I miss you, just like you said.

It's been almost 3 years since I ended the relationship, the first one, puppy love with a high school sweetheart. Except it's never ending. We spoke on facebook trying to put years and books in sentences. You still blame me for your somewhat irrational choices in life and I still feel guilty for your darkness. Maybe some things never change.

You seem angry, please calm down my love, I want us both to be happy and functional in normal society. I don't want to keep making the same mistakes, fearful of love because your love pained you so. We were kids, we were equally flawed, stop blaming me! I want you to be happy, I always did, but somewhere I think you stopped wanting it for yourself.

As time goes by it becomes harder to remember the dysfunction and the great memories of you seem to flutter into my consciousness more often and often inopportune. We had good times blissfully isolated ignorant in love. Do you think we could make peace so we can move on and find happiness?

What are modern girls made of?

Sugar, Spice and everything nice..

Not likely. That may have been true in the 19th century, but in this day and age? With all the social freedom afforded us in this global village, some are left pondering the habits of the wayward youth. The rest of us? We're having fun, lots and lots of good naughty fun.

Sugar, Spice and everything Naughty...

You work hard and play harder, young and restless and free to express yourself in any way you see fit. Sexually liberated and tenacious you stalk me, your prey, with cunning and agility, confident of your imminent success.

You are my fox and I am powerless to your beauty. Society tells me so, everyday on billboards and TV, except I know better. The confident male possesses sexual power too! And when a match is made and there is balance we co-exist, blissfully naughty in the 21st century...

Foxy Lady

It was the mid sixties when a young soulful cat penned what I consider to be one of the sexiest ballads of all time. Simple, rhythmic and somewhat carnal. You see, Hendrix was inspired, not by a greater power or a deeper understanding, it was a common garden variety crush. That feeling we humans get from time to time, the one that bites you on the proverbial ass when you least expect it.

The second date was a screaming mad rocking success, just in case you were still unclear, with none of the glaring warning signs I have grown weary of. This dirty city that has become my home offers so much choice, staggering beauty at the dirty alt club I frequent. She kisses with her whole body, eyes deep and naughty, my favorite.

This is me suffering my crush and I challenge you to do the same, these blissful moments that ultimately ensure the survival of the species. This my drug, the thrill of the chase.

Hendrix later said that Foxy Lady was his only happy song, so we need to go out and and write our music before the cracks appear, for a crush is as whimsical as it is fleeting.

Second date

Numbers were exchanged after a fair bit of groping and the usual bump and grind on the dance floor the Jackal is back in full swing, single and on the prowl.

Saturday morning comes pounding, dimly into view as last nights toxication works through the system. Top night, I need water... Grab my pants off the floor and scratch for a cigarette. retched. Some time passes as I put together images from last night. I want more, find the vixens number in my pocket.

The date is set, but fraught with new obstacles; awkward sober conversation might just break this new connection. Time to get real, time to share. Nah fuckit I'll take her for drinks.. Cheers.

Friday Night is party night

Summer is approaching rapidly here in Jozi and with it all the nymphs crawl out the woodwork clad in precious little blessed by Aphrodite's magic make-up-wand. The mating ritual is as old as god himself and more primal than most care to believe.

Dusk falls over the city on a Friday afternoon, the brilliant sunset a pleasant scene after a week of hard graft. The city's children scrabble frantically, planning and anticipating the nights adventure and the hope of finding a potential mate. The game is simple, the game is primal, the game is the only human motivator.

The preparation is extensive, the male must work hard at a career to front the success that may one day prove him a provider to her offspring. The female is to look her best and be fit and healthy to bear the fruits of his loins.

It's Friday night at the club and it's show time. The young and nubile flaunt while the males strut. Cautious glances across the dance floor. Sip. Hissing cats and cockfights will determine rank, Sip, and the rhythmic music entrances. Sip. A mass of bodies now moving as one on the ritual grounds, we are all exactly where we want to be; playing the game and drinking, drinking the sweet nectar that will relieve us our consciences and accountability.

A lingering stare is my signal to initiate approach, brave from drink I walk over, planning anticipating, hoping... We exchange names as we try to talk to each others desires, words seem meaningless as the match is already made. It's time to pair off...

luv shmuv

So this is the journey. It begins with another breakup, unlucky in love and unappreciative of a little lady's affection. The lust, cheating, hatred for a perfectly nice, compassionate lover. So what’s the problem?

Nice is boring as fuck!

Everyone knows this truth, most choose to ignore it. I don’t want a relationship, I need steamy eroticism with a female companion, the difference? Hell the word re-la-tion-ship doesn’t quite get my creative or bodily juices flowing. It's stale. It's dealing with petty problems. Consideration for the meek. It's I love you's at the height of passion. Why? Why? Why? I could have loved her more if I didn't hear the words so often... I did warn her of her hellish ways. You've got to hide your love away - John Lennon

But in all my relationships, all suffering the same fate, I seem to be the common denominator? Could it be I am at fault, or is that just logic talking? Silly logic! Bad logic! Why can’t everybody be more like me? I am the alter ego that fucks with an otherwise NICE person’s life... Self proclaimed hedonist, blessed or cursed, I am Dirty Jackal