After the threat by some men to retire their wives or promote them, I decided to keep an eye on the men on behalf of my sisters. And my vigilante efforts have not been in vain. I have discovered that there is this common bond among men, nay, husbands. Once they achieve a level of peace, they promptly embark on ventures that can only tear them to pieces.

They call it fun. They insist that variety is the spice of life. Why should we argue with them? They are too incorrigible to listen. It does not matter how many men die on active service or the rising figures of casualty of men who die on top of women. They have decided that there is no place like home, so they insist on staying in-between women’s legs. What can we do but pray that the good Lord will open their eyes so they can understand that the brand of variety they specialize in is actually the poison of life. If only my brothers are not so difficult to convince.

They are so ambitious that in their quest to ‘win souls’, they are never contented with one missionary journey. There must be a second missionary journey. Some even go on third and fourth missionary journeys. Not that they all set up parishes. They are roving pastors who just simply can’t get enough. Not even old age is enough to stop or slow them down. The most painfully dangerous part is the death penalty they have had to pay.

You see, as a man gets on in years, his libido goes on a steady downward slope. Now, that is one secret men don’t want leaked. It is one fact they’d not even admit to themselves and talking about it is like holding a knife to castrate them. Like PDP, they want to reign forever. But don’t we all know better? As the years roll by, no man can really boast that he can still perform at installed capacity.

Diminishing returns naturally sets in. The once-upon-a-time stud has to slow down. If a man could go three rounds when he got married 20 years ago, he can’t thumb his chest today that he can perform with the same vigour. It is not a fault, neither is it a sin. It is only natural. But trust a man in self-denial. He does not want to think, least of all admit, that he is no longer a spring chicken. He still wants to think he’s ‘tear-rubber’. Because he can still successfully squeeze his pot-belly inside designer denims and T-shirts, he convinces himself that he’s young. Because 20-year-old girls still wink at him, he conveniently forgets that he was 50 a few years ago. Very dangerous logic, that line of thought.

Unfortunately because madam doesn’t complain, he does not know that his value in bed is declining. But a wife understands, after all she was there when bros was a stud on rampage. Now that he is a retired stud, she has to bear with him or what can she do? But a man will not stay home. He must embark on a second missionary journey to relaunch himself and prove that he is still a stud.

So, he gets himself a sweet sixteen and starts showering her with affection and expensive gifts. He furnishes a beautiful apartment for her, buys her a new car. To earn her keep, she makes her body available 24/7. She acts out the lyrics of that song: ‘just like chocolate all over ice cream, I wanna pour myself allover you’. It is passion unlimited. He gives it to him everywhere, anytime. She wears those skimpy slinky things that leave a man with a painful groin. The old boy has to minister to this new convert he has worked so hard to catch, but how? Unfortunately, there is a particular department of his ministry that is tired and doesn’t see the need for this new missionary journey. But this mission must be accomplished.

He is determined to turn back the hands of the clock. So he resorts to recruiting assistants to help him. He gets ‘opa eyin’ and all its siblings. Then the blue pills. Yes, Viagra. This job has to be done and if he doesn’t put more men on the job, he could lose his convert to other rampaging ministers. With his enhanced libido, he satisfies his babe’s natural one. But it is remains an uneven match. Though on the surface, he seems able to perform his conjugal duties but his heart groans each time the blue pills kick in. As he pumps away, his creaking bones protest the assault on their old age. But he is like the stray hunter’s dog, too far gone to hear his master’s whistle. He insists on overreaching himself until one day, the bubble bursts. More like he bursts an artery and while the girl is still moaning, he crosses to the other side. While the confused babe tries to figure out whether to scale the fence or ask for help, old boy joins his bewildered ancestors who can’t imagine why he arrived so early.

The second missionary journey is like that biblical road that seemeth right but actually leads to destruction. Most men are on that trip as I write this. While there isn’t much we can do about men cutting shows, I think it is not so wise to recruit blue pills and his younger brothers just to please a bimbo. It is absolutely crazy to forget that a 60-year old libido will perform like a 20 year old one. All old boys are hereby advised to stay with old girls. Only old girls know when old boys are tired. They are the only ones who know when not to bother a tired old thing. We always let sleeping studs lie. May the good Lord grant studs the heart to recognize and avoid sweet sixteens who will lead them to the land of their ancestors when they should still be here ministering slow hymns to the old girls.