the 15th century, shacked up in a rickety beach house with the love of my life, consumed by the extraordinary ordinariness of Poguelandia.
I also know I mean every word I say.
Yet, the public is determined to disregard my genuine eloquence.
“Yoruba men get sweet mouth sha”
Each time I utter a scintillating statement, Oduduwa gets the credit.
My words of affirmation affirm my tribe rather than my genuine feelings – the conception of my ‘suspicious’ sensuality.
Although they remain susceptible to the allure of these rapturous words, I still feel the need to clear the air.
Yes, I do. I mean, it’s demeaning to believe I conjure these words to upset the balance of your world.
Did I say I loved you? I meant it!
When I painted the picture of you riding me into the sunset on a yacht in a velvety white dress entrapped in the wind’s embrace, I wasn’t being fictional. I wanted you that much.
I never lied to make you feel special. I believed those words too!
Hell! I lived them.
I often gazed into your eyes, not to hypnotize you, but because, in them, I found solace and desire.
Yes, your panties often became moist afterward, but I promise my intentions were as ‘morning dew’ – glistening and restoring nature’s greenery.
Nonetheless, I’m sorry my aura is festooned with an appetitive lining. I come in peace, though my desires are split between tranquility and chaos.
I like woman, I no go lie give you.
Indeed, I am often fascinated by the voluptuous femme fatales of this world. Can you blame me, though? There are too many beautiful women in this world, and sometimes, I do want them all.
But I’m more of a King George than Oliver Twist. I want just one Queen. Yet, my penis harbors the ghost of King Solomon.
In some infrequent occurrence, my heart yearns for two, but hey, that’s a story for another day.
If this made you smile and eager to read more from me, please send me a cup of coffee☕️ to keep my eyes glued to my screen. Thank you☺️