Mr N is being nice to me. We’re actually… Cuddling. That’s something he has never done. Not ever. Sex with him is always rough. Meant more to punish than excite. It’s always in some dodgy place like his car. Never in a bed. There was that one time in Mombasa that we had run into each other at a conference. But even then, he was arrogant and cruel. I remember I had to throw myself at him.
“Where are you?” I had asked him via text message when he failed to call me.
His response was deceptively quick.
“Where do you want me to be?”
He said nothing for an agonising 15 minutes then…
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Relief. I needed to up the ante.
“Will you make me beg?”
His response was typical Mr N.
“I’ll make you do many things by the time I’m through with you.”
Silence. He didn’t respond. Huh? I went to the bar and got shitfaced. I could not understand this man. I staggered out of the bar after too many shots of tequila. When I saw a watchman, I got creative.
“I can’t find my room!” I said.
“Room number?” he asked.
“The presidential suite,” I responded.
Oddly he seemed to have no reason to doubt the drunk, young, clearly not rich girl when she said she was staying in the most expensive room in the hotel. Watchmen! You’ve got to love how silly they can be. Yet they walk and speak like they rule the world. He led the way superciliously, while giving lectures on the effects of too much alcohol.
To his credit he hovered around as I “fished” through my handbag for the room key. I shrugged in mock exasperation and rang the bell. It opened and there was Mr N in all his glory.
He took a long look at me and then at the watchman.
“Ni sawa, mzee?” the watchman asked, finally having dawned on him that this was not my room.
Mr N nodded dismissively and stood aside to let me pass. Relieved, I entered his suite. It was massive. He had some food on the table; I seem to have interrupted his dinner.
“I asked where and you did not respond,” I said.
I had practised this in mind. I slowly untied the knot on my dress that was holding my ensemble together. It slowly fell away. It had the desired effect. He came towards me, grabbed my hair and yanked it down forcing my upturned face to look up at him. Then he kissed me. Slowly. This was very different from the first time we were together, in his car. That was quick and frenzied. This time, in contrast, his lips were tender. My breathing was heavy. They say that someone can literally go weak at the knees and I’ve always thought it was hogwash. But this man kissed me in a way that I have never been kissed before. Then, just as I was really getting into it, he released me abruptly. “What’s wrong? Don’t stop,” I remember pleading.
He steadied me and slowly let go as I regained my balance. “I have a conference call in 10 minutes with some guys from China. You have to leave,” he said.
I felt a little foolish standing naked in the middle of the room with my dress around my ankles. I quickly scooped it up and tried to put it back on with the little dignity I could muster. I felt unwanted and rejected.
What an arrogant jerk! I left the suite quickly, slamming the door behind me. It was really loud! But I didn’t care. I staggered to my room and collapsed on my bed. What an awful evening! I look at him now, dozing beside me, and marvel at how far we’ve come.