I love women and I love music! One without the other can still give me what I want at any given time. In my simple world Food is overrated and Music, to me is the food of the Soul. And the Woman as humbly as I can muster it: is the ultimate musicmaker!
I am unashamedly a Woman’s and Music’s Superfan. I mean what’s not to love about the Woman? A stronger entity who’s made a lifelong ‘delicious jollof-rice’ of being acclaimed the ‘weaker-sex’. Nothing, however could be more further from the truth- as she’s got anatomical patents on how to sashay those wide hips and control her gluteal muscles in ways to send blood rushing to the Man’s brain.
She packed those breasts deliberately, wickedly and with not a thought for caution in twinfolds, to make those mischievous nipples look like two over-excited cross-eyed bastards! Please pay diligent attention to her high-tone, high octane speech pattern. I truly believe foreplay starts each morning when the Woman gently says ‘Good Morning’ or disagreeably yell: ‘FUCK YOU!’
In truth, a full-bodied woman is nature fully composed, wantonly exposed and systematically weaponized! She, in her element is a subtle, manageable Terrorist, but with less than an inch token of tolerance, to get to the RED-ALERT level as well. A face so beautiful can readily be bewitched with the ugliest candor if tapped or read wrongly!
I think the conga drums are equally as sexy as the Woman. Sexy and could be as hysterical as the Woman too! Look at the Conga or the Tumbadero well for an instant and tell me you are not standing in front of a full-bodied woman- with the silent option of viewing from the midsection! Feel the smoothness of her glazed, wooden curves and deny it to yourself it’s not a statuette; a wooden, shiny caricature of a woman! Run the fingers around the circumference of the top rim and bemoan the fact you could be rounding a finger around her full supple lips.
The best sex, being the delayed, passionate, all-grinding one; the same way Mongo Santamaria could gently tap on the skin of the Conga and still get the desired effects. Attacking the Conga in a maddening frenzy is the evocative visual of a sex-crazed man ramming himself into the Woman, all carelessly and lacking soul. He’ll probably get the high tempo sound but not the rhythmic, unexplainable passionate feeling.
This is not a prose, it’s a literary bouquet of 3 Rose sticks. One to the Conga, another to the Woman and the last to the genius of Donny Hathaway, the ill-fated man who wrote, arranged and recorded a song that’s all Conga and all Woman! All Roses to them in a mindless order!
Last Scene:
I playfully slapped Muni’s ass minutes ago. It felt good. It felt great! I still got it! The magic is still there! The skin around that area is tight still! Damn she’s superbly tuned! Yeeeepaaripa!
The dude that played the Conga in Donny Hathaway’s “The Ghetto” and the player in George Benson’s cover of the same song are damn badasses!
*Tumbadero is the Cuban name for the Conga Drums*
*Yeeeepaaripa is Yeeeepaaripa!*
Artwork Of Donny Hathaway. RIP.
