Handbook of a Playboy (3)

By: Emmanuel Amani


I stammered trying to answer Grace’s questions. Then it dawned on me that a woman just slapped me. Am I watching a thriller from Nollywood? Should I slap back? A myriad of questions rushed through my head. Obviously, Grace’s slap altered my medulla oblongata. I simply walked away. That was the only doable thought that came to my head.

Grace did not talk to me or call me for weeks. I didn’t care either. I was glad because I wanted space from all her monitoring spirit and policing. Her absence gave me unperturbed opportunity to enjoy my spread tentacles.

Aside Grace I had four other controls, it was a matter of choice to decide who to be with. One mistake a game boy should never make is taking a babe to your own house as long as what you are doing means nothing. None of them knows where I live. Ruqqayat was the only person who knew my crib, she is history. I never mentioned her name to anybody. Tracing or linking me to anyone was a daunting task. Another important variable, never visit where any of them lives. Meet at neutral locations and always prepare a good reason not to visit or be visited.

Nine weeks gone, on my way to the buka to have lunch. I bumped into Grace who accosted me with several allegations. “Grace you have the animal impetus to raise your hand and slapped me, up to this moment you have not apologized. If I was the one who slapped you, I am sure you would have broadcast me to the whole world that Emma is a woman beater. Here you are again, maybe to make a fool of yourself or give me a second edition of your slap; you probably enjoyed the first one”. I left Grace to choke on those words. As I was leaving, “if I call you please answer my call” she echoed. Grace had not called since the slap day, what makes her think I won’t pick up her call. Apparently, calling me had been in her thoughts but she wasn’t sure what she would get. Of course if she ever called me, I will definitely pick up. Like the good shepherd, no sheep should be lost.

While having my lunch, this sexy daughter of Eve walked in, in the company of nobody. She was putting on a bum short. Her straight legs and freshness was something to dream about. The top she wore revealed some flesh of her watermelon sized boobs. The hair on her head was damn long, almost kissing her bum. Pulling it in a doggy set was non-negotiable. She had a perfect figure. She ordered a plate of rice and chicken with a bottle of schwepps. Her choice of schwepps really gave me cause for worry. Why schwepps? Whatever happens to Fanta or coke?

The strategy, the words to say to this woman was my biggest worry. Time was evaporating. I hate conventions, doing things the normal way. So I like to think things through, calculate my steps and arrange my vocabs. The problem here was that her looks was interfering with my thoughts. No time to perfect strategy, the earlier i started the better for world success. I went straight to her table. What happened after was a new experience for me. On getting to her table, the following conversation ensued:

to be continued…