I’ve heard an ear-full of cuck-a-boo in my time. Flirting may be a game; dating may be a game; sex may be a game; nonetheless, love is anything but a game. So when I hear people looking for true love use the expression – play your cards right, I marvel at the gut-wrenching ignorance.

 

The only similarity between love and ‘a game’ is that they both implore rules, or for want of a better word – guidelines. One has to know how to behave, how to communicate, how to avoid pet peeves, even how to make the other person laugh and feel their essence. All these are tools – or skills, if you will – that can be learned and put to use. It is in the cognizance of these similarities that love shares anything with a game.

 

However, at the end of every game, there must be the victor and the vanquished, otherwise , it is not a game. Herein lies the difference – love seeks for a win-win outcome. It wants to cry only happy tears, it wants to live happily ever after, it DOES NOT want to have one-half happy and one-half sad, and especially, it does not want to end. And, oh, all games come to an end, by the way.

 

Following the thread of thought, some things begin and come to an end…like flirting, dating and sex, and you would do no wrong by calling them games. But if you would wish for magical nights and lollipop dreams that go on forever, then that’s not a game, it’s a name – and it’s called Love.

 

Ladel, KC. 

It was never up to you to begin, and to finish, India said to me. She sat upright and crossed her legs elegantly. Her voice was still of the rarest exquisite texture as she went on, You may be tempted to feel better knowing this has been a game. To begin, it has been our game, not yours. Everything you did was not a maneuver, they were all permitted. For each Don Juan you thought you pulled, you advanced our plan. 

 

If you haven’t realized it already, I’ll put it in simple words: you were Amber’s sex toy. It was satisfying watching you act like you were quite the golden prick but the only reason you could not get her out of your mind was because you were never really in control. She was disappointed, by the way. She only came back to complete your humiliation. You have to fancy you never thought you could be knocked out that way.

 

And for Eloke, it wasn’t that hard making herself your mirage. You thought people will just arrange themselves in these imaginary pews and worship you, if you made yourself seem like a prize, but the truth is that you wear a disgusting ego when you do that. All the while Eloke was with you, she had to count sheep jumping over a yellow moon in her mind. Vanity is shallow, and it was the least she could do to keep from running mad. She thought your jokes were old and corny. More than half the time she grit her teeth and exuded in frustration. Yours truly thought she had a special way of smiling. I have to tell you that totally cracks me up. 

 

And then finally, Enter India. I’m here just for the sake of completion. How did you think this worked? You meet a woman, say a few magic words like Super Ted and take her under your wings? That was nice at the bank but under par, to say the least. And don’t be flattered it took such team work to strip you of your childish maverick. We had to make a compound fool out of you for the sake of conviction. We made you come and now we’re shush-ing you, just as you claimed you did with women. When I leave here, your heart will be torn in three parts. That’s a lot of mess, you may want to take some time cleaning up. I’ll recommend Oprah.

 

The next time you come out feeling like Cassanova’s sole heir, you will remember there others better at your own game. And that you don’t figure women through a simple math or flat philosophy. You will also remember that our attention is something you should appreciate, and not gloat about. Sometime later when you comb through this part of your life, as you must, and ponder how you missed the clues that led to this build up, remember only one fact: good chess players think five steps ahead, great chess players think only one step ahead – but it’s always the right one. Therein lies the difference between you and us. 

 

India got up and made her way to the door as I watched her dumb-struck. She turned the knob, and just before she stepped out, she said, “Of course, you could choose to be in denial about all this, but your cock tales will never be the same again.”o

To put it mildly, I felt used. As I slumped on the sofa in my living room, my mind felt too strained to process the sequence in which my princely empire had been toppled. I was suddenly frazzled to a fag. I thought I should just get a much deserved sleep and try to make sense out of the past twenty four hours when I came back awake. My eyes had been closed for only a minute when my phone started blaring. My first instinct was to ignore it but I went against that and took the call. With a tired voice, I said, “Hello…”

 

“Have you missed me?” It was a female voice.

 

I was quiet for a while. “Who is this?”

 

“Aww, where are your manners, lover boy?”

 

“I’m not in the mood for -“

 

“You’re really not a lot of fun today.”

 

“No, I’m certainly not.”

 

“You sound fifty years older.”

 

“Well, how’s that working for you?”

 

“I don’t know, I’d say crispy.”

 

I knew the voice and the vibe was familiar but my mind was working at a depleted efficiency level. I wasn’t in the mood for games. “Listen, if you don’t -“

 

She interjected, “Is there anything I can do to fix that?”

