Ghana

Thanks to the barbaric practice of female genital mutilation you will run into it as you proceed north in Ghana. The estimated 30% of the population experiencing FGM is in the north of Ghana. I lived in Tamale for a year and the few girls I had sex with had no clits. I would stick to Kumasi and farther south but, of course, the distribution of FGM in the north can still be sporadic. If you google it you can narrow down the exact regions in the north where FGM is in high concentration.

Roman Guy,
if you have the time, smaller towns definitely present many interesting opportunities. Some of the towns you mention are mostly still not so far from Accra, within its broad catchment area and I'm sure you would be rewarded for hunting in such places. Further afield I have passed through out of the way places such as Bole, Yendi and Bimbila in the northern region, Ho, Hohoe,Nkwanta and Kedjebi in Volta Region plus other towns in the middle such as Kintampo, Nkoranza, Techiman, Dunkwa and Tarkwa. Unfortunately I only ever spent one night in most of these places so was unable to fully case them. From what I observed however, the smaller towns in the Volta region for example are really the most primitive I have seen in Ghana and I would not recommend. Travelling south in Volta, once you get to Hohoe then prospects improve dramatically and Ho is a pretty large place where girls are relatively easy to hook up with. However I would stress that in al these places you must hunt during daylight (except perhaps weekends) as there is zero nightlife midweek and in many places no electricity. Prospects in the middle I think are pretty good if you have time, I remember chatting to a real cutie in Techiman but unfortunately I wasn't staying long enough to take advantage. Even in some of the small villages on the main Kumasi to Tarkwa road I recall one sunday afternoon a party going off in one and there were some pretty hot looking babes having fun.
The best time in the smaller towns just to recap would be the weekends when everyone is out for a good time...

Oh I miss my Nigeria girl "princess"with the blond weavon, I had with her always a great time when I was in Ghana, I try to come to my Homecountry Ghana in December, but in the meantime I will report you guys sometimes from Monrovia, mmh very worst but interested City (the Liberian girls too).

making my rounds on oxford street last night around 10 pm. avoiding and failing to avoid the usual touts and trolls who by now know me by name from one end of the street to the other. (my idiot fault for telling one or two of them my name. though what would it matter them bellowing a pseudonym at me from across the street other than to have them complain about my rudeness in not responding on my return pass when i fail to answer to a name not my own?) some profoundly vigilant, dogged, occasionally unescapable touts on oxford street and the ring road east, never threatening, though, except for a few uncertain moments one evening fending off fred (?), a rastafarian who prowls the immediate vicinity of mecumba's with francine, his rather tall, layered and striking "sister." he chastised me bitterly and a little closely one evening for having refused to sit with francine on my previous pass. stinking of ganga. a firmer-than-comfortable grip on the shoulder which led me to apologize if i in any way offended. i am unfamiliar with all the roads which can lead an obroni to a ghanaian police station and draw the line of my deep curiosity of the nature of things there. immediate smile from fred and all is forgiven as he leaves me to wander off again. i have not come away from this encounter with a better understanding of the etiquette of rastafarian pimping but am still fairly certain it is not part of the religion in any of its forms.

but i digress.

strictly out of curiosity i make my way into the crystal something gambling establishment which adjoins tip top chinese restaurant when out the door walks a girl who makes eye contact. i say hi. she says hi.

nana is exquisite. short, slight, unadorned, un- made-up, simple top and jeans, beautifully molded high cheekbones, flat nose with a distinctly wasp-y upturn at its terminus. some sort of simple, shoulder-length weave. beautiful b's. ass either to die for or serve coffee off of while she is still standing. breathtaking. skin so dark it absorbs light. and seemingly deeply unaware of her beauty as things unfold.

