One that has nothing to hide will not strive to conceal it. Thus the reason behind the cosmetics, the make-up, the dress sense that the average woman ever strives to have – to that extent where she even would it be imposed on the average man, which he then usually ignores. For the fact it is that the woman has a whole lot much more to hide in terms of that lack of beauty that she thereby strives to conceal, than the man that cares not how he looks. And it is that same fact that has women ever strive to conceal the passion for pleasure that would the man believe she cares not for sex; and that has the man, not being driven by the same intensity of passion, bother not about hiding his own – less intense – passion for that same sex. And, not only because of that part of human nature that believes all men (and women) are inherently the same, but also because the man rarely ever strives to conceal his passion – for he has not as much to conceal as the woman does; all a man has to do is spend a second’s attention on a woman, and she will instantly conclude that he is also burning with the passion that ever sears her flesh – and, at that moment, would his be doused by hers.

Thus, all I had to do once was turn my head to see who it was that had just boarded a bus I was in; and, she – being a woman – instantly said, “I cannot sleep with you.” Even a probable lunatic, once (merely because I gave her a moment’s curious concern) had to respond with the words, “Even I will sleep with you.” And all I had to do was give another girl (one young enough to have sprung from my loins) two hundred naira, and she arrived at the same conclusion – expressed with songs such as, “Lagbaja, nothing for you.”

Men covet power; and even when they would a woman be theirs, all they truly want to do is conquer her. That is why man it is that takes the woman, and not the other way round. That is why man it is that ravishes the woman, and not the other way round. That is why man it is that ever boasts of the conquest then woman, and not the other way round. And thus, and quite often (during the actual act) men don’t bother with the time needed for fore-play, which would give them even greater pleasure – were it pleasure they sought. They just zoom in, zoom out – most of the time; the conquest being over, the woman then forgotten. That the conquests that actually fuels the male may then be sought: of battles, glory, honour, blood. Till the urge for the next “conquest” rears its head, and woman is once more sought.
But the woman? Ever panting after the pleasure – be it through the affair that she would the man believe he initiated, because he it was that spoke; that she truly initiated, because she it was that seduced: be it with bared cleavage, be it with flaunted thighs, be it with all those antics by which the dress sense of women throughout all the ages has ever revealed that which they strive to conceal in every other way…….the finger beckoning; that thou mayest then come and be pleased, and – even more importantly – please.

Only a woman prefers that pleasure to the power a man ever wants to wield – only a woman, and the man emasculated out of that which would grant him the power with which to conquer. The man whose frailty I know: the man that is ever encouraged into wasting away his life on the pleasure that is all he is ever offered, rather than the power due to which he (as my elect) bears the glory, being the mane, of GOD. He who, should he be more conservative, would then be encouraged into wasting his life on the litter that they call literature – be it fiction, non-fiction, or even the laurels of the academia. He who, should he rebel against either of those two alternatives, would then be flung onto the dung-heap; as a waste, as a pity, as an omase – the last word being that with which the evil of the Yoruba tribe would say “Thank you” for that which they would consequently strip off the hobo that is now no more than an obo, the hippie that to them is merely a hypocrite.

Thus the woman ever puts on that mask, ever strives to hide the faeces beneath the buttocks. Be it literally – with all the make-up, the perfume, the cosmetics, the fashion that conceals that which would be as ugly as the pea-hen is, when compared with the pea-cock; with the plastic surgery that would be beauty that which is actually ugly, from the unattractive facials, to the flabbiness of the bosom, to the wrinkled folds of the vulva. That the truth be then obvious, though she would it be not believed, behind the reluctance every woman ever has before she deigns to take off the mask – the clothes, the cosmetics, and what-not – in the presence of a man. The mask that is meant to conceal that nudity which the Scriptures refer to as a shame. The truth obvious, and revealed by the fanaticism with which the maid is always with a mirror – ever dabbing one form or the other of the make-up on her face, most especially when under the scrutiny of the male public from which they would their true nature (being truly ugly) be thoroughly concealed.

