Letter to Becky

Oh my friend have you no shame, devouring cubs like that?! You do know this is jealousy speaking here, choma. I so wish I were there with you. That Bob boy sounds like a dish, nka mo otla ka kuku a tagwe, choma. Wa nkitse nna.

So, Arthur invited me to his get-together braai last week. I decided to ask Pabi to tag along with me, as I wasn’t sure what type of crowd would be in attendance. You know how women can be at times, choma, like you are doing flashing your BlackBerry 39-what-what at me like Paris Hilton flashing her punani for cameras.

Tshepo came to fetch us with his father’s Grand Voyager. Pabi and I sat in the seat behind the driver’s, despite Tshepo asking Pabi to sit on the front passenger seat. We opened bottles of Vawter on our way to Arthur’s place. Tshepo was playing some old school RnB on our way there. There’s just something about Janet Jackson’s songs that makes me wanna open my thighs for a hard long dick, my friend. Worse when alcohol is beginning to take it’s toll.

When we got to Arthur’s place we found him braaing, but there wasn’t as many people as we had anticipated. Apparently, many of his friends had attended a wedding in town. There were 3 other guys there, two with their girlfriend and another helping Arthur to braai the meat. That was great because it meant more booze for all of us and guaranteed dick for me in Arthur. I really didn’t care for much.

I sat on a camp chair, just outside the sliding the door facing the braai stand. Choma, I had front row seats of Arthur’s tight ass.

I was wearing my polka-dot summer dress with a straw hat. My dress exposed my DD bosom and down south I went commando. As the deep house tracks were taking me away to a land I have never been to, Vawter took my hormones where I wanted it to go. Arthur kept taking sips of his Heineken while he bumped his head to the beat of his recorded megamix. I wish he would look my way but he was busy engaged in conversation about whether Black Coffee was a better DJ than Kent. Boys!

His friend, whose name I never got, kept checking me out but I pretended not to notice him. Each time he looked my way, I took a sip of my drink and looked the other way. I know my thighs were killing him, as I was sitted with one leg over the other. What we call a ‘four’, mgani!

When Arthur finally paid me attention, asking me to get a plate for the meat, I pulled a Basic Instinct on him. I slowly pulled my legs apart, flashing my pussy at him, stood up and walked to the kitchen. I could see him drooling all over that clean-shaven, beetle-shaped tswana kuku of mine.

After meals, it was already dark and most of us were tipsy. The two couples drove away and only Tshepo, Pabi, Arthur, myself and that dude whose name I never got. Each one cuddled their motho on the couches, the dude was all alone and kept drinking while ogling at us. At the time, Arthur’s tongue was licking the back of my ears.

Tshepo and Pabi were also at it. It was clear they liked each other, from the afternoon, as they followed each other everywhere. I couldn’t see them, but I heard the sounds they were making.
“oooh, ahhh, ohh-shhhit.”
Arthur had his hand up my skirt and was fondling my already wet pussy. The volume of my moaning kept ascending with each rub against my clit. His hands were firm, yet his touches were delicate. As he was busy with my pussy, I was slowly unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly. I reached inside those tight polyamide/spandex boxer shorts and out came that black anaconda. I quickly got into positon to kiss its head and insert it into my mouth. I blew him, paying attention mostly to the tip of his head and I heard him scream “ooohhhh – shhhhhhit!”
I went down to his balls and I felt them roar like the king of the jungle. I kept licking his shaft from top to bottom. Each time taking a peek at that single dude whose name I never got. He pretended to be sleeping but I could see he had a hard on, as it was portruding through his tight pants. He had built a tent, my friend. As I was sucking his dick, I kept looking at Arthur’s facial expressions. They changed from time to time. One moment he would be biting his lower lip, the next he would be breathing heavily and the other holding the couch tight and shaking his head like he was been tortured with electricity. I could feel his toes curling and muscles cramping. I knew he was close to nirvana. In a blink of an eye, he popped.

Cum shots came out as though it were water lanched from a spraygun. All over my face, breast and dress. He spraypainted me cream white. He laid there, on a couch, exhausted like he had just ran a marathon. As I gathered my handbag and walking towards the bathroom, I heard Pabi say “Aaaahhhhh!”
I knew that was the sound of Tshepo burying his bone inside her cookie.

I quickly freshened up and prepared myself for serious bonking. As I came out the bathroom door, I came across the dude without a name. He had his hands in his pocket. Choma, I swear he was fiddling his dick and about to jerk off in the bathroom.