she proceeds to recite her cv, unprompted by questions from me. 22. from the ashanti of eastern ghana. student first of fashion technology (what is fashion technology and why is it taught in places where much of the population is starving?), and now of several languages concurrently in order to take exams to study nursing...and on it went in ways as meandering as they were incoherent. her speech is accelerated, tangential at times. she stammers when she gets excited (not only in english, i was to notice). she asks me the same questions over and over (in a way which seems fairly typical for women here - do they not listen to the answers? do they have especially poor attention spans?). she seems quite bright but very unfocussed, in perhaps a diagnoseable way - adhd, mania? but she has it under control. something wood-nymphish about her and not of this world. and again, absolutely stunning, which makes her even more ethereal.

an hour or two goes by consisting of walking, talking, taking a cab to nkrumah circle to the only "spot" where she is willing to eat and where they make killer cocoa. is she guiding me to my death at the hands of some accra triad gang? no. twenty ghanaians and i sitting around a man surrounded by makeshift aluminum counters, bubbling pots, mountains of tins of condensed milk (always flowing in a thin stream from one of his hands), eggs and onions and spices. making very tasty omelettes, weird coffee and, again, the aforementioned cocoa. in the heart of tro-tro spume and a shanty bazaar of junk shops and food spots.

cab ride back to osu. she is exhausted, she tells me. so tired. slept not at all last night for studying for exams. just wants to sleep. she is not that kind of girl. not a prostitute. she likes and trusts me. does not want to do anything "bad."

i am sinking. i feel the carpet being pulled out from under me in super-slow motion and i know i will land right on my head like in a cartoon and my own ridiculousness is unfolding, grand-canyon imax style, the way it so often does, before my eyes.

a bit about me. i am a fan of the most violent, raucous, no-holes-barred, know-a-girl's-soul-through-the-use-of-every-orifice sex kind of guy. very dominant by nature and deeply put off by non-compliance in a girl. yet i will never force a girl to do anything. in part because i enjoy none of the above acts if any part of them is proferred reluctantly. in part because i am also a soft touch and a good soul to strangers, usually treating them better than loved ones for the harm they have not yet done me. to paraphrae groucho marx, i do not want to belong to a club, am mortified at the prospect even, that does not want to have me as a member.

so i'll end the pain by ditching her kindly. i ask her how much cabfare would be back to her "compound" (her word). she lives with her sister and some other families in one domicile, apparently. she replies that the rules and regulations of the compound mandate that after a certain hour the doors are shut and she cannot gain access.

i am in a twilight zone of sub-saharan tumescence and ballooning frustration. this apparent angel seems from the first instant to have grokked me inside and out in order to hit me up, at the outset for god's sake, for a place to sleep, and nothing else. another ugly scammer in ebony angel clothing. or maybe more like a hungry animal or the de-institutionalized homeless, working in instinctual overdrive, no malice aforethought.

by now i am pitying her as much as i am resenting her. and through it all i feel no connivance from her, no contrivance. through it all she is just slightly out of phase with her surroundings. ethereal. a bit less tethered to this mortal coil than the rest of us, than me at any rate. touched, as my grandmother used to say. but not frightening. if mentally ill, very well compensated.

and the beauty. only growing.

so she won't take cabfare because she has nowhere to go. a sign of honesty?

the rest of the cab ride back to where i am staying continues in silence. we arrive and enter my room. she takes a [url=http://isgprohibitedwords.info?CodeWord=CodeWord140][CodeWord140][/url] with the bathroom door open. i lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, weighing the merits of the only three options apparent to me: throw her out, let her stay in the room while i return to the hotel i left earlier in the evening and where i still have a room and a night's balance on account (biney's b&b, which i left after the first two days because of the intolerable noise from the bars just below and across the street from it, conducive only to pounding your head against the wall like bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived gangsta rapper rastafarians do) or sleep in the bed with her chastely. option one is untenable to me as the combination of her waifish otherworldliness and relative homelessness has got my pity engine racing. option three is intolerable as i know i will not sleep. i present to her option two. she becomes indignant. she will not hear of it. she begins to undress. what do i want her to do for me? what do i want to do to her? she will not kiss me or suck my cock. these are reserved only for her boyfriend (she has none presently) or her husband (i do not ask if she has one of these).

