Chocolate

 

Some Saturday, not so distant nights ago
0045 hours

We surveyed the scene from the top of the slope and tried to make a united decision. Of course, the one and only decisive factor is to be where the hot ones are.

Frangipani was a tad too noisy for my sick liking, but girlfriends R and C were attacted to the sound of music blaring straight to the street. Their booties already moving to the staccato rhythm way before we reached the entrance. Okay, I guess we shall, just for a bit.

All I wanted to do was step out for some comforting supper. How in the world I managed to change my course of route and pick up two naughty partners-in-crime instead, I don’t know.

An unmade oily face, unwashed hair bunched up in a ponytail and a belted brown dress with flip flops. I was hardly a combination that would result in bringing a gorgeous specimen home for some rock-a-bye.  I looked, and felt, like a maid. But whatever, not an issue; I was there for a drink. If horniness should strike, my fingers, or my shower head can jolly well do the job to gratify.

We made our way up the beautiful wooden stairs and entered the upper leveled bar packed with attractive human beings. 

This is my locale on Fridays, when the night belonged to sweet fairies. I was unfamiliar with the straight crowd on Saturdays. I thought too soon. Because not even thirty seconds after, I met two people I know telling me they’ve been reading my blog (hello girls) and how much they love it.

Thanks for reading, I’m so honoured. I replied. Then I air kissed them again and preceded to the bar. I wasn’t being insincere and abrupt. I just. Want. That. Drink. 

A few more acquaintances and fellow Changkat frequenters. A couple of how are yous and where have you beens later and I finally got that Vodka Cranberry. Thank you busy bartender! 

The day had done a crazy number on me.
R and C were nowhere in sight. I assumed they were either getting drinks too, or at the Ladies. I circled the island bar one more time. Just in case I missed them.

Then I saw him. Bald. Confident. His eyes like perfect almonds. He was built like he went to the gym religiously. His skin the colour of yummy milk chocolate that melts in your mouth and your hands, and you lick clean.

He was smiling at me and after a few passing clubbers, I was right in front of him.

SexyBaldMan   : Hey
Me                  : Hi.
SexyBaldMan   : We’ve met.
Me                  : I can’t recall where though.
SexyBaldMan   : Neither can I. But it doesn’t matter. I’m K.
Me                  : Hello K. I’m (my name).
SexyBaldMan   : Pleasure meeting you again then (my name).
Me                  : Is that a British accent I hear, where about?
SexyBaldMan   : London.
Me                  : Ah, I see.
SexyBaldMan   : But I live here now. Ampang.
Me                  : A long way from home. On what purpose?
SexyBaldMan   : Work.
Me                  : In what field is that?
SexyBaldMan   : It’s a performance lubrication company.
Me                  : Ahhh, and what sort of performance?
SexyBaldMan   : You’re wicked.
Me                  : Do you have a light?
SexyBaldMan   : No I don’t smoke. An expensive habit.
Me                  : (nods to the beer in his hand) So is drinking
SexyBaldMan   : I had to choose one or the other. Alcohol won hands down.
Me                  : Too bad. I was about to request for you to light my fire. But tell me more bout this “performance lubricant” …

SexyBaldMan   : I see that smile. I get that a lot. But you’re wicked.
Me                  : Oh, no no no. This is pure research. I have a sex blog.
SexyBaldMan   : Do you now?
Me                  : Mmm hmm (sips on cocktail)
SexyBaldMan   : What do you write in this sex blog of yours.
Me                  : All sorts of things. I experiment here and there.
SexyBaldMan   : (hands over mobile) Key in your number. We should keep in touch.

                                                                         *****

I wonder if it’s true what they say about chocolate-coloured men. I guess, I’ll just have to wait and see.