Her finger traced the wine glass as her eyes scanned the room. She knew how to spot them, to identify a catch and draw them in. A talent honed from years of experience in dealing with ‘the industry’. She was a creature of habit and over time this bar had become her hunting ground. The cool ambience merging with an air of inconspicuousness often had a disarming effect on people.
She hoped this time she could stay, she liked the bartenders and the chardonnay was crisp, always chilled to perfection. Never have one too many mind you, that never ended well. Certain ‘incidences’ had forced her to move on from places she had begun to frequent, however when she found a place she was comfortable and free to manoeuvre unhindered she would settle in and stay there.
This bar had yet to fail her.
It was not always easy finding a space where a woman such as herself could simply be. There seemed to be something disarming about a woman, alone at a bar staring steadfastly ahead unhindered by the stares. It brought about a collective discomfort.
However the air in this place made everyone mind their own so she had never come here and left without someone to warm her bed for the night after emptying her wallet.
It was an intoxicating mix, the power, money and sex all cloaked in the hazy smoky anonymity of her chosen haunts. The fusion of the three was a blessing and a curse to her, a tripartite relationship she welcomed whole-heartedly.
They came together beautifully; the more of the first two at her disposal the more she enjoyed increasing amounts of the third.
She waited patiently, nursing her drink. They always came to her.
It was a strange phenomenon, difficult to explain, understanding probably came in part due to the job. The men all seemed to have the ability to spot and hone in on a woman willing to pay for their services. She would often be approached by an array of different ‘suitors’, all playing their cards close to their chest seemingly offering company with a hint of something else. She would closely watch their dance before she made her choice. She always discarded those who were not offering their services and merely ‘a good night’. She was not interested in ‘a good night’ which consisted mainly of scraps of knowledge these men had picked up over the years from former fumbled interactions.
This was a business transaction, what she wanted was expertise.
As someone who favoured the familiar picking partners was one aspect of her life in which she strayed choosing instead to enjoy diversity, always seeking something novel. She continuously craved something new in that particular area of her life which is why, although she had long been in a committed relationship, she went on these trysts. Excursions that could scarce be wasted on a lacklustre travel companion.
Swirling her wine in her glass she thought about how people who knew often misunderstood what this was about. Some equated it to boredom, insecurity or some latent childhood.
It was none of these things.
Neither was it based on a need to prove something or mask some hidden pain. It was simply a desire for the act itself. Some people liked chocolate. Others like wine. She liked sex. People seemed to find it incomprehensible that a woman would simply want it so she did not waste her breathe explaining.
These sessions never lasted more than an hour or so. It was again, not about filling some inner gulf so there was no need to take too much time. Also was a great deal you could do in that time if you knew exactly what you wanted. She was always crystal clear on her wants and needs, because she had very specific tastes.
These tended to change according to whatever mood took her but she never took off her heels, leaving them on kept her grounded when she engaged in her flights of fancy. She needed them to not only keep herself grounded but to show her domination. She wanted them to feel her power. Some rulers had a sash or a hide, others had a crown. She had her heels.
It was important to never let the business drown in pleasure.
This was something that could easily happen. From the way she rolled her hips to the way her orgasm came over her in waves. This whole endeavour washed over her and this engulfment was part of the allure of those nights. However, she had paid for them so she rode them.
The whole thing was more of a whirlpool than a river flowing one way with the pleasure never flowing in any one direction but encircling them both. It was not just about receiving but also giving. She had spent a good deal of time working on external and internal muscles. She would envelop them, swallow them whole, ensuring there was no physical or mental escape.
Like any great artist she spent a good deal of time honing her craft. She induced climax after climax.
Ecstasy: then moment when one is outside of themselves. She brought them to an understanding of the original Greek.
She submerged them into an ocean of complete control, relishing the look of pure unadulterated release in which they forgot themselves, forgot who they were and what they were.
Only to resurface to the lack of understanding that a customer had somehow managed to make them act so unprofessional.
She always tipped them heavily, irrespective of performance, loving that she could mix business and pleasure. It was always best to keep an eye on what the competition was doing, this being a tough business. There was always someone thinking they could corner the market she had painstakingly carved out for herself. She had not become the areas premium madam by lying on her back, asleep.
Tiffany Kagure Mugo (@tiffmugo) is the intoxicatingly scary gatekeeper of HOLAAfrica, an online Pan African queer womanist community dealing with sex, sexuality and all things woman. Media consultancy for various social justice organisations is her trade by day working to up the digital game of various organisations. She is a writer and freelance journalist who tackles sex, politics and other less interesting topics and has also written academic paper or two for various journals on use of the online space by African women. During weekends she is a wine bar philosopher. She attended the 2014 Writivism workshop in Cape Town and was mentored by Clifton Gachagua.[twitter-follow screen_name=’JaladaAfrica’ show_count=’yes’ text_color=’00ccff’]
A pan-African writers' collective and publisher