When I got back in the sitting room, I was greeted by Pabi’s screaming.
“Tshepoooo! Tshepoooo, Harder!
Tshepoooo, Harder! Faster!”
That soundtrack was just too much, I instantly wanted hard dick. I wished I could join them. Tshepo was sitted, she was squatting over and riding him like a cowgirl on a wild horse. Arthur had passed out, I tried in vain to wake him up. I was so disappointed thought of bonking the other dude. At this stage he had gone to the other bedroom.

I went to Arthur’s main bedroom, got into his King-sized bed and attempted to finish the job myself. I just couldn’t concentrate, due to the sounds Pabi was making. It made me lust after Tshepo.

After they were done, they came into the bedroom with Arthur in their arms and threw him onto the bed. I was disgusted. Didn’t even want to look in his direction. Pabi and Tshepo took out a blow up bed and prepared to sleep. Once they had settled, she made that sound again.
I just couldn’t deal. Arthur was lying there stone-cold. He wasn’t moving, just breathing softly. My pussy was soaking wet and it wanted dick asap. I gave the mutherfucker a mother of all BJ’s and he repays me by passing, depriving me of that joystick. Tshepo kept banging Pabi’s head against the side of the bed. I wished I could just get Pabi out there and open up wide for Tshepo to screw me ’til I screamed his name.

I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, guess who I bumped into? The dude whose name I never got. I grabbed him and we kissed. His dick was already hard and I too was wet. He picked me up and pinned me against the wall, with my legs over his shoulders. His rock hard chest rubbing against my calves as he thrust harder and deeper. At this point I wish I had asked for his name because I wanted to let him know how much I appreciate him fucking me after Arthur had let me down. He stood up hard for me and I opened up wide. He thrust deep and I screamed hard. I felt him, feeling me feeling him deep inside me. I wished for him not to stop. The screams in the bedroom had stopped. They were then listening to me. I screamed hard, I wished Arthur would come out of sleep and see me getting fucked by his buddy. The man knew his story, as he pulled my hair, pinned me down the on the floor and dominated me. He thrust so hard and deep, I feared he would dislocate my womb. I felt like an absolute whore being fucked by someone whose name I didn’t even know. The pleasure made it all worth it. He turned me around and had me on my knees. From behind, he reached even deeper. I held on to the foot of the toilet seat. My mind was miles off earth. The excitement, elation and ecstasy of it all is beyond description. Orgasm, the highest point of excitement. My toes curled, my eyes crossed, I bit my tongue. Faster, harder, deeper. I heard rolling stones, thunder strikes. I went, I came

I did Dinny

I hate it when visitors I don’t know spend more than an hour in the house. I feel absolutely violated and my space invaded. So when my grandfather passed on, I knew it was going to be a challenge dealing with all the people coming in and going out. Though the funeral wasn’t at my place, relatives and family friends arrived at my place because grandad’s house isn’t big enough. Cousins and uncles I have never met before, claiming to know me and all telling me they last saw me as a toddler. Like I really care.

I locked myself in my bedroom and kept myself busy with my BB. My mom kept interrupting me to introduce me to more mourners and to ask me to make them tea and biscuits for them. Right there in my reluctance, dragging my feet, I set eyes on three people from whom something stood out. This woman had a clear skin and her daughter the most charming smile. They were with a guy, that had broad shoulders and a silky smooth voice. He killed me with his “Pleased to meet you”. I thought, “Meat me please! I’m not one to let dick go to waste”.

In all honesty, I didn’t warm up to the girl. She had a flat stomach and long smooth legs. Jealousy just got the best of me. I think I must have thrown a cup in her direction, without even looking her way. Her beauty made my stomach churn, but her brother’s voice melted my heart. I wanted to jump him and have my legs around his waist.

I’m usually at my horniest the 3 days before I get my periods. At this stage, I had reached the peak of purple flames. I wanted to extinguish them right there and then. It was as if God had heard my prayers when I heard they would be sleeping over. I vowed to pretend to be sleepwalking and get into bed with him. The sleeping arrangements were such that the girl, who was introduced as Dinny, would share a bed with me and Jabu would be in the guest bedroom, while my mom would be sleeping with their mom.

Realising this, I decided to be more polite to Dinny and showed her around the house. She had a perfume that neither smelt feminine nor masculine. It was just attractive and made me want to walk closer to her, but at the same time had to convince myself that I hated her. The more I tried to enforce my hatred for her the more I was drawn to her. Her mannerisms were just magnetic. How she flicked those dreads back and stuck them behind her ears. How she moved her lips gave me that feeling I cannot explain when she said Nthabi. My name has never sounded that sexy before, worse it was from a girl I hated at first sight and whose brother I was eyeing.