what ensues unfolds over 45 minutes which feel like they have occurred in parallel-universe-sci-fi time. lasting years there.

she is naked. she is as beautiful underneath her clothes as she was with them on. flawless ebony. perfect curves.

i tell her i want to make her come. she tells me that kissing and sucking her tits will do this. two thoughts hit me: she wants to do the minimum to get to bed and so is lying/i have known girls of whom this is true and could she be one.

i choose to believe the latter of her. i go to work on her beauties, two spherical, cubic mouthsful each with bud-like hard nipples and decorously small areolas, and soon she is moaning and chanting and telling me she is coming. i put two fingers in the river of her pussy and start stimulating her g-spot. (the two women i have known who could come from having only their tits worked on have both had very sensitive g-spots). before i even set to work inside the fountain, i feel her pussy spasming.

i cannot fathom, after hundreds of women and years examining women's vaginas as part of my daily bread, that she is not coming. and yet, i can fathom that i, like all men in the thrall of a woman (even though it happens to me incredibly rarely but has happened now full bore), will believe anything.

the argument in favor of her verity is bolstered when she begs me to fuck her. there are many reasons she does not have to do this and i believe she knows them. fewer for why she would want to. rips open the condom, puts it on me, and climbs aboard, riding rollicking moaning dancing chanting coming ebony beauty. o splendid perfect sight and me with the ringside seat. tells me it is simply an unending orgasm. that this is sex for her. neither a compliment nor a dis at me. but i can't help but take it a little personally in a good way.

begs me to fuck her from on top. i begin with her legs scissored beneath me (side-from-behind rotated 90 degrees) and soon i flip her top and scissored leg aroud my hips. now her legs are around my waist, now around my chest, now my neck and now back again around my hips and everywhere in between and i can look down now and see me plunging into this black beauty, the white condom adding to the beauty of the contrast of skin colors if it's possible, and i am feeling fairly wild and maybe in her world. she is still coming. plaster dust, pixie dust?, is dislodged from where the headboard is hammering the wall. claims she has not stopped coming when i ask her. she kisses me, half grudgingly, half uncontrollably it feels.

i am done for. i explode. she apparently stops coming after another minute or so. whimpers to neutral.

we sleep, not before she quickly bucket bathes and has aked me to marry her at some point. she wakes around 6:30. she tells me she has no "travel money." i give her 40. she does not count it. she asks me to call her in a few days as she enters her name and number into my phone with the insouciance of only those who have never known a time without remote control nor seen a rotary phone.

she leaves.

where is this broken angel even off to? to be deja thoris on mars? the elf queen in tolkien's world? just a few hours later now, she looks unreal and fading in my mind's sight. but i still smell her on me as i write. thank god for smell. the sense that preserves memory best.

the cynics among you are snickering at me. just another semi-pro. cool variation at best on the slippery theme which prevails in countries where the line between pro and regular girl cannot be drawn.

i say: maybe.

but she was something else as well. something very special and off-kilter and fragile and wounded. and astonishingly beautiful.

i will not call her. the next time can only end in the cementing of her either as all-too-real maipulator or all-too-ethereal angel. seeing her again will be like demanding and watching an awesome card trick be performed again: you automatically and inexorably start to form ideas about where the chinks are and how it's done, even though you may never figure it out even after you've seen it done a hundred times. but you have stupidly managed to take the "wow" away.

either way, bottom line, she is unhaveable by the likes of me. perhaps not by the likes of anyone. and, as always, if i had her, how long would it take before i started looking to unload her.

in the wake of her, i love what ghana can bring and wonder what else i will find here.

apologies to those who just want to read about place and price. should know by now not to read my posts.

bravo.
i understand your decision to walk away from nana. transcendence is hard to duplicate. i've done it before, reluctantly. alternatively, you could just marry her and convince her to do 3-somes with you in the future ;)
thanks for the most excellent read. btw, wasn't groucho's quip about not wanting to be part of a club that would have him as a member?