And, be it figuratively (with the cunning with which she would all else believe she never burns with passion, with which she would all else believe she douses not that passion much more often than the other gender ever bothers with it – and, just as often, with either gender). That she may thereby testify against herself concerning the truth that some know, though much more deny; of the secrets a woman begins to hide with the advent of puberty being more than all a man ever hides throughout his life.

Those secrets were exposed through the antics of such as her during the swinging sixties that was brought about by the advent of the women’s liberation movement, when (having been granted enough independence by that liberation, with which to do so) they all flung themselves into the depravity of that generation, with the pursuit of pleasure one would believe she never had an interest in before then. This pursuit of pleasure, this panting after pleasure, this dominant trait of Woman; has always been known by Woman: and thus women it is that most often, and most especially when they themselves are deprived of the pleasure, seek to deprive others of that same pleasure – through such antics as clitoral circumcision, the sealing of the anus of homosexuals, and the HIV/AIDS which they would be the bane of none but the homosexual – when male (who they, instinctively, know is in their shoes as one emasculated into sitting down there; and thus not exerting energy on labour, and thus exerting that energy on pleasure) and the bane of the emasculated man that, despite the pleasure he would be his, still would he be not one sitting down under her. And through such antics as that with which certain witches replaced my virile penis with a near-impotent one, because – to quote one of them – “I always envy him when I peep, and see him masturbating.”

And, concerning the power (though I will then be digressing from The Mask of which I write) men it is also that (through such cunning as that of the “You no need am” culture that strives to give all youths the impression that all they need to do to excel in life is acquire certificates) seek to deprive other men of that with which the latter can then wield, and thereby truly work.

Because men rarely ever covet pleasure (unless they are not only emasculated, but also deprived of that pleasure) they equally rarely ever strive to deprive others (including women, including even homosexual women) of that pleasure – unless, of course, when they deprive (as they so often do) the homosexual man that the woman believes should still be burning out his energy for her, even when crippled by emasculation. And even then, the men that deprive are no more than goons in the hands of women.

Also, because women rarely ever covet power, they equally rarely ever strive to deprive others (most especially women such as they, all women being the sexists they ever accuse the men of being) of that power, but just secretly laugh at the men they see running up and down to acquire power and prosperity – whilst they revel in the castles being thereby built. Almost just as secretly do men laugh at those wallowing in pleasure, most especially when they wallowing are then in the throes of pleasure; throes the man never gives himself over to, because he never lets go, even when actually at the peak of the supposed pleasure.

Unless, of course, his is not the heterosexual sexuality.

Thus all the screams and moans always comes from whose mouth? She wallowing in the pleasure, who would none know she ever wallows thus – and therefore ever takes her time before she takes off her mask in the presence of a man. A mask that the man never deigns to put on, for he has less of the passion burning inside – and therefore usually would it be “Wham! Bang!! Thank you, ma’am!!!” that he may then go on to “more important” things like sports, business, politics, the academia, and other such. Unless, of course, he happens to be the emasculated locked out of such activities; or the homosexual that prefers to be home and sexual. Or both – as is usually the case.

For the energy that we find women to conserve, because they are not as driven to physical activities as men are wont to be; is also that which the emasculated (and the homosexual that prefers to love the men that are adversaries in the war that is life, rather than wield against them) also conserves – and, when they would that they do so (as the woman usually does) burn out on pleasure. When the homosexual was granted the liberation in the West to pursue power as a man always would, then he became that which the West refers to as a gay – being he that can now exert energy on the pursuit of both pleasure and power. Both pursuits being that which women always hanker after, with the women’s empowerment movement that succeeded the women’s liberation movement of the swinging sixties. Yet, both continue to have the mask on that conceals the intensity of their passion from the scrutiny of the uninitiated; who would believe it to be mere coinicidence that the first homosexual head of state is a woman, that an overwhelming majority of sex toys is for women, that the gay and lesbian movement is the only movement wherein both genders are rendered equal, that the homosexual (even when gay) is the only man that cries out for vindication over persecution as loudly as women have ever been wont to.