Once we were in bed, I locked the door, played Anthony Hamilton and whipped out the previous night’s leftover whiskey. We drank from the bottle, as I was already comfortable with her.

As liquor began to take its toll, conversation soon became about how badly men treated us in the past, but we still live in hope that we will one day meet the right one.

Right then my mind was wondering of the things I would do to her brother who was sleeping next door, but I knew I was in no state to do anything. I thought I could always blame it on alcohol, the morning after, but decided against it. Soon after the bottle was finished, I got into my nightie and prepared to get into bed. As I was tucking in, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Dinny’s body. Firm C-cup breasts, a size 34 figure and a pear-shaped ass. She looked like a handcrafted work of art. Her silhouette stuck against the wall like a pinup poster as I switched of the lights and left the side lamps on. Her presence illuminated the darkly lit room and my heart beat fast as she slowly approached the bed.
“Sweet Dreams, hun!” she said.
What an anticlimax that was, as the lights went off.

Throughout the night I hoped she would accidentally touch or roll onto me, but she was well-behaved. She didn’t make a single sound nor move. Smelt good too. I just wanted to have my arms around her, but was afraid to. In an act of desperation, I turned away from her and intentionally let my foot touch hers. My heart raced as I realised what I just did. I was expecting her to kick me so hard I fell out of bed. She surprised me when she didn’t. She slowly rubbed my foot against hers and moved closer to me. I felt my hair slightly move, exposing my ears and a warm tongue ran behind it.
My heart almost came to a standstill when she whispered, “I hope you don’t mind this.”
I couldn’t grasp my breath and get my words out, but I reach for her face and caressed her cheeks in approval. She didn’t need a second invitation and licked away. Moved lower and started working on my neck. As I turned around, our lips locked and we smooched away. I couldn’t keep my hands away from her Coca-Cola bottle figure. She felt soft and delicate in my hands, I moved closer to her until my breasts were up against hers. I stuck my leg between hers and felt the warmth contained in there. Through that deep kiss, I felt my pussy getting wetter and wetter. Even more so when it hit against hers. With my right hand I kept fondling her left breast until it her tit got rock hard. Her breathing went heavier as her tongue rolled deeper against mine. She began making sounds and I knew we were feeling each other, as I had also began moaning. Once my mouth was detached from hers, I started nibbling at her one tit while rubbing another with my hand. She was running her fingers through my hair and I could feel her muscles stiffening, as she gripped my head tighter.
I helped her take her panties off and slipped my finger between her legs. In a Yellow Pages movement, I alternately ran my index and middle fingers against her clit. Bit by bit my fingers were getting immersed into a sea of natural juices. I stuck my middle finger inside her and bent it to caress the front wall of her punani. I felt that area becoming larger, as she was getting wetter. The grooves dilated and I felt the entire surface area of her G-Spot literally triple in size. Through her dilations she held me tighter and firmer. Softly, I heard her say “Nthabi, Don’t Stop. Nthabi, Yes!”
I knew she was close. She tightened her thighs and screamed. Her body stiffened and she shook like she had been electrocuted. She pressed her pussy against my fingers and thrust hard and fast, as I rubbed her punani. “Aaaah!” she arrived. We cuddled and slept with our arms around each other and didn’t wanna let go in the morning. To wake her up, I licked ice cubes off her body and woke up to get to the church service.

Eyebags and Dimples by Bonnie Henna

One of the things that make autobiographies stand out from memoirs and biographies is that subjects are expected to reveal all. Whether it’s interesting or drab, good or bad, it doesn’t matter, readers just want all the details to come out in an autobiography. And that’s exactly what Eyebags and Dimples (An autobiography) does. Described as “Bonnie’s shockingly naked account of how her depression almost robbed her of her shine and how she continues to fight this darkness” the book is indeed a naked account of the short life she’s lived up to so far.

Bonnie Henna is well known for being a child star back in the days (as a TV presenter) and a well established actress. From the age of 13 years she managed to pull a happy face on our TV screens as if all was well back home even though she came from a very troubled and unhappy household. But all was actually not well. She has always been followed by darkness right from her childhood up to her adult life. Moving to America to try and pursue her acting career in Hollywood, Bonnie terribly fails to make it into being a “star” she left South Africa hoping to become. As things don’t work out the way she expected them, profound depression settles into her and she’s pushed closer to the edge. But luckily she’s diagnosed on time with clinical depression before falling and losing herself completely.