 

“Only if you’re open to screwing like minks in the summer sun,” I said, trying deliberately to offend her sense of morality.

 

But she surprised me and said, “That’s quite an imagination.”

 

“Oh, would you like to hear more?”

 

“Roll out the garbage drum,” she challenged.

 

I thought about it for a few seconds. The silence lingered. Then I said, “Forget about it.”

 

“But, why, you already got me started.”

 

“Well, find someone else to bother, I’m just not game at the moment.”

 

“That’s so sad,” she said without a trace of sadness in her voice.

 

“Look, I’ve got to go.”

 

“Just like two nights ago.”

 

Then it all made sense. “Eloke?”

 

“Dull kid! That took you forever.”

 

“I just have a lot on my mind today.”

 

“Don’t we all?”

 

The timing of her call was too conveniently placed. It had me wondering. “I’m trying not get paranoid here, I’d have thought you were in some kind of conspiracy against me.”

 

“Oh, my, why so?”

 

I thought I heard genuine hurt in her voice this time. “You couldn’t have picked a worse time to call.”

 

“But I’m calling because you didn’t call yesterday as you promised.”

 

“Yea, I know. Something came up. My apologies…”

 

“What’s the problem, Ronnie,” she asked. 

 

I suppose she was beginning to feel my deflated spirit. I told her, “I just feel messed up.”

 

“Is it something you want to talk about?”

 

“No, don’t bother.”

 

“Please, Ronnie, I’d like to help.”

 

“I’ll much rather figure it out myself, but thanks.”

 

“Does this have any link to the night at my place?”

 

I didn’t understand her question. “I don’t follow.”

 

“You said you feared someone was watching.”

 

“Oh, that. No, no, not at all.”

 

“If it helps you some, I actually felt it too.”

 

“That was just my mind. I’m sorry to have infected you with my paranoia.”

 

Eloke cleared her throat. “I don’t think you were being paranoid.”

 

“That would mean you being paranoid too but prefer to remain in denial of it.”

 

“Not quite, darling.”

 

“Then why not?”

 

She took a moment for herself. “Because it was exactly what I wanted you to feel.”

 

“Eloke was someone actually watching us?”

 

“In a manner of speaking, sort of.”

 

I was angry and flummoxed at the same time. “What kind of game were you playing?”

 

She snickered. “Let’s just say I’m the worst kind of tease.”

 

“All the while you strung me along, this was a game to you?”

 

“Don’t fake the hurt, lover boy. We both know it never meant more to you.”

 

Now I blew the lid off. “This is preposterous!”

 

“Aww, poor baby,” she teased, unfazed by my anger.

 

“Who was watching us? Was it your boyfriend?”

 

“Ermm, how do I say this?”

 

“Just say the name,” I demanded.

 

“Think on these things: snow on coal and fire over.”

 

I thought about it for a second. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Fine, I’ll help you with a clue.”

 

My bell chimed just then.

 

“Are you expecting someone?” she asked.

 

“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”

 

“I’ll call you back.”

 

Before she hung up, I quickly told her, “Hold that thought.”

 

“You hold the thought,” she said.

 

I ended the call and went to get the door. It was India, as I expected. Yet, I froze as soon as I saw her. She wore a white satin blouse on black flowing pants with a red hat that matched red bag. The description was clear: snow on coal and fire over.

 

India beamed a victorious smile and said, “I can explain everything.”

f

For the first time in years, I was up all night. My mind was spinning, checking, probing. I had done everything right. Either India’s story was true and she merely lucked-in on a circumstance that discombobulated me or she was the all time original player’s player. 

 

I had two options: I could try to rebound by calling her line until I got through to her, set up another date, and turn the game on her; or I could just act like it was no big deal, wait for her to call, and then let her lead herself into my den. If she’s playing me, the first option is desperate and self-destructive. And the problem with the second option is simple: what if she never calls?

 

Hell, I was clobbered and desperate, I chose option one. And funny, India took the call on the first ring. Her tone was gentle and polite. “I know you must hate me now, Ronnie.”

 

“I would if I could.” And after I said that, I really wasn’t sure if it was true or false. It would appear that I underestimated the effect of the night before, my game was off. Something had turned it off.

 

“For whatever it’s worth, I regret it . . . I apologize.”

 

“Oh, don’t sweat it, I’m as fine as the break of dawn.”

