But she is the kind of woman you walk past and even if you are with your wife or pastor, you do a double take.
She had on black pants that clung to her like they were sewn on to her skin and her sparkling white shirt had two loose buttons that allowed a peek of a lacy black bra. I liked.
I was leaving a client’s office when she walked into the corridor and I just stood there in her path, not moving until she was standing so close to me I could smell the mint on her breath.
“My name is Oshoko,” I said like she had asked for it.
“And you are telling me this because?” she asked and even though her tone was serious, there was the shadow of a smile around her lips.
“Because I have been waiting for you for,” I began then paused to lift to check my wrist watch. “32 minutes.”
“Me?” she asked, baffled but clearly curious. “I just got a call from the dentist. I had no plans to come here.”
“Wow, my bad. I thought you were the CEO I came to see. So, sorry then. My card,” I said flashing one.
She took it, hesitated for the briefest second then she dug in her bag and gave me a card too.
“Cynthia. Nice to meet you,” I said and stretched out a hand. She shook it, the smile now full blown.
“If I called, would you pick?”
“If you called…” she said and left it hanging as she brushed past me and headed for her appointment.
I watched her sprawled, all limbs and breasts, on my bed and remembered that meeting and how when I had called she had said “You are a big liar, you know.”
“Good afternoon to you too,” I said and she had laughed.
“You just wanted to get my number,” she said. “And I fell for it.”
When I didn’t say a word she asked “Are you still there?”
So, why are you quiet?”
“I am in shock. I haven’t been called a liar in a while,” I said.
“When did some one last call you a liar?” she asked and then burst into laughter when I said “Last night.”
It was easier from then on because, in my experience, once you can make a woman laugh, you are half-way there.
I asked her out for a drink. She works in telecom. I work in public relations. She is Igbo. I am Kogi. She studied Chemical Engineering. I studied Communications. She is single. I am searching. She likes kissing. I love kissing. So we kissed a bit.
After dinner the next night, we kissed some more and then somehow we ended up at my place because it was a Friday.
Now wide awake and just looking at her svelte body lying naked in my bed, the tattoo of a star above her left breast rising and falling in tune with her breathing, I can feel my need rising.
I reach out to part her legs and she flutters one eye open.
“Mister Man don’t you get tired?” she asked that same naughty smile playing around her lips.