#IAAZB: Lace and Lies

So July is here. And it’s time for my #IAAZB Challenge and it’s all about Collaboration. So I chose the ever awesome writer Miss Mukandi. Do follow her blog here.

We hope you enjoy our work. Kisses..

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There is something about wearing sexy underwear that makes me happy. Could be the way I pair it all up in lace,  or how the lace feels as it grazes my skin. Sexy underwear is like a hot, little secret; an ace up my sleeve. Black lace undies, black lace bra with the right black lace dress and it all comes together in making me feel super sexy. 

 

 

I know it seems like I’m dressing up for some random dude who probably just wants all this off but no. Granted I would love a tall, dark, good-with-hands man to take it all off piece by piece one lonely night on a good steady bed but not tonight. Tonight I just want to be me wrapped in black lace. Okay fine… I’m wrapped in black lace on a date with a man. So maybe I did dress up for a man but it’s also for me. 

 

Oh my. His lips are moving and I’m not listening to whatever he’s saying. I should concentrate. 

“I like you.” I hear him say.

Awwwww… so sweet. He likes me. Should I tell him I like him too or will he get big headed? Zambian men and big headed-ness. Oh I just made a new word. 

 

“I think you and I will get along just fine.” He says. “I wish I had asked you out sooner but I thought you were the kind of girl that just wouldn’t match me.”

 

What kind of girl? Do I even want to know? No. I’ll let that pass for now.

 

“Match you?” I ask. 

 

Who the hell uses match these days? We are a match. We are a match made in heaven. Like a match I lit his fire up. Are these the eighties and somehow I am still stuck in them? 

 

“Yes. You came out as some crazy party girl the first time we met.” He says 

 

Oh that kind of girl. I was drinking the first time we met. But I am that kind of girl. The party kind. But that doesn’t still explain the match part. 

 

“So crazy party girl is not your match?” I ask

 

“No. I think party girl is too much for me to be honest.” He responds 

 

“Cool.”

 

“But I’m happy I got your number and you proved me wrong because I see you’re not what I thought you were. You are actually a great lady.”

 

Brian smiles at me. So handsome, he is what I call “The Harvey Spectre of Zambia.”  The lawyer has the tongue to charm most women’s bras off as if he is trying to win a case with their bodies, just as he did in the courts of Zambia; but, I thought he was sweet even though he was a flirt or he came out like a flirt. He ignored me for months, passed me by like I didn’t exist and then he suddenly asked me out two weeks ago. I still can’t believe it. We met at a braii, he asked for my number but he never got the chance to call me. The weeks flew by and I eventually stopped anticipating his call then as fate would have it, we met again the out of the blue he asked for my number again. His excuse? To ask me out on a real date this time so he would get to know me better,  and here I was on a “date” that was going absolutely nowhere.

 

I pride myself in being an amazing conversationalist. I make people laugh with my weird thoughts. But he just wasn’t budging. Maybe I was wrong in my assessment, he was easy to talk to when we met. But tonight he is on a roll. Gosh what I believed would be dinner with a good guy who can flirt and charm me out of my dress and undies – yes I’m in the mood for that thing – turned out to be dinner with Mr grumpy who wanted whatever it was he wanted, to complain. 

 

The man is in judgmental mood with his “ideas about how Zambian women should be.” Pathetic really. This is why I zoned out and stopped listening to him. I’m not encouraging the topic but he seems to want to air out his “points” about what he has noticed about Zambian women and their flaws. His first point was they should be submissive in all ways and never argue with a man because men are the head. He added that Zambian women seem to think they have power when they know they have nothing. His second point was a complaint of how desperate women are getting in Zambia by asking men out so that they can feel safe in a relationship even when the men don’t want to be with them. According to him, a woman will tolerate anything if it means a diamond ring will be a result. His third point was about how we seem to ignore all the lies men tell women and make ourselves believe a man is joking, we tell ourselves that once the man sees the real us he will instantly fall in love with us. I know we are about to go into his fourth point and I sit waiting for it; in silence because I don’t think I want to say a word to this Harvey Spectre version of a caveman. 