 

“If you want me to come over -“

 

“That’ll be great,” I blurted, to my dismay. Something was horribly wrong with me. I had won so much that I no longer knew how to take a defeat. If I didn’t get a grip, I was going to set myself up for a sequel to yesterday’s twacking.

 

“Do you want me to come over now?”

 

This time I took a deep breath and replied with some composure, “You can come whenever is fine by you.”

 

“That’ll be now.”

 

“I guess I’ll be expecting you then.”

 

She rang off.

 

Suddenly I felt a surge of confidence in my veins. Whether she had scored her Marvellous One by default or design, I was going to even it. I waltzed through the bath and freshened up, wearing a white cotton shirt that revealed just enough hints about my physique, and a black pair of cauldron pants. I got the apartment smelling sweet with lavender and scrambled an urgent breakfast which I decorated tastefully on the dining layout. The stage was set.

 

Fifteen minutes later, my bell started chiming. I eased gracefully to the door with all the cool of a mythical godling. With a half-smile on my face, I turned the knob and got struck by the surprise of the decade: it was Amber. I was totally stoned for six.

 

“I don’t have much time,” she said.

 

“But…”

 

She came at me like a shark attack and took my lips in her mouth. I realized she wore nothing underneath the black silk gown on her as her body pressed hard against mine. I’d forgotten how soft and smooth her body was. I tried to pull away but she latched on to me firmly, kissing me hungrily, her hands all over my body. And then she was fumbling with my pants, stroking my growing erection. Finally the madness overcame my caution about India, I lifted her and squared with her passion as we savored the moment. When I placed her on the dining table, impatiently swiping off the decorations I had meticulously arranged, she held my head and guided it to her wet mush. And then I buried myself in her and gave her a fellatio just as I knew would drive her crazy. She wrapped her legs around my head and moaned so loudly, while the table quaked with the trembling of her body. We kept at it on and on, and then she came.

 

It was time for the grand performance, the high point of the show. I let my cauldron pants slide to the ground, as my turgid member nodded in anticipation. But Amber pounced off the table just then and pulled her gown down. She pecked me on the cheek and said, “We both know India will soon be here. I’m gone.”

 

I didn’t hear the words clearly at first. But as the meaning settled in, I began to feel like the puppet in a circus. I’d been fooled – not once, but twice.

 

Shame on me.

If you’re gonna do something wrong, do it right. That’s how I learned, treating each case with a masterful touch. It’s not about going after all women and sleeping with a lot of them – that’s being the worst kind of vagabond. I go for the classy kinds, carefully selected, handled with rare charm, and scored with exquisite finesse. These classy kind of ladies, you find too few of them at a time. But when I stepped into the bank that morning to work out a bank draft and overheard the voice texture of the elegant lady wearing a cream fur coat complaining across the counter, I knew it was practice season. A little god somewhere must be messing with the stars.

 

On a scale of one to ten, she was eleven. Her name was India, and her scent filled my nostrils like a bouquet of carnations. My mind sprang to life and became a wild kaleidoscope of possible ideas – but only one seemed feasible. I had to move fast. As I mentioned en passant, timing is everything. I asked for the restroom and quietly eased my way towards it, retrieving my phone from my pocket as I sauntered along. 

 

Five minutes in the restroom felt like a lifetime. As I stepped out, I overheard the Branch Operations Manager saying, “I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding. Thank goodness your brother called just in time for apt intervention.”

 

And then she asked, “Who’s my brother?”

 

“He is . . . ermm . . .” The BOM glanced at me, and I averted my face sharply. “I don’t know,” he continued, “the caller just said he’s your brother.”

 

“That’s a strange one,” she replied with furrows on her forehead.

 

“Isn’t it?” the BOM said, and then walked away briskly.

 

I tailed India out of the bank – about half a minute behind her. She had gotten in her car and was about to step on it when I came by and said hello. She dealt me a once-over and curtsied a greeting. Her eyes were asking random questions until I said, “My name is Ronnie. And I’m your brother.”

 

Then her face beamed with smiles. “So, it was you.”

 

“My apologies…”

 

“Oh, no, I’m grateful. I’m just surprised you would do that for a total stranger.”

 

I grinned. “I often pretend I’m that nice.”

 

“As long as it doesn’t come with a price tag.” She winked at me.

 

“Of course not. It’s charity, only a humble donation will do.”

 

“So, how are smiles and thank yous for that?”

 

“Very lovely, but how about putting your cute donation in a pretty wrapper – say, Forresters?”

 

“Now when you ask like that, how can I say no?”

