I’m not the type that fancies going down memory lane especially in the wake of rekindling old flames. It never works out the way one would think to be precise. There was a reason why things didn’t work out. There’s a reason why there’s always a sour taste in my mouth whenever I tried to pull a happy memory of whoever used to make me smile back them days. Time has a cheeky way of corroding such stuff. It would always ensure that my beliefs, goals, visions, personalities would evolve and morph into other different things. Things get hard especially when I get witty remarks from mother such like, “my son, you know the years are sinking slowly,” whenever she calls.
I am comfortable talking to my computers. Things are not as easy like they were in their days. Dating has become such an extremely difficult sport. The scenes are changing vibrantly, some full of color while others are drab. From time to time she would ask if there was someone my eyes had spotted.
One evening, a month ago or so, I told her I’d be bringing someone home for dinner. She was utterly excited. I think she thought that finally this son of hers was building up his people skills and would stop communicating in a language she couldn’t understand. It wasn’t so hard after all, I had a couple of ladies in my mind.
Well; names have been changed to protect their identities.
There’s an elegance surrounding her aura. She’s 5’7, which isn’t bad. She has nicely shaped legs, a chest with medium sized breasts, a bit slender, her skin is chocolate in color. She speaks through the nose. The type that comes with a tweng accent. She doesn’t break necks that much. I’d say she’s a sure bet or a secure permanent job with a bright future. She fits in different places rather perfectly. You’d go somewhere with her and you wouldn’t have a single worry of how she’d carry herself.
We’ve gone out a couple of times this year. I’d have pitched up tent and matched her as the perfect preference.
“So why not her?”
I simply didn’t feel the sparks. The type of sparks that would make me feel butterflies in my stomach and I’d know that common sense was about to leave my body. I wouldn’t have an iota of guilt nor shame when I’d go for weeks without seeing her. She’d religiously keep tabs on me like I was some sort of god to her. I thought about tagging her along. No need of promising her that our land would overflow with milk and honey.
I ruled that one out.
Pretty is an understatement when it comes to her. Her beauty rivals the beauty of the various goddesses that lived in the skies. She has curves that gets men drooling over and over. Her curves seems to have taken eons to sculpture. I could go on and on if I had the time.
Nothing has happened between us so far. Not yet. She liked playing games. A whole lot of playing games. She’d tie a piece of chicken breast and dangle it low enough to reach my lips and then would pull it up just in time when I wanted to have a bite. She had a way of letting you want more and more of her. She was like a drug. A bad drug.
She’d come over and we’d have whiskey on the rocks. She’d lap dance on top of me in her drunken state. She’d let me have a taste of her heavenly lips. Lips that would make empires crumble in no record time. She’d let me remove all her clothes and let me have a breathe taking a view of her gorgeous body. I’d have taste of everything but when it was time to dip my third hand into her cookie jar. She wouldn’t let me beyond the gates. A frustration that nagged my conscience.
This is the regard with which she held men in her life. She was the type who thought that all her financial burdens on her should be passed down to a man. Yes. The salon vouchers, the shoes, the clothes, her rent..basically everything that would make her live comfortably.
I’ve never signed up to such tariffs of thoughts. I go by the mantra that two people come together to be partners and to help each other when need be. Not that one comes to take advantage of the other simply for their own convenience.
I called her, she took her sweet time to pick up the call.
Me: Been a while Miss Aphrodisiac.
Hayley: You have a way with words. You good?
Me: Yes I’m good.
Hayley: And why am I being graced with this call?
Me: Mother would be doing a dinner gala this weekend. Was hoping I could invite you. You in?
Hayley: This weekend seems a tad too soon.
Me: Cool, no biggie about it.
I hanged up. She apped me with a happy smiley emoji. Such an irony.
The first time I heard her say hello to me, I was awestruck. Her voice sounded like a symphony. It was more of musical chords coming from a harp. She had huge almond round shaped eyes. When she smiled she revealed a nice set of milky white teeth which had a gap at the front. She’s fun to be around, gorgeous but only talks about the number of mzinga bottles they had drowned the previous nights. She was wild. The type that partied all night and slept all day nursing terrible hangovers. Her lips had blackened abit from the various brands of tobacco she was accustomed to.
You should see how her eyes always lit up whenever she would talk about dundaing,. But it’s not her fault. She’s only twenty one.
A sweet brown girl who had soft curving hips, full breasts, and burgundy. She was my type. We occasionally talked and went out. Then it became gradual and habitual. She was a highly sorted accountant while I was still chasing my dreams. Might sound abit lousy but it is how it is. She was the first girl to come over to my place and she didn’t come empty handed.
She is the church type of lady. Mama would surely have been proud. Amen. She sulked after I politely declined a couple of requests to attend their church. I told her I wasn’t the person that was suited to church ceilings.
I decided not to tell her about the dinner thing.
I benched all the ideas of tagging someone along. I was in a perfect conundrum. Should I call Svala and peg her head with an action that suggested a possible future? I’d have loved Eleanor to come along but she doesn’t miss a cigarette in her purse and it would be abit embarrassing if she’d have to excuse herself out for a smoke. Scarlet would be the preferred person to bring along since I’d beam with some false sense of pride. But she hasn’t gotten over the fact that she’d have to stick up with my queer ways, regarding that I’m nowhere near to being a man of the cloth.
I went home alone. Braced for the impact and marauding questions that would never end. Mother’s smile dropped when she didn’t see a feminine figure in my passenger seat.
“And he comes home alone again.” She mummered under her breath.