THINGS A MAN MUST KILL BEFORE THEY KILL HIM You were not born to be a slave to your urges. But if you don’t wake up soon — your own habits will bury you alive. Some of you are being destroyed not by enemies… …but by the things you willingly feed every day. These are the addictions, mindsets, and behaviors killing men quietly. Kill them now — or die slowly. --- 1. Chasing women. You think you’re “winning” because you’re smashing girls? You’re losing time, energy, money, and most of all — your mission. Real men build empires. Boys chase ass. 2. Porn. It’s not harmless. It’s mental poison. It kills your motivation, weakens your desire for real women, …and trains you to be a spectator instead of a conqueror. 3. Masturbation. You’re draining your masculine energy for 10 seconds of pleasure. No woman respects a man who can’t control his urges. You either dominate your lust — or it dominates you. 4. Drugs and weed. You’re not “relaxing.” You’re escaping. Escaping purpose. Escaping growth. Escaping reality. You’ll never become great while staying numb. 5. Alcohol. Getting drunk doesn't make you “fun.” It makes you sloppy, weak, and forgettable. Masculinity requires clarity. Not cocktails. 6. Being the ‘Nice Guy.’ You think being agreeable earns love? No. It earns manipulation. Stop trying to please. Start standing firm. 7. Partying every weekend. While you’re wasting your nights, another man is building the life you’ll envy in 10 years. Sacrifice now or regret forever. 8. Low standards. Low standards in women. In friends. In goals. In self-discipline. Raise the bar — or stay surrounded by mediocrity. 9. Living without a plan. Waking up with no direction, no goals, no structure? That’s not freedom. That’s failure in disguise. 10. Weak body. Weak mind. You treat your body like trash, you’ll think like trash. Train. Eat clean. Stay sharp. A strong body is a strong shield. 11. Fear of judgment. Every move you make is based on what people might say? Then you’re not a man — you’re a puppet. 12. Procrastination. You keep saying “soon.” But time doesn’t wait. One day you’ll wake up — and it’ll be too late to rebuild. --- FINAL WARNING: If you don’t kill these habits… They will kill your drive, kill your future, and kill the man inside you. You’ll be 40, broke, bitter, washed-up… Watching other men live the life you were supposed to lead. Masculinity is forged in self-control, not self-destruction. Stop jerking off. Stop chasing. Stop numbing. Start building. ~About That street #Relationship_Solutions

Episode 3: MY EXPERIENCE WITH ABUJA SÚGAR MÚMMI£S 🥒♥️👉👌🔞 Episode 3: The Second Flame Mrs. K came into my life like a thunderstorm in dry season. She was nothing like Mrs. T. While Mrs. T was calm, sensual, and sophisticated — Mrs. K was wild, sharp-tongued, younger in both age and energy. She was divorced, powerful, and walked into rooms like she owned the floor and everyone on it. I met her at a rooftop party in Maitama. One of those high-end events where the champagne flows, the music hums low, and the women wear silk like second skin. Mrs. T had invited me, but left early for “a board meeting in the morning.” I stayed behind, half-tipsy, legs spread, sipping Hennessy with my shirt half-open. She walked in wearing a tight emerald green gown that hugged her body in all the right places. High heels, dark lips, and eyes that locked with mine like she’d already decided what she wanted. I knew I was in trouble when she said, “I hope you’re not Mrs. T’s handbag. She’s not the type to share.” I laughed nervously. She didn’t. Then she leaned in, whispered into my ear: “But I am.” That night, she took me to her penthouse apartment — a glass box in the sky overlooking Abuja. From the moment we walked in, she became someone else. She kissed like she wanted to consume me — biting, tugging, pulling my clothes off like she was angry at them. She pushed me onto the couch, got on her knees, and showed me what it meant to be worshipped by a woman who didn’t need you but wanted you badly. No words. Just heat. Wet, hungry heat. She climbed on top of me, grinding slow with no underwear beneath her dress, her eyes never leaving mine. “Don’t fall in love,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, as she rode me hard and fast, her nails scratching down my back. “That’s not what this is.” And yet… her hands trembled when I touched her face. Her moans softened when I slowed down, kissed her neck, and whispered her name like it meant something. We climaxed like strangers desperate to forget who we were — loud, fast, messy. Afterward, she lay beside me, naked and satisfied, and asked, “How long have you been with T?” I hesitated. She smirked. “You boys are never loyal. But it’s fine. I won’t ask you to choose. Abuja has many beds. You’ll warm mine whenever I say.” And so I found myself trapped between two worlds — one slow, sweet, and dangerously emotional. The other wild, thrilling, and shameless. Mrs. T offered me comfort, structure, a dangerous kind of intimacy that was beginning to taste like love. Mrs. K offered me chaos, heat, and the kind of sex that left me broken and breathless. I was living every young man’s fantasy — money in my pocket, two powerful women calling my name, and a growing addiction to pleasure. But something was shifting. My nights became heavier. My conscience, louder. I missed real laughter. Missed a woman calling me babe, not boy. I missed holding someone and not being told when to leave. I missed the simplicity of love — real love, with flaws, fights, and forgiveness. One evening, as I left Mrs. K’s penthouse with a swollen lip and scratch marks on my chest, I passed a young couple on the street. They were holding hands, walking barefoot, laughing like the world was soft. That night, in my room, I broke down. Not because I was ashamed of the s*x. But because I’d sold something sacred — my freedom to love — for the illusion of power and pleasure. Moral Lesson: Young men, I won’t lie to you. The life I lived was thrilling. S*x so good it made you dizzy. Money that came fast and clean. Gifts. Clothes. Power. But it came at a price. You become a tool. A toy. A shadow of yourself. Your heart starts to rot from the inside, little by little, every time you say yes when your soul screams no. And to the young women searching for love in older pockets — know this: money can buy attention, lust, and a night of pleasure. But it can’t fill your emptiness. It can’t kiss your forehead and mean it. It can’t sit through your breakdowns or wipe your tears after sex. Don’t mistake desire for devotion. Don’t confuse luxury for love. To be continued... Share to 20 Facebook groups to unlock the next episode. Written by Relationship Solutions Follow Relationship Solutions Backup Backup for more interesting r0mance stories #Relationship_Solutions