It’s almost difficult to believe that she wrote the book herself because it is so well written. And I don’t mean that in a patronizing way, please. What I am trying to say is that it is not quite common to find TV stars moving from doing their TV work to writing their stories in such a compelling manner and with such ease. Each and every chapter in Bonnie Henna’s book is totally absorbing and almost leaves a lump in one’s throat.

In the book Bonnie doesn’t blame anyone for her “illness” but rather asks this fundamental question: Having endured the most heart wrenching and depressing period of your life, how do you then own your story and move forward peacefully when you finally find out what the problem is? And as much as Eyebags and Dimples is not a self-help book, anyone with a troubled soul can use Bonnie Henna’s story to acknowledge their pain, deal with it and move on.

The way her mother treated her as a child is horrifying and one gets the feeling when she wrote certain parts (if not the entire book) of the book she was in absolute tears. The stories of abused children are quite common in our societies and even though one is vividly aware of such stories Bonnie Henna’s story will still make you shudder with utter horror. The experience is profoundly excruciating.

Susan Shabangu, Who are you to blame these nationwide strikes on Impala?

Business Day reported you on Wednesday (3 Oct.) blaming Implats for the wild and seemingly out-of-control strikes we’ve seen since early this year. You saw the company’s recent wage agreement – the somewhat second in 2012 – with its respective employees’ representatives as a “grave error”.

My dear minister – if you worked in the mining industry you would understand. As a shareholder in Lonmin, I think Cyril Ramaphosa is probably the best person worth listening to because of his shareholding in the industry. It is further worrying that NUM, too, puts the blame of the country-wide strikes at the door of Impala.

The now-not-so-popular giant mining industry union and the federation union, Cosatu, claimed mine employers, particularly Implats bosses, “must take full responsibility for all the strikes that are spreading in the mining industry”. While I agree with this claim to a certain extent, I, however, need to add that had it not been very worrying reports against NUM in the mining industry and its fight with the new-kid-on-the-bloc AMCU this mess of strikes would probably not be at the current level: uncontrollable.

So, unions, as much as government are to blame. In fact, you (government, unions and mining companies) are all in this mess together and blaming one another – mine bosses, that is – will not make go away the current situation where people are striking because they want what Cosatu and affiliated unions believe is a “minimum living wage”.

Minister, to want to blame Implats – unlike Lonmin where the situation got so out of hand and out of control and even made worse by your government’s deployment to the mine of the security forces and the military – is just bullshit! In fact, I am of the opinion that Implants did what it thought was best and wanted to avoid ‘another Marikana’ as has been promised by other striking unions.

You further accuse Implats of having negotiated out of the wage agreement of about two years (if I remember well). This, you were quoted as saying, was to “undermine” the established agreements in place. “You can’t agree on a process and then immediately move out of that process. That is why we have this challenge now”, you said. It now appears to be this “unilateral” decision by Impala and the mine industry in general which you seem to have a problem with.

While you have as much right to freedom of expression, I think your concern is ill-informed because this – negotiation outside of the established wage agreements – is exactly what happened at Lonmin following its illegal strike that went on for over a month.

At the time of its negotiations outside of these established wage agreement of mostly two years – no-one said anything. In fact, many government officials – the President of the country, NUM and Cosatu, among others – were very happy at the settlement reached.

It is worth noting that this settlement was reached without the assistance of neither Cosatu, NUM or even AMCU. It was the employees themselves (through outsiders party to the established wage agreement of about two years or so) that negotiated with Lonmin management. So to now want to call Impala’s agreement a “grave error” is, in my opinion, simply ridiculous.

Need I remind you of something, dear minister. Your dearest Cosatu has called of some miners to open the negotiations even before the agreed and established wage agreement lapses. What do you call that?

Why appear to blame Implats for allegedly negotiating outside of the established wage agreements while keep quiet about Cosatu’s demand to some industry members that negotiations be opened now?

I think Implats response was the best it could do at the time and given the experience of an illegal strike it experienced early this year.

Furthermore, and lastly, I agree with Implats that you probably have no idea of the “extremely complex and multifaceted” environment and condition under which mining companies operate (emphasis added). As a result, you should probably stay out of this one.

IMPORTANT: Although I have been working in the mining industry for about full four years but not specifically underground – I think my response is well informed. Well, you’re welcome to differ, though. Oh, I don’t work for Impala.