I looked again over my shoulder and she caught my eye from across the dance floor. Ever wonder how you just seem to know when someone, even out of a hundred odd, in perpetual rhythmic motion, is checking you out? The ladies, I think, have inbuilt mental sensors for sniffing out visual admirers but for us guys it’s a hit and miss thing. She may just be focused on the wet patch on your collar and wondering how a guy could be so sloppy. Nevertheless you sense when someone has had a fixed, more-than-normal, stare on you. In spite of the dance lights flickering dots and flashes of luminance every shred of doubt as to me being the focus of her undivided attention was zapped with that third glance in her direction. Now I was either that attractive – I had taken time out to groom myself – or she had never seen a black man before (unlikely, but..hey). I had been slightly uncomfortable seeing that I was the only person of colour (as they say) in the club but had shrugged it off, got myself a beer and sauntered to the centre of the floor, determined to have a good time regardless. Dancing comes naturally to me but it has got to be with a partner. Instead I swayed in rhythm to Eminem amidst gyrating bodies, taking occasional sips from the bottle, with my free hand in my pocket, till I discovered her levelled gaze. I turned, to give her a proper eyeful, choking the neck of my bottle with my index finger so it swung from side to side like a pendulum. A few dancers engrossed in frenetic movements threatened to knock me out of my ‘cool’ posture and I dodged, not breaking the eye contact. For one brief moment we were alone in the world and absolutely nothing else existed. Maybe I imagined it but I believe the disco lights fell on her face long enough for me to catch her wink. That was my cue. As I wadded through the densely packed floor, slightly pushing people aside to create a path, I half expected her gaze to wander or her eyes to go cold so I could blame it all on my far reaching imagination. She could have been a statue for all the head movement she made and her gaze was still as fixed as a tennis match a mafia boss had bet on. She waited till I was close enough to get a good whiff of her Elizabeth Arden then turned ‘English’ on me – releasing a plastic smile and wheeling about, suddenly self aware. She sank into a stool at the bar that was just behind her. I quickly altered course and leaned on the bar, nodded at the barman and pointed at my near empty bottle. With the acoustics threatening to bring the roof down, blended with the dancing crowd’s half drunken and cacophonic version of the blaring music, there was no way a normally spoken word could be heard. But he understood my gesture and slid a cold bottle towards me. I could have sworn he raised a mischievous eyebrow and tilted his head slightly towards her seated by my side.
‘Would you like a beer love?’ If I had said it to her in the same pitch anywhere else she might probably go deaf for a day and two seconds. She hadn’t flinched as I leaned in. Now she turned her head to me, nodded and smiled. The barman was ready even before I looked at him and poked the empty space just in front of her. I waited for her to guzzle it down, focusing on doing the same while we exchanged furtive glances. Conversation was impossible anyways. Up close she was not your typical Victoria Secret model and she was a tad chubby but she had done something with her make-up that thoroughly enhanced her positive qualities – eyes, smooth skin, lovely hairdo and fantastic nails. Her strapless red dress, pleated at the top, propped her boobs up, sensually disclosing two half moons of flesh and leaving the rest to lust. She couldn’t be any more than twenty five, certainly not a teenager as well – thank goodness. With a bow that erased the fine line between gentlemanly and cocky, I offered one hand and waved the other across the dance floor – dance with me? She nodded and smiled. She had the girl-next-door, innocent look when she smiled. I led her to the centre and this time I let fly. It would seem that I was putting up a show for her as she moved ever so little but watched me boogie, nodding approvingly. Whenever our eyes met I had a ready smile to match hers, otherwise I danced hard, not bothering about her passive participation. Without warning she squashed the space between us with one step forward and looked into my eyes, forcing me to stop and study her facial features. Everyone has what I call a radius of intimacy – about half a foot from every part of the body – reserved for the very familiar. We feel uneasy when that space is occupied by strangers, more so when the invasion is deliberate. But it is nothing but excitement when the invader is an attractive member of the opposite sex. It had been a while and I needed this right now. There was no letting this one get away. She put her arms around my neck, gingerly, like she wasn’t sure what to expect. I responded in kind but fancied her waist. She pressed closer. That gave my hands the license to slip southwards. I gently squeezed her buttocks half expecting a stinging slap but she held me even tighter, pulling my head down so that her lips were now against my ears.
‘I have a boyfriend!’
I raised my head and looked in her face. She had the smug look of one that had hit a bull’s eye on first try. And she did nothing to break my hold. I released my breath. I actually thought she said she had a boyfriend so I shook my head slightly and leaned in so she could repeat her words.
‘I have a boyfriend!’
It had to be the music and all the noise in the place. If you have ever arrived at the airport with time to spare, so looking forward to your holiday then think you just heard an announcement that your plane has just left, you know exactly how it feels – that desperate need to find some official to quickly clarify the ‘mistake.’ I seized her arm and led her outside in search of quiet.
‘What did you say love?’
‘I have a boyfriend...love.’ she replied in a tone bordering on sarcasm, staring into my very confused face with eyes that still showed interest. What in heaven’s name was all the flirting for? Not that the news was anywhere near devastating, it was just that I thought I had scored. All my senses were up...okay, that too. I studied her teasing eyes with the knowledge that whatever she came out with next would determine how the night would end up.
‘But there is something I would like to know about you.’ She cocked her head to one side and looked askance at me in a rather coy way which, in the dimly lit alley, I found sensual. Clearly she was in the driver’s seat and it was only in a bid to seize the initiative that I asked gruffly, pretending to be annoyed, ‘What?’
‘Is it true what they say about black men?’ I understood instantly what exactly she asked about. Every mannerism with which she had asked the question had ‘sex’ stamped indelibly on it. My pulse raced again, we were back on track. She had just laid the power of the very immediate future in my hands. It could go two ways: I could educate her and shatter the myth right there, possibly end up with a kiss on the cheek and a cheery wave or I could play along, heighten her curiosity and get to ‘show’ her. Intensely. I decided then that if she was to learn any truths then it would be from experience. Who made me an educator anyways?
I looked into her eyes, nodded and smiled.
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