Coping up with five other feminine characters in a
room is a nightmare when the semester kicks off. It
is only in such an environment that you must learn
how to share the strained resources provided by the
university like one socket in some a congested and
over occupied room. Patience and understanding are
the key virtues that you must clothe yourself with to
survive those moments when one of your roommates
brings in her hook up, then dominate your lower bed
with a forbidden romp while exiling the rest of you
from the room. Or when you get back just to find
some of your utensils used without your conscience
then left dirty, only for you to inquire and get no
response. You don’t go gaga, you swallow your
anger and assume you forgot to wash them. But
with time, you master how to put up with their
demeanour, attitude and hogwash. You get to learn
quite a lot about life especially if you are fresh from
the village with weird sentiments about campus life.
Besides, inside these rooms, there is plenty of gossip
that never make it to the light of day.
We all know of how boys, oops, men talk of football
and Sport Pesa day in day out. Let us not forget how
they like bragging about the sexcapades to their
peers. With an air of accomplishment, they talk of
how they hit the jackpot several times that week. To
top it all, with their fragile egos, they proclaim just
how so special they are, just to date one woman. But
have you ever wondered what those ladies dressed in
hip-hugging dresses and swinging on heels with lips
dripping red paint, talk about inside their hostels?
Here is a sneak peek into the same.
Rough Rider.
That time when you have no serious classes and few
assignments, you join the conversation going on in
the room about the best methods of protection
during coitus. Use of condoms, pops up pretty first
as though everyone was eagerly waiting to pour it
out and this narrows down to the different types
and their qualities. You overhear that Durex is king.
Sufferers don’t use this considering one goes for
You hear the word studded for the first time being
used in the context of increasing friction during copulation making it enjoyable. In no time, that tough Rider type comes in with a resounding loud bang. It is commonly used by Commercial workers and its quality is good just as the name suggests. Then you conclude that the type of a guy uses equates his love for you. From then you, settle for another type. Nothing cheaper than
25 plus make the best soul mates.
It dawns on you that age is not just a number but the twenty five and above age is the correct figure.
One entices the rest of you, “Why should you waste you precious time with a campus pervert who can’t clothe and satisfy you?”. The best men are the working class type. Not only are they caring but also mature and very responsible. You don’t want to imagine that you have been wasting time in your one sided affair with that immature forth year student.
When you give those words a second thought, you imagine that you have grown wings and would take off from that relationship at a supersonic speed.
After all, what is a man for when he cannot take you to a fancy hotel and buy you a decent meal rather than pitching tent in the mosquito invaded
arboretum, in the name of love? Plus, those over 25 men are damn good in bed. Their experience is up there. Why waste time on experiments? As you internalize the notion, you start regretting why you let go of the countless opportunities presented by these working class men. Surely, you have beauty and brains, why not give it a try. Time to dump the broke campus boy.
Pricking the bubble.
You have tried it for the first time, just that you aren’t sure of how it felt. Nevertheless, you would like someone to share her experience concerning her
affair. One of the roomies bring the issue to the table and each of you feels subjected to chip in something. Some are never shy, they will tell you at what age their bubble was pricked, how it felt and how it went down after the encounter. Yes, you have been looking for that word to describe that
glorious moment. That is degrading a lady’s standards. Ati good men will take you for an outing, buy you Amarula, then devour you as a payoff for his treat. You feel
embarrassed because you had given in to Johnny’s request to visit in his double room in campus.

Check Out:  The Campus Lass: VINDICATE ME FROM THEIR IGNOMINIOUS Coercion.

Talk about fashion with ladies aside, you would be thrown off a cliff headlong. Make up, jewelry, hairstyle, swags, dress code, all fall in this category.
The rich daughters of so and so, teach you how they do it. You will learn about, crop tops; those tops that expose your flat tummy to team mafisi. Rugged jeans; if your shosh ever sees you in them, she will censure you for exposing your thighs. Pencil skirts;
figure hugging long skirts that make you walk like your ankles are giving in to the power of legcuffs.
The rest of the terms are for another day. Mascara, eye pencil, lip stick and the brownish paste which tints their skin to smoothness is what these girls use to make them look like Hollywood stars. How you get lured then venture into beautifying yourself to attract. In a while, you become resistant to fashion just to find yourself at par with the rich girls of so and so.
‘I hate’ syndrome.
That rainy Monday morning, everyone gets up complaining about everything. The economist in the house complains about being broke and inflation in
the mess while the political scientist laments on why the administration is not concerned about the welfare of the students. The engineer cries out loud on how she has spent the whole night cracking codes as if you care, while the party animal yaps about how there were substandard types of fun in last night’s bash. It starts materializing that indeed there is fun and there is the reality in life. Imagining the subsequent CATs next week crushes your soul, but then you have to walk through hell either way.
It’s a liberal world, with freedom of expression at its disposal. You better make good use of it, lest it’s robbed off you.
That is all For now.


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