 

“I can’t date a woman who has had more than five men. Period. It’s a turn off.” He says. 

 

Bingo. Point four.

I smile. Five men? Okay. I know women who have had twenty and I won’t judge. But five? And yet he has had how many? Hypocritical. How I wish I had changed the topic earlier. Why did I even sit through this topic in the first place? I usually avoid controversial topics about men and women because we all have different views of how the right relationship should be, but somehow I found myself in one. How stupid. Brian should have been the perfect man, the kind that accepts women as people with flaws, even if these flaws translate as an exceptionally high body count. Or if she asked him out. Or if she wasn’t fully submissive. What a waste of a man in this age and era. 

 

“Why?” I ask

 

“Because she is too easy. How can you go past five? What are doing with all those men opening up your legs for each and every one? That’s being a hule. Proper solola. I know some who have had eight, or nine, and even ten. And they are still single and searching. My friends and I stay away from them. And why would I want to sleep were an almost soccer number has been.” He responds. 

 

My perfect eyebrows raise instinctively. Shit I dressed all up and perfected my face just so I can hear this? His talk is turning me off and I need a man to take this dress off not keep it on me. Maybe this is a lesson for me to learn. How to sit and drink with no thoughts of a promise of a bed. What a man. His poor friends. But then again it’s not his fault. Our society tells us that women should be pure. Virgin power virgin pride. Virginity is equated to purity and that is expected to make life better. What a load of rubbish. Virginity doesn’t cure disease and the highest form of impurity is of the mind. I hate what society has done to us women. It has vilified us.

 

How?

 

 Well, let’s start with my specimen A, Brian. He is educated, rich and exposed yet he is too blind to see beyond body count. More than five men under your belt makes a woman a whore. A hule. There are nice, honest, beautiful women out there who trusted the wrong people with their ‘virgin pride’ in hopes of a bright future and then their lives spiraled out of control. Somehow, we are still allowed to judge. I too trusted someone, wrong!!! I trusted some people once and it ended but don’t get me wrong.  I don’t regret any of my decisions. My pride took a beating but I learnt the best lessons and my decisions do not make me less of a woman. 

 

His lips are still moving. I am past wondering if he is a good kisser. Now I am wondering if he will ever shut up.

So more than 5 means you are not worth being called a lady right? I bet he wouldn’t guess by looking at me that I’m going onto number thirteen. Exactly, you wouldn’t guess until I tell you the truth. I never tell the truth. Ever. Anyone asking either wants to judge you or prove you a liar. Men love the lies I tell, they love the portrayal of innocence. They want to feel like there are still things to teach. Even the craziest men in the world want a woman who is almost virgin. The only thing virgin about me is my Brazilian hair. Twelve is a lot according to the judgemental ones who assume you will live longer with only less than five under your belt. News flash we are all going to die, be it tomorrow, next week or in ten years’ time. A virgin could get hit by a truck and die and I would be here, sitting across this judgmental man and his ego, living it up until I am ninety five. Life goes on.

 

I never wanted to reach twelve ever. I had a plan and I went off the road of life because life is unpredictable. Things happened and somehow I reached twelve and then I was judged and called names but in all honesty I’m still the same woman only wiser. Okay twelve is two hands and two toes. When you pass both hands and feet then girl you are something alright, you are a woman with many stories but I won’t judge you. Being a single African in this millennium has made this of women. Men want something, women give them the said thing and the men move on and the cycle continues. How will a man find a virgin when he is busy screwing them. Double standards. Besides it’s hard to just sit and crave. Everyone has feelings. Once it hits you, then you gotta get it. Maybe I should stop. 

 

“So how many have you had?” He asks as he looks at me. 

 

Does he want to know the truth or the sugar coated truth? Zambian men never want to know the truth ever. It cracks their perfect masks and reveals the real them. My friend was dumped for being honest about her body count and she only had six. What a joke. He couldn’t even appreciate she told him the truth. Though I do know of men who stay with women no matter how high the body count. Where are those men?

