In medias massage
by Annette Schwindt
"Who needs men?" That was the motto my best friend and I shared once a month after having finished university. We then used to meet for what we called "liberal women's evening". In the beginning those evenings mainly consisted of sitting together with salmon and pasta, copious amounts of white wine or champagne and watching 'chick flicks' like "Bridget Jones" or "Sense and Sensibility". But then I moved into an apartment above a cocktail bar with a club in the basement and so our ritual changed to mixed spirits and hitting the dance floor. And, according to our liberal objectives, we joyfully bitched about present and absent men. Until one evening...
After two Caipirinhas we went down to the club for a little dancing. After a while I left the dance floor to have a drink. That was when I suddenly felt a hand caressing my thighs! I found out that the hand belonged to a really good looking, tall American, who claimed to be the cousin of the Nigerian bar owner and, looking me deep in the eyes, he whispered: "You're so gorgeous! I have been watching you all night and yesterday and Saturday night". In fact I had been there those said days. But I was not to be impressed so easily and therefore retorted "And what did I wear?" The man who introduced himself as 'D-hon' could describe every single detail of my outfit for both days! Stunned I let him guide me to the dance floor where I experienced 'D-hon's' sexy swinging hips!
At the same time another dancer took a chance and approached courageously my friend.
He didn't seem to lack self-assurance even though he was about one foot shorter than her.
Then came the most subtle chat-up line in history:
"Yeah, babe! Your black bra really makes me horny!" the guy grinned.
Such a direct approach caused my friend, who was a little more sophisticated and
had just finished her Ph.d in literature, to be taken aback.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked surprised.
"I SAID", the guy now roared, "YOUR BLACK BRA REALLY MAKES ME HORNY!"
'D-hon' in the meantime tried to intensify our contact. He had heard that
I lived in this building and he had such a long way home. He couldn't accidentally
stay at my place for the night? In 'appreciation' he would offer me an extensive
massage! To me this really had gone too far now although I had enjoyed the feeling
he had for his body until then. I referred to the fact that my friend was already
staying with me and that my apartment was quite small. But that didn't bother him at all.
"I can sleep on your couch", he suggested.
But that was just where my guest would sleep.
"Then I'll sleep in your bed", he cheered up.
Nice try.
"Okay beside your bed", he tried to compromise.
But even "under your bed" didn't lead to the success he was looking for.
So bad luck for 'D-hon'...
Meanwhile my friend still had an uphill struggle with the guy from the countryside
whose name was Andy. She had hardly understood his bra-issue when she burst into
laughter and replied "Well, well. You're going straight in medias res, aren't you?"
That's where she hadn't counted in the gap of education between her and him.
"What? I'm going where?" he asked without understanding.
"IN MEDIAS RES!" she shouted as she thought he hadn't heard her because of
the loud music.
After a short moment Andy's face brightened up and he smiled:
"Dammed right! That's where you have to go sometimes, no?"
This text by Annette Schwindt is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Germany License.