In the thick of thick thighs the prerogative is longevity. She has let me in. I am ugly and I don’t know if she will let me in again. I must give her something worthwhile in return for her generosity.
I am inadequate.
Ugly.
The township made sure I knew I was ugly since primary school. As a result I was cowed, umabheka phansi. Shy. Quiet. Puberty unleashed more horrors.
“The thought of dating you makes me want to throw up” said a pretty classmate in high school. Then there was the beautiful girl I secretly asked out to the matric dance. After she rejected me, I thought the story would remain between us, but she made sure to tell my classmates and I became the laughing stock of the whole standard. I cried. I sobbed my sorrows to sleep.
Ugly.
In the streets, women see me and immediately look away. They are curious from afar, but once I get close they look the other way or turn to the ground with fierce concentration.
Ugly.
I had a beautiful girl once. Not the type of girl that society had deemed to be in my league, but a girl that transcended types. A woman who was hot in everyone’s eyes, no matter their preference. I felt elated. I loved her very quickly. I felt like a king. The fact that she picked Me, from a sea of suitors confirmed something that I had always suspected.
Perhaps I was not ugly.
This possibility set in motion scenes of extreme womanising in adulthood. But relationships always faded after the honeymoon phase. I constantly sought the new love feeling. How in this phase they would be proud to hold my hand in public unlike the others. Others who wanted to pass me off as their friend in public but showered me with love, kisses and sweet nothings in private.
The more sex I had, the less ugly I felt. Between the thick thighs, I was not concerned about longevity anymore. I grew arrogant. Remember I was not ugly anymore, akere? Else why would all these women sleep with an ugly man?
Until one day a drunk man who probably thought himself to be whispering, blurted out:
“Yho, umbi lomuntu”