[quote=satyr9]making my rounds on oxford street last night around 10 pm. avoiding and failing to avoid the usual touts and trolls who by now know me by name from one end of the street to the other. (my idiot fault for telling one or two of them my name. though what would it matter them bellowing a pseudonym at me from across the street other than to have them complain about my rudeness in not responding on my return pass when i fail to answer to a name not my own?) some profoundly vigilant, dogged, occasionally unescapable touts on oxford street and the ring road east, never threatening, though, except for a few uncertain moments one evening fending off fred (?), a rastafarian who prowls the immediate vicinity of mecumba's with francine, his rather tall, layered and striking "sister." he chastised me bitterly and a little closely one evening for having refused to sit with francine on my previous pass. stinking of ganga. a firmer-than-comfortable grip on the shoulder which led me to apologize if i in any way offended. i am unfamiliar with all the roads which can lead an obroni to a ghanaian police station and draw the line of my deep curiosity of the nature of things there. immediate smile from fred and all is forgiven as he leaves me to wander off again. i have not come away from this encounter with a better understanding of the etiquette of rastafarian pimping but am still fairly certain it is not part of the religion in any of its forms.

but i digress.

strictly out of curiosity i make my way into the crystal something gambling establishment which adjoins tip top chinese restaurant when out the door walks a girl who makes eye contact. i say hi. she says hi.

nana is exquisite. short, slight, unadorned, un- made-up, simple top and jeans, beautifully molded high cheekbones, flat nose with a distinctly wasp-y upturn at its terminus. some sort of simple, shoulder-length weave. beautiful b's. ass either to die for or serve coffee off of while she is still standing. breathtaking. skin so dark it absorbs light. and seemingly deeply unaware of her beauty as things unfold.

she proceeds to recite her cv, unprompted by questions from me. 22. from the ashanti of eastern ghana. student first of fashion technology (what is fashion technology and why is it taught in places where much of the population is starving?), and now of several languages concurrently in order to take exams to study nursing...and on it went in ways as meandering as they were incoherent. her speech is accelerated, tangential at times. she stammers when she gets excited (not only in english, i was to notice). she asks me the same questions over and over (in a way which seems fairly typical for women here - do they not listen to the answers? do they have especially poor attention spans?). she seems quite bright but very unfocussed, in perhaps a diagnoseable way - adhd, mania? but she has it under control. something wood-nymphish about her and not of this world. and again, absolutely stunning, which makes her even more ethereal.

an hour or two goes by consisting of walking, talking, taking a cab to nkrumah circle to the only "spot" where she is willing to eat and where they make killer cocoa. is she guiding me to my death at the hands of some accra triad gang? no. twenty ghanaians and i sitting around a man surrounded by makeshift aluminum counters, bubbling pots, mountains of tins of condensed milk (always flowing in a thin stream from one of his hands), eggs and onions and spices. making very tasty omelettes, weird coffee and, again, the aforementioned cocoa. in the heart of tro-tro spume and a shanty bazaar of junk shops and food spots.

cab ride back to osu. she is exhausted, she tells me. so tired. slept not at all last night for studying for exams. just wants to sleep. she is not that kind of girl. not a prostitute. she likes and trusts me. does not want to do anything "bad."

i am sinking. i feel the carpet being pulled out from under me in super-slow motion and i know i will land right on my head like in a cartoon and my own ridiculousness is unfolding, grand-canyon imax style, the way it so often does, before my eyes.

