GG agreed to drive me home after a massive gamble that may have left me looking like a fool. But it worked out. These young girls with their tight butts and perky breasts have nothing on experience and have no brain. Did I tell you about his Range Rover? Is this the default car of the rich? His is a rich copper shade, very aesthetically pleasing. Then there’s Mr N’s… Damn! …. (Oprah voice – Range Rovers for everyone! You get one and you get one and you get one….!)
“Sure baby…” he said when I suggested he ditches the two young girls he was with to drop me home. That triumphant moment was slightly dampened when he grilled me about Daudi on the way home. I told him I could handle it. Lies.
You either deal or you walk away with the likes of Daudi. But is this fella any different? How will this evening end? Well, just as it was supposed to. I won’t get into further details. Suffice to say that I ended up sleeping with him - without a condom. That of course was always Mr N’s plan - me, entrapping his friend. The scam can commence. I don’t need to play this out.
Ah yes, I understand your frustration. You want to know about every moan, shove and heave. You want to know if it was in my house or if we did it in his car. You want to know what position I let him take me in.
You are curious as to whether I enjoyed it or if I hated it. You want to know if I’m falling for him or if I’m focused on my diabolical plan. Well. Not today. It’s a woman’s prerogative not to share.
I’m going through something lately. One may call it guilt. Or boredom. Or mental fatigue. I’ve been bad for so long that I have tired of it. I'm not excited about blackmailing GG, getting anything from Daudi, stealing from my boss, seducing a girlfriend, getting seduced by my landlady, keeping Mr N’s baby, getting a ring from Eric or having sex with Frank.
Do you know that being bad can literally get tiring? I’m exhausted from being a bitch and a slut. I’m exhausted from keeping my lies straight. I’m exhausted from trying to remember whom I genuinely like in this love maze. Today, they can honestly all go to hell. Each and every single one of them.
Yes, today, after a very, long, long time, I’m reflective. I just want to go to church. Not my church but the one my friend always speaks of. The oldest in the faith – the Catholic one. There, no one will ask me to proclaim my shame publicly. No one will absolve me of my sins by affirmation.
There, it is solemn. I want to pray and ask for His forgiveness. I want Him to get me out of this abyss I find myself in. But I can’t. It’s 4am. There will be no comfort of the sight of the pillars of a cathedral. No altar. No candles to light. No priest saying Mass in a monotone. No holy water to ward off evil.
I settle for a long shower. I wash away every last vestige of GG but he still lingers around, even though not in physical presence albeit for his seed that trickles down my thighs. The seed that is not responsible for my pregnancy but will be blamed on him nonetheless.
I’m to say that the child I now carry (Mr N’s) is his. A lie. Blackmail for a couple of million. Mmm. Any wonder that I need God?