 

That was my cue to end the banter. It’s a crucial point no one should miss, like knowing when to close a business deal. I smiled and leaned slightly towards her, “How is seven o’clock?”

 

She shrugged. “I can work with that.”

 

“I’ll be early.”

 

“Ciao.” She drove off.

 

There was something enchanting about India. She handled herself delicately with sophistication, and yet, no pride. She exuded the grand beauty of a perfectly groomed garden. As I thought about her, the hours seemed to pass at a snail pace. Obviously, something about her had untangled the Don Juan in me. I was feeling genuinely smitten. Just to remain in charge, I planned the entire evening in my head. I knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and how to harmonize it for the best response. I was going to leave nothing to chance. By the end of the night, I would either have her in my bed or have her mind wickedly webbed with the most erotic fantasies of us.

 

Just as I was putting the final touches to my outlook, my phone started ringing. First thing I heard was, “You said you’d be early, are you there yet?” It was India.

 

“No, but I will be in a quarter of an hour.”

 

“That’ll be sweet. Just checking to make sure you hadn’t chicken out on me.”

 

“Not for all the gold in Africa.”

 

She snickered. “See you soon.”

 

“Right.” I figured she must have charmed my number out of the BOM at the bank. With that call, I edited my objectives – by the time the night was over, I’d most certainly be making her bed rock.

 

I arrived at Forresters half an hour early. I took the time to revise my blueprint, made sure my look was casket sharp, and even practised my disarming smiles. I was set to hit all aces. All that was left to do was wait…

 

At exactly seven o’clock, a neatly dressed gentleman approached me and introduced himself as the manager of the place, saying he had a message for me. My sister had called him and said she had to take a rain check because her ex-boyfriend called. Instantly, my mind began to analyze the situation: she had gone far enough to get my number, she had called to make sure I would be here – but to take the rain check, she had called this total stranger. More precisely, she had arranged with him. Maybe even paid him.

 

I dialed the number with which she had called me, it was switched off. That was the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. When you have been a player for a long time, you will know when you have been smoothly played. It leaves a crushing feeling that numbs your mind for a bit.

 

At that moment, my world stood still. 

“Don’t go thinking I’m that easy, you can’t take me in with you.” That was my first remark as soon as I pulled up by Eloke’s house. Dinner had been spectacular at Jade’s Garden, now all I had was this desperate, tentative moment to score my desire.

“What if I asked nicely?” she said with a sweet smile.

Now make no mistake about it, she didn’t plan ahead of time to spend the night with me. Her fantasies, if there were any, ended at having a quality time dining with me. But something always gives and now she finds herself playing along with my rhythm. I leaned close to her as if I was about to say something heartfelt touching, “If you ask nicely, then, maybe I‘ll file your request for consideration.”

She was still smiling, “Ronny, you’re a jerk.”

“I know . . .” Then I turned serious. “I’ll take a glass of water.” 

Here are two things you might want to note carefully: Through poking fun at her, I gained an invitation where she hadn’t actually offered one yet; then I settled for a glass of water because I can’t risk mentioning something she doesn’t have. Like I’ve always said, plan ahead. You never leave it to chance.

Now I’m going to run through this very fast: she offered me a glass of water and asked if I wanted to see some pictures. She had a piano in her living room which I was only too happy to try my hands on and serenaded her for a few minutes. When I was done she rubbed my head and I shot back, “Stop flirting with me.” It got her smiling again. Then she walked me half way to the door before I stopped abruptly and offered the killer line I had prepared for this exact moment, “This may be the last time you ever set your eyes on me. It depends on you.”

Worry shone lucidly on her face as she wondered in utter confusion where that was coming from and where I was headed with it.

I went on, “If this turns out differently, then you’ll probably have me around for a really long time. Maybe as long as we both might live. But that would also mean I never went in for surgery; that you never broke your jaw after I kissed you.”

“What?”

I moved in immediately and kissed her. Did she kiss back? Not at first. Then she overcame the shock, overcame the surprise, and finally kissed back. If you think I’ve had her here, you’re wrong. She’d be processing the words I said. The only way to deal with that would be to say more words and make it too many to process at a go. So I stopped abruptly. “I’m a jerk. More than half the time, I’m an arrogant idiot. I say a lot of things I don’t mean. But it’s only because I feel a need to protect myself from emotions I don’t fully comprehend. I can’t protect myself from you. It’s too hard. You’re different to me, you’re special. You have conquered me.”

Eloke’s mind at this point was deluged with thoughts. That was the idea, like blowing a cosmic powder in her face and making her mind fuzzy.