a bit about me. i am a fan of the most violent, raucous, no-holes-barred, know-a-girl's-soul-through-the-use-of-every-orifice sex kind of guy. very dominant by nature and deeply put off by non-compliance in a girl. yet i will never force a girl to do anything. in part because i enjoy none of the above acts if any part of them is proferred reluctantly. in part because i am also a soft touch and a good soul to strangers, usually treating them better than loved ones for the harm they have not yet done me. to paraphrae groucho marx, i do not want to belong to a club, am mortified at the prospect even, that does not want to have me as a member.

so i'll end the pain by ditching her kindly. i ask her how much cabfare would be back to her "compound" (her word). she lives with her sister and some other families in one domicile, apparently. she replies that the rules and regulations of the compound mandate that after a certain hour the doors are shut and she cannot gain access.

i am in a twilight zone of sub-saharan tumescence and ballooning frustration. this apparent angel seems from the first instant to have grokked me inside and out in order to hit me up, at the outset for god's sake, for a place to sleep, and nothing else. another ugly scammer in ebony angel clothing. or maybe more like a hungry animal or the de-institutionalized homeless, working in instinctual overdrive, no malice aforethought.

by now i am pitying her as much as i am resenting her. and through it all i feel no connivance from her, no contrivance. through it all she is just slightly out of phase with her surroundings. ethereal. a bit less tethered to this mortal coil than the rest of us, than me at any rate. touched, as my grandmother used to say. but not frightening. if mentally ill, very well compensated.

and the beauty. only growing.

so she won't take cabfare because she has nowhere to go. a sign of honesty?

the rest of the cab ride back to where i am staying continues in silence. we arrive and enter my room. she takes a [url=http://isgprohibitedwords.info?CodeWord=CodeWord140][CodeWord140][/url] with the bathroom door open. i lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, weighing the merits of the only three options apparent to me: throw her out, let her stay in the room while i return to the hotel i left earlier in the evening and where i still have a room and a night's balance on account (biney's b&b, which i left after the first two days because of the intolerable noise from the bars just below and across the street from it, conducive only to pounding your head against the wall like bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived gangsta rapper rastafarians do) or sleep in the bed with her chastely. option one is untenable to me as the combination of her waifish otherworldliness and relative homelessness has got my pity engine racing. option three is intolerable as i know i will not sleep. i present to her option two. she becomes indignant. she will not hear of it. she begins to undress. what do i want her to do for me? what do i want to do to her? she will not kiss me or suck my cock. these are reserved only for her boyfriend (she has none presently) or her husband (i do not ask if she has one of these).

what ensues unfolds over 45 minutes which feel like they have occurred in parallel-universe-sci-fi time. lasting years there.

she is naked. she is as beautiful underneath her clothes as she was with them on. flawless ebony. perfect curves.

i tell her i want to make her come. she tells me that kissing and sucking her tits will do this. two thoughts hit me: she wants to do the minimum to get to bed and so is lying/i have known girls of whom this is true and could she be one.

i choose to believe the latter of her. i go to work on her beauties, two spherical, cubic mouthsful each with bud-like hard nipples and decorously small areolas, and soon she is moaning and chanting and telling me she is coming. i put two fingers in the river of her pussy and start stimulating her g-spot. (the two women i have known who could come from having only their tits worked on have both had very sensitive g-spots). before i even set to work inside the fountain, i feel her pussy spasming.

i cannot fathom, after hundreds of women and years examining women's vaginas as part of my daily bread, that she is not coming. and yet, i can fathom that i, like all men in the thrall of a woman (even though it happens to me incredibly rarely but has happened now full bore), will believe anything.

the argument in favor of her verity is bolstered when she begs me to fuck her. there are many reasons she does not have to do this and i believe she knows them. fewer for why she would want to. rips open the condom, puts it on me, and climbs aboard, riding rollicking moaning dancing chanting coming ebony beauty. o splendid perfect sight and me with the ringside seat. tells me it is simply an unending orgasm. that this is sex for her. neither a compliment nor a dis at me. but i can't help but take it a little personally in a good way.

