You and I, that cold February night, were akin to the Kiganda musekuzo pestle and kinu mortar. Uncircumcised, you stood as majestically tall, proud, thick and fierce as an older musekuzo pestle in a Muganda woman's kitchen. Krugugu-krugugu, krugugu-krugugu, you pounded me hard as my Queen Bed bought last year from Xing-Xing Department Stores in Ndeeba trading centre squeaked kwichichi-kwichichi in gentle accompaniment to each powerful thrust. Open Back Prom Dresses 2020

We were strangers coming together ... for one night of pure adult pleasure. I was lonely and starved for long. You? I suppose you were curious, bored, cold and out on a quest for another name and date entered into the little black book you keep under your dirty mattress. I did not care, really. I needed to cure my horn. You sufficed. Isn't this era so convenient?

After a moment of intense pounding, ground nuts in a mortar begin releasing aromatic juices to aid the pestle produce delicious paste. After a while of your rhythmic grinding, I released the sweetest juices produced by stellar ladies of the night. Kroko-kroko-kroko, kroko-kroko-kroko, your pestle's rhythm changed with renewed zeal.

"Njagala amazzi - meaning I want water," you grunted.

"Sekula Ssebo," I hissed and raised one foot to widen the circumfrence of operation for you.

Kro-kro-kro-kro, you pounded me faster and sweeter, faster and sweeter. I licked your black skin glistening with the sweat of a hard worker.

"Mpa amazzi Stella Nyanzi," you groaned gruffily.

"Sekula ebinyebwa Daddy," I cried and writhed and begged and moaned from intense pleasure.

And then I cut off my taps. I restrained my dams from bursting forth. I refused to seal my bonding to this one-night-stand. Instead, I suddenly slapped hard your bare black buttocks that lay ontop of my kinu mortar. You came powerfully with vigorous spasms and the loud grunt of a victorious warrior. You then dropped besides me in a heap of spent manness. You started snoring loudly.

I turned my back towards you. I wondered whether it was too late to phone a bodaboda-man to take you back to where you came from. I stretched like a contented cat and dreamt of pestles, mortars, ground nuts and women's emancipation.