Before she said a word, I went at her lips again and kissed them as if my life would end without them. now she was kissing me back, pulling me hard on to herself, moaning as the spark grew into an inferno. There was no question about it, we were going to go all the way. I had conquered her.

Only one thing did not fit with my perfect picture: I had a nagging feeling someone was watching.

https://ladelkc.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=192&action=edit

KC Ladel

I have lived a life of simple pleasures. Maybe too simple. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I just love women. And I think that’s okay because they love me too. Now you must think I’m really proud already, but stay with me – let me begin, and let me finish. I am truly a master at this. Perhaps, you’d come to be proud of me. 

 

Myriads of women have prodded down the path of my humble existence for the mild gratification of the heart and flesh. I make them come. And I make them go. This is an art. If I met one whose heart was too guarded to invade, then I’d have met with a player’s favorite subject. For there’s no greater fun than the chase before the kill. But if she persists too long, then I’ll be facing the possibility of every player’s waterloo: falling in love. This has happened thrice. Just three times. But that is too much. And the other countless conquests, the fallen heroes, they have made me the master that I am. Stay with me. This is the beginning.

 

I met Amber a fortnight ago while attending a public speaking course. She was tall and pretty. To use “beautiful” would be pushing it a bit. She wore a tight brown-fitting skirt suit with a yellow camisole that allowed just a fair view of her cleavage. Her suave smooth legs jutted sinfully out of her short skirt and promoted the intimidation generated by her imperious behind when she strut pass cattily. All eyes were riveted on her. The confidence in her gait told me she was used to this response from men. Pretty soon she’d expect someone to confront her. I won’t be that person. When a man does the expected with women, he’s on his way down a very slippery slope. Whatever your approach, nothing is more important than timing. 

 

Talking about approach, I use a very simple combination: start off with humour, show some wit and intelligence, and then hint at a little warmth. Its the best start-off recipe I know to dating. So, much as I was totally taken by Amber’s aura, I kept my distance. Ten minutes later, someone made the first move. I was watching him from the corner of my eyes. He stepped up boldly and said, “Hello.”

 

Wrong move. 

 

When you have not previously met a lady, you are coming from an insecure position. To say a hello is to give her one of three options: to be either polite, rude or indifferent. A player never leaves it to chance. He’s like a chess master, calculating ahead. His moves are determined by the responses his adversary is likely to give.

 

Amber smiled vaguely and mumbled a greeting under her breath. Then she got her phone out of her bag. That was a clear sign she had accessed him and he didn’t make the cut. Now she was going to pretend to be wildly enthralled by somebody on the other end of the phone conversation she was about to get on. His best bet would have been to excuse himself and save some face. That way he could re-strategize and try again. But he lingered until her call connected. She moved away to get some privacy. She didn’t acknowledge he was going to be rooted to the spot waiting for her. He didn’t know whether or not to follow her. Even he knew it was over before it got started.

I could read his mind, “Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.”

 

Women want to be swept off their feet. But they don’t want to get a warning before you do it. That just sucks the fun out of the process. Unless they already like you. 

 

When Amber got off the phone, she went off in the opposite direction. Just what I expected. For me, the chase had begun. 

 

In five minutes, I had a wing woman. A wing woman is a woman whom you send forth to the actual one you want to get acquainted with. Women get along faster with women. So the wing woman clears the path for you, looks around, invites you over, and introduces you as her cousin or a really close friend. Then later on, she excuses herself to use the bathroom and never returns. I implore wing women for people like Amber who are constantly on guard and seemingly unfriendly. So with a little prepping, my wing woman, Lade, went to meet Amber and they started talking. I figure they were getting along because Amber was smiling. And then Lade beckoned at me from across the hall. When I accosted them, she said, “This is my cousin, Ronny. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t need this course.”

 

I smiled and offered my hand for a shake. “Next thing, she’s gonna tell you I wrote Obama’s speech.”

 

Amber smiled. “Sounds like you could.”

 

Now that is my point. By all means, get a woman laughing. Practice if you have to. If she’s laughing, she’s listening to you. And if she’s listening, then you can pretty much drive your case home. So as I shook her hand, I quickly added, “Did they send you out here so the remaining staff can work for one day without distraction?”

 

She caught the joke and guffawed.

 

Lade knew that was the cue. “I’m going to freshen up a little, please excuse me.”

 

Amber nodded her approval as Lade sashayed off to the rest room. And I took my place in front of her. Now stay with me. Let me begin, and let me finish.