There’s this new girl I’m dating. First intimacy, and this girl shoves a piece of ice cube down my bum. She didn’t talk about it. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t even know where she carried that cube from. It was so cold I screamed and pushed it off.

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Then she was trying to convince me that it was nice: “Don’t you like it? It’s nice, right?” I was like, “What’s an ice cube doing down there at this moment? No, it’s not nice. Don’t try it again.”

Unbeknownst to me, the ice cube was just a starter. There was mint breath coming. She said I’d spoiled her moves—the only moment she had to leave a lasting impression on me. She was about to set a record, something no woman has ever done to me.

I said, “No ooo. I don’t know how to feel about it because it’s not nice.”

We argued this out until the passion left the room and left us deflated. While dressing up, she was murmuring, “Who even asked me to date an archaic man like you? You don’t know anything, and you won’t allow yourself to be taught.”

I Was Fine Until I Was Alone In My Room

I’m not that old, but I can’t keep up with this Gen Z. Is that what’s happening out there these days? Ice cube in the canal? What for? Naa, I can’t subscribe to that. Let me remain kolo like that.