 

“Three.”  I respond with a smile. Sugar-coat it. Claiming virginity would be a direct lie, especially when the olive oil in my salad is obviously the only virgin at the table. So I tell a lie by omission. Three is kind of the truth. Three times four that is. It comes out so easy now. Soon I’ll start to believe my own lie.

If only he knew the truth. The truth about my life that has made me the person I am today. I wouldn’t know where to start from. Telling him the truth can have tragic consequences. He may not understand my decisions. Men like Brian don’t understand the type of fortresses women like me build in our hells. Even if he did understand, the chances are slim that he would still want to be with me, that he would accept. Understanding is one thing, acceptance is another. Many people reject the truth that they understand. It is simple; the truth hurts, it is bitter. Lies are sweet, fattening and easy to swallow. Better to feed him that. It’s not worth it to be honest. Dying with my secret to the grave. 

 

“Is that the end digit of a popular formula you ladies have?” He asks

 

“Formula?”

 

“You know… The divide the number you have in half. And then divide that number in half again.”

 

I laugh. Close enough.

 

“No. I’ve only had three.” Not even a polygraph would detect this lie.

 

“Boyfriends?”

 

Does it matter? Inside I am rolling my eyes but outside I smile sweetly. “Yes only boyfriends.” 

 

“How many men have you dated?”

 

“Five.” I answer.

Liar. Liar. Lace undies on fire.

 

“So you’ve never had a one night stand?” Brian looks at me intently.

 

What’s he getting at? This isn’t court, he needs to leave me alone. There were those four times and alcohol was the blame. Though I enjoyed it I think. 

“No.” I say, my reply is as cool as ice.

 

“Cool. You are unlike most Lusaka ladies.”

 

Wow. Is that a compliment because if it is why do I still feel insulted? I’ve gotten to the point I don’t feel guilty for lying to men about my body count because in the quest for a marriage you need to lie your way to the altar. I’m not looking for a marriage partner in him though so why should I be able to tell him everything. Like how one of the men I trusted told me he wanted to get to know me better meant he wanted to get to know the walls of my vagina; smooth or bumpy I never found out because the man turned out to have a very serious girlfriend who he wanted to marry. He claimed he loved us both. Left that quick enough. Or maybe I should tell him how I fell for my best friend and that ended in shambles because he was never into me at all. I’m sure he will marry a virgin one day while I pile up the numbers. Fine, some women told me to hold back on the goods. Let him work for it. I figured they were dealing with dummies because which sensible Zambian man will say “Cool babe. Hold back and I’ll marry you tomorrow coz I need to taste that?” Please show me these men and I’ll go to him faster than Mr Bolt can say Run Forest, Run. 

 

“Well we are all unique.” I say with a smile.” So I am assuming you are a virgin. ” 

 

I’m sorry I need to know where he stands in all this. 

 

“Nah. I’m a man. “

 

“Oh. Ok. What does that mean?  “

 

“We are allowed to play with whatever number of women we want.”

 

“Oh. Ok. “

 

“That’s all you gonna say?”

 

Uh? What the hell? What else should I say? Is he testing me? Hmmm. 

 

“Well, there is nothing to say.”

 

“I thought you’d want to defend the women who have more than five on their bed post.”

 

I laugh. Defend them? Baby, they would eat you alive. I’m not gonna get into an argument with a date. Nope. I will smile and be pretty. Maybe I will be rewarded. You never know. 

 

“Look all I will say is we all go through things and we all have types of people we can deal with. So I can’t judge you for your type. “

 

He nods and takes a sip of his beer while I sip on my wine. Awkward. 

 

“Add sensible to the list of things I like about you.” He says 

 

“Thank you Brian.”

 

More awkward silence. 

 

I take my phone from the table and quickly type out a text message. 

 

Ben:

Hey. Bored to death. I got lace on. Interested? 

 

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