Blow Off

Her long legs are dangling on the high stool she is occupying. A little of her ass is squeezed out, floating due to the pressure exerted by sitting. Infront of her, is a tall glass of wine she sips from while observing her surroundings. They do not serve cocktails at this particular bar. Its clientele does not call for it. She frowns when the bartender reveals this.

Her skirt is riding on her thighs. The black dress she is wearing is spilling out her cleavage like rotten goods at the entrance of the local market. There are criss-crossings of red on her legs, stockings. She is the image of sexy, in feeling and presentation.

It’s the lazy afternoon of a Sunday. Loud music is playing. It is far off because the speakers have been directed to face the recreation area where the swimming pool is. She sings along to a tune or two that is familiar. In different gazebos placed strategically away from the bar are families having their traditional after-church meal; chips, kuku washed down with soda. The children are enjoying the weekly feast evidenced by their oily hands, busy cheeks and ketchup on their Sunday bests.

There are two people at the bar. Herself and the man in a white shirt selling the drinks. A few teens have come and gone requesting for refreshments from the bar while on their breaks from swimming. There is a strict restriction on the distribution of alcohol to those not meeting the age requirement. They settle for sodas the flavours of Fanta, in blackcurrant, orange and passion. One or two get Coca-Cola, the Real Magic.

A stocky man comes to occupy the seat next to hers. She had wanted to spend the afternoon transform into the evening with her thoughts but men will always invite themselves where they are not wanted.

She can tell he is approaching his 60s from the folds of the skin on his face. He introduces himself as George. His order is a whiskey in a box. He tells her he is there to calm his mind as his daughter has been admitted at a nearby hospital. The mother is there but he, he needs breaks every now and then from the scene. Besides, children belong with their mothers. He had played his part by providing the seed.

He roves on about his political aspirations in the coming elections. She is not interested in politics but nods along as he professes his dreams. He is watching her glass and filling it every time it runs out from the bottle he offered to add to his bill. Courtesy of the talks with the barman, she can tell he is a regular.

When he runs out of things to say about himself, he asks about her. She tells him she is not from the area. She is staying at the resort because her friend works there. She is recharging before going back to the sins of the city.

He suggests a tour of the region while she was around since they could not really “talk” there. She smiles at his request and swings her head back to avoid the peck he wanted to plant on her. When the sun begins setting, he asks for her number so that they can plan further. Her manicured fingers type in the numbers in his phone up to the 10th digit. She saves it as Viona before handing the phone back. He dials to confirm. She declines and begins typing his details in her phonebook.

He gathers himself, rises with his bottle to go home, the next day required him to have plenty of rest.

“I have one request, don’t tell your friend. You know we have interacted when I come here and she seems interested in me. I don’t want there to be bad blood between the two of you because of me.”

Yes sure, Future Politician.

As soon as his car veers off, she unlocks her phone, going straight to the contacts. Her thumb scrolls until she finds it.

Are you sure you want to block this contact?

Viona clicks Yes.

She cannot wait to tell her friend about the day when her shift finishes!

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