begs me to fuck her from on top. i begin with her legs scissored beneath me (side-from-behind rotated 90 degrees) and soon i flip her top and scissored leg aroud my hips. now her legs are around my waist, now around my chest, now my neck and now back again around my hips and everywhere in between and i can look down now and see me plunging into this black beauty, the white condom adding to the beauty of the contrast of skin colors if it's possible, and i am feeling fairly wild and maybe in her world. she is still coming. plaster dust, pixie dust?, is dislodged from where the headboard is hammering the wall. claims she has not stopped coming when i ask her. she kisses me, half grudgingly, half uncontrollably it feels.

i am done for. i explode. she apparently stops coming after another minute or so. whimpers to neutral.

we sleep, not before she quickly bucket bathes and has aked me to marry her at some point. she wakes around 6:30. she tells me she has no "travel money." i give her 40. she does not count it. she asks me to call her in a few days as she enters her name and number into my phone with the insouciance of only those who have never known a time without remote control nor seen a rotary phone.

she leaves.

where is this broken angel even off to? to be deja thoris on mars? the elf queen in tolkien's world? just a few hours later now, she looks unreal and fading in my mind's sight. but i still smell her on me as i write. thank god for smell. the sense that preserves memory best.

the cynics among you are snickering at me. just another semi-pro. cool variation at best on the slippery theme which prevails in countries where the line between pro and regular girl cannot be drawn.

i say: maybe.

but she was something else as well. something very special and off-kilter and fragile and wounded. and astonishingly beautiful.

i will not call her. the next time can only end in the cementing of her either as all-too-real maipulator or all-too-ethereal angel. seeing her again will be like demanding and watching an awesome card trick be performed again: you automatically and inexorably start to form ideas about where the chinks are and how it's done, even though you may never figure it out even after you've seen it done a hundred times. but you have stupidly managed to take the "wow" away.

either way, bottom line, she is unhaveable by the likes of me. perhaps not by the likes of anyone. and, as always, if i had her, how long would it take before i started looking to unload her.

in the wake of her, i love what ghana can bring and wonder what else i will find here.

apologies to those who just want to read about place and price. should know by now not to read my posts.[/quote]

[QUOTE=Satyr9]Making my rounds on Oxford Street last night around 10 pm. Avoiding and failing to avoid ...[/QUOTE]

My friend, who are you? A poet, a playwriter, a moviemaker?
I really would like to read everyday such a stories.

Hallo boyz, lets try to report our experiences with a plenty of particulars and descriptions as Satyr9 is doing.

Your report sounds better than a dozen of pics or videos.
Plz, go on this way, man.
I think 40.00 GHC is a fair "taxi fee" [I](maybe she lives in Tamale!!!)[/I].

[QUOTE=Vahaza Be]Bravo.
Thanks for the most excellent read. BTW, wasn't Groucho's quip about not wanting to be part of a club that would have him as a member?[/QUOTE]

It certainly was. Which is why i wrote: "to paraphrase." i.e. change its meaning entirely iin this case.

By the way, entirely botched the name of the casino attached to Tip Top Chinese. It's Star Light something or other cheesy Casino. Said she was visiting a friend who works as a waitress there when I inquired after her reason for being there.

I wonder if her friend is a sylph too...

Fuck.

S

Satyr9,

Great report - worthy of entry into reports of distinction and looks like Roman Guy beat me to it!

GC

[QUOTE=Satyr9]... Fred (?), a Rastafarian who prowls the immediate vicinity of Mecumba's with Francine, his rather tall, layered and striking "sister." [/QUOTE]


Fred - yes, that's indeed his name - is a nothing but a bloody idiot! Whenever this stupid bloodsucker (or one of his Rastafarian friends) approaches you, simply kick him in his ass and do not waste even one single minute for a small talk! And never, I repeat never, pay him/them one 'Star'! Otherwise you won't get rid of him/them!

Cheers!

