Would you like to come over?” Rob asks.
“It’s 2am,” I protest.
“And we’re both up,” he says. “I’d like you to see where I live. I’d like to make you a cup of tea… and I’d like to kiss you.”
Read: Come over and let me screw your brains out. Ha! Hell no. I formulate the words to decline and instead what comes out of my mouth is:
“I could use a cup of tea,” I say.
I jump into the shower and get ready in record time. I refuse to think about what I’m doing. Just because I’m going to his house in the dead of night does not mean I’m going to shag him. I skip the perfume. Mustn’t look like I’m making an effort. I use a little concealer and some powder. No lipstick. And off to his house I go! I must say that I’m surprised when I get there. He lives on Riara Rd, which is a nice enough location but his place is more of a servant’s quarters. Oh boy. It’s interesting that had he told me he lived somewhere in Eastlands and probably had a really nice place there; I wouldn’t have gone. But here I am, fooled by the area code, sitting in what amounts to a dump.
He starts making the tea. I can’t be rude and just bolt. But I want to. I look around uncomfortably. I’ll drink the tea quickly and leave.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks. His tone has a worried tinge. Almost apprehensive, like he knows what I’m thinking.
You don’t want to know, brother! He brings me a hot steaming cup. Then we start talking. Really talking. I slowly begin to relax and force myself to ignore my surroundings and focus on just him. We click. He’s intense, funny, and charismatic. He’s also very smart. At some point he takes off his shirt and asks me to oil his back for him. Is this his big play? I put some lotion on my hand and rub it into his back, then hand it back to him. He doesn’t put his shirt back on. I move away and sit across from him, continuing the conversation. He looks slightly irritated that I’ve moved.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask at some point. “Put your shirt back on.”
He looks even more irritated. I guess his big move usually yields better results. “Are you distracted?” he asks.
“Yes,” I respond truthfully. “If you’d like me to pay attention to what you’re saying, I should sit right here.”
He looks amused. “Are you spending the night?” he asks.
“I have to be in a staff meeting at 9am,” I respond.
“It’s 5am now,” he says. “To beat traffic you have to be home by 6am, shower, change and hit the road. There’s no point sleeping at all.”
I shrug. He’s probably right. I should go home but I stay glued to the chair. Then I start to doze off. Perhaps a power nap on the sofa will help.
“You’ll be more comfortable in bed,” he says. “Tell me what time you want to get up and I’ll wake you.”
I reluctantly agree. His bedroom has a red bulb. How many women are seduced in here, I wonder? I am led like a lamb to the slaughterhouse and the bed is the altar. It’s silly really, to imagine that I’ll get into bed with this man, red bulb and all, and not go all the way with him. He’s like a magnetic force and my vagina the metallic object.