The Lover and The Prowler

So I’m a Gemini. For those who know anything about astrology it’s commonly known as ‘the twin’ — the dualistic persona. When it comes to sex, my louder persona — The Prowler, loves the freedom and empowerment of a one night stand. For years I’ve loved going to events, prowling a crowd, picking my mark and ending the night in bed with said chosen.

However, there is another side of my sex story. A side who has not had as much time in the spotlight — The Lover. She loves sex that is meaningful, and with a person whom she feels a deep connection to. Someone she can truly blossom with.

In this tale both the twins come out to have their say.


I will forever regard Windhoek as being the home to the world’s best couchsurfing-host-women, ever. Twerk Queen and her five sister’s humble home gives us our first glimpse of what it would be like to be a true local. Tucked away in the heart of Katutura Township, the thrum of music drifts from the numerous bars, children play freely on the street, prowling cats and dogs seeking scraps of food and with the right with a waft of the Single Quarters meat market fills the air.

The girls give us their bed, their food, their company, and even attempt teaching us how to Twerk (previously concluded by our tiny white asses as a physical impossibility).

The sisters are taking us into town with a group of their friends. Walking into a bar I am gobsmacked. It feels like we’ve walked into a Melbourne bar, the most obvious difference being our glowing skin, standing out amongst the dark chocolate crowd. Everyone is trendy as fuck and all walks of life are represented; there are hipsters, glam girls, gangsters, suits, you name it.

I’m positioned at the bar waiting for my GnTs and peering out at the sea of people, when the beat takes on a different nature. Oozing out of the speaker is a combination of jazz, soul and funk — I instantly feel my hips organically sway to the rhythm. It’s not just me; everyone around me is transformed by this music. Booties are shaking, hips are grinding, they’re fully immersed in dance, full of confidence, full of pride in their varying body shapes. And they are showing the fuck off. I froff this place.

Still grinning from this sight, a 6ft tall woman passes by. I recognise that she is a transvestite. Apprehensively, I look ahead to see what the reactions towards her will be… nothing.

This city is seriously blowing me away! There’s a transvestite and no one batting an eyelid! She is safe and accepted HALLELUJAH!

Let me explain. I’ve been travelling through parts of Africa e.g. Tanzania where being homosexual is still punishable by imprisonment. So now, coming to Namibia and seeing humans of all gender identifications, wearing whatever the fuck they like, dancing however the fuck they want; brings me pure joy.

GnTs in hand, I make my way outside to sit with Twerk Queen and her gang of guy friends. Somehow we get onto the topic of anal sex.

No no. That is only for gay people,’ declared one of the male friends.

I look over at his normally loud buddies and they are silent —not daring to disagree. Filled with confidence from this progressive place, I decide that this is a topic we can safely debate. And so that’s what we do; Mumma Africa, Zimbabawia and I proudly share our views of how men can enjoying all parts of a woman’s body and it does not make them gay.

As the silent friends start to find their voice and agree with what we are saying, I catch the eye of a beautiful man. He’s well over 6ft tall, wearing a bright yellow hoodie, and he’s looking directly at me. I feel myself instantly blush. He waves me over and I excuse myself from the conversation which has now evolved to tips for anal play.

Attendee introduces himself. Besides his strong facial features, impressive height, and stylish get up, he is also beautifully spoken and sophisticated. He’s effortlessly wooing me and The Prowler is letting him.

I’m here with my flight attendant friends,’ he boasts.

He introduces me to his glamourous colleagues. They tell tales of stop offs to Berlin; nights out in the Bergine; ocean dips in Lisbon and attending concerts in London. They come from another world and I am whisked away by Attendee’s stories.

Meanwhile, my gang’s night has come to an end and they are ready to to hit the road.

Are you coming with us?’ questions a suggestive Zimbabawia.

I turn to Attendee, uncharacteristically shy, and he replies:

You’re staying at mine aren’t you?

At this point Twerk Queen steps in and tells him:

She is under my supervision and YOU had better look after her. Give me your number. What’s your address? Call me when you get home AND call me in the morning!

Yes mam! She turns to leave but not before striking him one last watch it glare.

So that’s it. I’m going home with Attendee. Jumping into the taxi I hear the tiny voice of my The Lover protesting. I decide it’s just nervousness, this is my first one night stand, outside of the desert since Durban Boy.

We detour to get late night Nandos and take it back to his living room where the sharing of greasy food allows me to relax. As if a segway into the events ahead — we lick the chicken salt off our fingers and he invites me into his bedroom.

Again the nerves in my belly flare up. I sit awkwardly on his bed waffling on about the cool clothes in his wardrobe. Half listening, he pulls off his jumper to reveal a body I will never forget.

The nerves start to dissipate. This is what we’re here for. We’re not here to make friends. Not here to get to know each other. No. We are here for sex.

As he comes towards me I instinctively reach out my hand to caress this new, beautiful skin. Clearly wanting to do the same he yanks my top over my head to reveal my bra free (always) breasts.

Laying between my legs he takes each breast into his hands and tenderly kisses my erect nipples. He twirls my nipple ring with his tongue and I watch like a voyeur feeling the warmth grow in my body.

I gently put my hands on his spongy hair and encourage him to come up to face me. Finally, we kiss. Oh. My. God. My instant thought is to feel my own lips. Are my lips really that small?

Kissing him again I am in heaven. It’s like kissing the softest, most moist, beautiful black pillows. I’m only just getting started on his pillows when he lifts them off my mouth and moves them down along me; down, down, down, to pussy town.

I am wet with anticipation, if those lips felt like that on my mouth then… OMG he has arrived. He parts me with his tongue and moves his lips around my outer lips. His tongue gently strokes along my clit making me moan.

Because I find it hard to orgasm while the attention is solely on me, I swivel around so that I come face to face with his erection.

His dick; oh my gosh his dick. By now you probably realise I haven’t been with a man whose darker than my breakfast cinnamon. And now, as I take this beauty in my mouth, I am wondering, Why the hell haven’t I?

As usual the distraction of a cock in my mouth allows me to fully relax and come to orgasm. We come back to eye level and marvel at one another’s skin. Running our hands along each other we joke about our differences and then he enters me and colours are forgotten.

We are one union of pleasure, grinding down onto him I feel full of life, lust, and freedom — freedom to explore my sexuality while I travel this amazing continent. With this thought in mind Attendee climaxes and I drift off to sleep in his soft arms.

Yes, yes she’s asleep. Oh no, here she is, she woke up.’

My morning lay in is disturbed by Attendee handing me his phone.

Hello?’ I ask, quite confused. Twerk Queens commanding voice comes through ‘Girl you alright? I told him he has to bring you home’.

The phone call finally finishes with Attendee swearing that he is bringing me home soon. And then, silence falls between us.

We have nothing more to say to one another. Fascinating. How can there be so much language without words when our clothes are off. But when the morning comes it’s like we are strangers again.

When I jump out of his car I look at Attendee in his rather sexy uniform, yet I feel nothing. For the first time it dawns on me that although I love and respect my sexual freedom, The Lover, the connection seeking persona in me, simply isn’t satisfied with just penetration.

At this realisation, The Lover seems to be getting louder; ‘I tried to tell you!

I think it’s about time this twin had some time in the spotlight. I wonder who she’ll meet next?



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Artwork by @_monadoma_