Hesekiels

[QUOTE=Hesekiels]Fred - yes, that's indeed his name - is a nothing but a bloody idiot! Whenever this stupid bloodsucker (or one of his Rastafarian friends) approaches you, simply kick him in his ass and do not waste even one single minute for a small talk! And never, I repeat never, pay him/them one 'Star'! Otherwise you won't get rid of him/them!

Cheers!

Hesekiels[/QUOTE]


Hey Hesekiels,

I have always lived my life according to three simple rules:

1. Never eat anything that moves toward me when I move toward it.
2. Never make the first or the third out at third base.
3. Never kick Rastafarians named Fred in the ass in a foreign country where malaria and yellow fever are endemic and whose judiciary system is more corrupt than that of my own.

I will take your advice metaphorically...:)

Off to find a lady carrying impossibly cumbersome and weighty bundles on her head in order to further the cause of international relations and blunt the memory of Nana.

S

Satyr9, a good friend reads the Africa board regularly, and sent me a link to your story about Nana.

a great read, wonderful, lovely. Hope to read more stories like this, will be checking the Ghana board from now on.

Thanks

1ball

[QUOTE=Satyr9]


I will take your advice metaphorically...:)

[/QUOTE]


Satyr9:

... yeah, take 'the kick' with a pinch of salt, brother! :) However, part 2 ('Star') can be taken indeed literally!

BTW, you wrote truly an outstanding report! Many thanks for that, Shakespeare! :)

Keep the pen active and enjoy your time in Ghana!

Cheers!



Hesekiels

Not sure whether it's chicks or pandas I'm bedding with names like these.

Ladies' night (whatever that is) at Macumba's last night. Ratio of 10 women to 1 man. Not sure why I got the impression this is a mixed semi-pro and pro place from the board - tonight it is entirely hardcore. The meat that isn't humping my leg is dancing solo and admiring itself in the mirror.

Mimi is beautiful. From Sierra Leone.

Wants 80. Takes 40. Off to Frankie's.

Perfunctory GFE but the perfunctory part almost doesn't matter, so beautiful is the sight of her lovely head on my head and so wonderful are her lips on mine as we kiss passionately, albeit perfunctorily on her end.

Prepared for retard BJ based on what the board reports about Ghana, but am very pleasantly surprised. Eye contact. Butterfly kisses up and down. Ample attention to the boys. Nice counter-corkscrew action of hand and mouth. Pornoland instead of angel land.

Nice cowgirl and doggie.

No rush altogether. Substantially less pretty body without clothes than with. Dramatic axillary stretch marks and baby pouch.

But face remains beautiful in the full fluorescence of Frankie's.

Also receive a primer in "mesh": the technique whereby the various weaves and extensions are applied to the extant hair of African women. Very intricate and interesting.

Do not sleep with her. Never sleep with clear pros. Don't sleep with my accountant either.

Pay her and hustle her out. She is happy to leave as she fears not finding a cab.

Nice memory.

Not Nana.

S

hallo

i'm new to this board and i would like to ask few questions:

1) [blue][deleted by admin][/blue]

2) [blue][deleted by admin][/blue]

3) is it ok to kiss or embrace a girl in public or will it be frowned upon in ghana?

thanks in advance to those who answer.

[size=-2][b][u]editor's note[/u]:[/b] [blue]this report was edited to [u]remove references to **** persons[/u].

i am aware that the vast majority of references to **** girls are legitimate attempts to warn other fellow members about how easy it is to accidentally pickup an **** girls, the potential dangers of being caught with **** girls, etc. however, past discussions in the forum has repeatedly demonstrated that the subject simply cannot be discussed intelligently, in any form or for any reason, without being misinterpreted, and without starting flame wars.

please do not post references to **** persons in the forum. [i]thanks![/i][/blue][/size]

Chanced upon Patty in a clothing shop on the Royal Road in Cape Coast after a thoroughly dispiriting trip to the castle. Turns out the only people in the history of modern civilization shittier to black people than white people have been is black people.

Who'd 'a thunk?

I digress already.

Patty is lithe, sweet, pretty, giggly, smart, fitfully and deeply versed in American pop culture ("I love Jet Li"...took me three tries with her accent to understand she wasn't professing her love for something spread on toast) and as ditzy as a compass in a microwave.

Deeply religious. Jesus this and God that. So I despair of scoring even after she agrees to go out with me later that night. And yet, I am beginning to absorb the reality of the Ghanaian ethos of religion: it is certainly not literal and life-guiding in its particulars for all of them. I am talking out my ass here, but it seems more the emotional substrate in a general way of their daily lives. Gives hope, informs daily conversation, etc. A heavier form of the weather or the market.

And yet the non-pros (semi-pros?) I have had so far are as comfortable talking about the wages of sin as they are spreading their legs and investing in it.

And so it is with Patty. Repeatedly telling me throughout the evening that she does not believe in pre-marital sex, one-night stands - sin in general seems to be a favorite topic. Insists repeatedly that she has not at all thought about ravishing me in the way I have been thinking about ravishing her.

So we finish dinner at a wonderful little hole-in-the-wall (chop spot) called the He Shall Be Redeemed Spot (Ghanaian small shop names are a fascinating combination of biblical epithet followed by the ware or service being purveyed, with no apparent connection between them) which set me back 7 cedis for us both which included a beer for me and I ask her where she lives and if she would like me to see her home. She answers that she would like to escort me safely back to my hotel. OK. I am not aware of much danger on the mean streets of Cape Coast at 10 pm but what do I know. We arrive.

Would you like to see my room?

Yes.

Ten minutes later she is watching TV. I ask her if she would like to kiss. No.

And then it hits me. The whole ineffable religion thing results in a very profound reluctance to initiate or acknowledge sex. But it is out the door once sex is initiated by the other.

Religion is the origin of Ghanaian "shyness." As if the sin is somehow expiated if the sex is uninitiated. But once undertaken, it's full steam ahead.

I begin to kiss her arms and stroke her hair and she is impassive at first. But soon melts.

Within a few seconds she is undressing herself and me, talking about how I am "forcing" her as she is grabbing my cock from my shorts after hearing confirmation from me that I am circumcised. I point out I am doing nothing of the sort and so the next hour unfolds: a weird dialectic of half-hearted accusation from her, denial from me and escalation from her. She is setting the pace. And it is a frantic, loud, caloric and thoroughly enjoyable one.

She marvels at my whiteness. The hair on my chest is beautiful. I am her first Obroni. Etc.

Lovely kissing. Very amateurish bj (which was very arousing for its lack of sophistication), beautiful body with a white-bead waist chain (what had served as a tame accessory with clothes was the ultimate ****-ornament without, DATY with great joy on both sides. She muffling her own screams with the pillow and screaming STOP STOP but not meaning it at all. (realized this when I did stop and she just jammed her pussy up my nose and chanted how the Ghanaian men don't like to do this).

Many positions of passionate sex and I finish in doggy.

We rest and kiss for a while.

By now it is after midnight and she tells me she has to get home as her mom will worry. Not a word of money. I press 2 cedis into her hand for cab fare should she decide it is too far to walk. She reluctantly accepts. She leaves.

My dishonesty radar never pinged once.

The next morning I am off to Axim and she texts me that she will be waiting when I get back.

I wonder whether I will see her again.

I love Ghana.

Lesson: Do not let talk of religiosity dissuade you in this place. Come to think of it, lots of Mormon girls I knew and fucked in high school and college were very similar.

The anthropology/sociology of Christianity here, especially as it dovetails with sex, is fascinating and imponderable.

Apologies to those expecting another poetic, diabetic love-story post. But in fairness, a post like that needs a girl like Nana.

Patty was lovely, but she was entirely mortal.

S