TYPING: In life, the principle to cheating is handling everything with stealth…
Why were the soles of my shoes tap- tapping against the cemented pavement? You’d think if I took my steps one before the other, very slowly, like I was doing now, I wouldn’t stand the chance of drawing attention to myself. But apparently, they did not call these six-inch heels because they lacked the ability to tap-tap.
Yes, you read right. You’re not going bonkers. You are really watching me, an adult male, teetering on six-inch heel Louboutins not really made for men who accidentally found their feet in them and didn’t want to attract attention to themselves. Abso-bloody-lutely Fab!
Ridiculous could be the appropriate word blinking repeatedly on my forehead as I was concealed in a thick slab of make-up, shielding my face with my palms so no one saw me. When did dressing female turn so in? How did those drag queens do it? Was feeling itchy when they wore a blouse with ruffles all the way up the choking neckline embedded in their DNA that they felt no inclination to constantly scratch, inadvertently causing long skid marks around their necks? Did they never feel stuffy anytime a pencil skirt was crushing their dick to the point of rendering them bent towards incredulous angles? Did their heels not make them want to——
Bang! My forehead went crashing down the pavement. A blessing in disguise because an approaching guy in one of my politics classes would have noticed me, and this would have eventually led to my self-inflicted demise. I quickly got up again, thanked God it had rained last night so the effect the cold pavement had on my dick was akin to that of having a cold shower after watching an Emma Watson flick. I hurried into Focus HQ’s driveway before I was spotted by anyone I knew.
TYPING: … you looked left…
Christ, screw Angelina Jolie for making crouching in heels look so effortless in movies! I almost twisted an ankle and swore I’d pay more attention to those lessons Tyra Banks gave about strutting in ridiculously high heels on ANTM and not be like my Grannie-Grandma who dashed back into her room anytime she was disappointed it wasn’t the episode they’d go nude (just so she could reminisce about how her tits used to be erect).
TYPING: … you looked right…
Leaning against a car, I said a quick prayer to God, that if He took me to my hostel in one safe piece (in my blouse, and pencil skirt, and Loubou heels, and the medium-cut wig, and the butterfly broach on my blouse, and the big, chunky Donna Karan bag——yes, my sponsors had gone all the way!) without being caught, I would never ever get myself into these incredulous situations even if it was for helping a friend, and dashed back into the streets.
TYPING: … you made sure no one was looking, then you cheat…
OMG! Did the Dean of Students just wink at me? I whipped around to be certain as I watched the older man trek back to his car.
Well, I might as well take advantage of the free ride. Wink, wink.
TYPING: …and pray you never get caught.———
I was constantly backspacing a blog post I was in heavy contemplation of when someone barged into my room. Without swivelling around to see who it was, I said dismissively, “Oh, sorry you just missed him.” My roommate’s constant booty-call girl who had the mouth of a sailor was the only one not quite acquainted with the good ol’ African manners instilled in us (——Knock thrice, wait for whoever to say enter or fuck off before you take action). I really didn’t blame her. She’d never stumbled on her grandparents going at it.
“Kobby!” Her urgent cry wasn’t enough to get me facing her, but it sure got my attention. “I came for you! I need a favour.”
The last time Maya asked for a favour was to be the one who held her still as she got her arse bleached. So you just know why I wasn’t bothered being concerned. “What is it, Maya?” I was still staring at my laptop screen. It was then I heard the sobs. The image of Maya crying would be both thrilling and frightening.
Except when I spun back it wasn’t really Maya crying. My roommate’s fuck-buddy, upon lacking manners, didn’t know you were not supposed to bring strangers who were acting strange into rooms that weren’t yours. I cocked a questioning brow at Maya.
“Her boyfriend is cheating on her.” Maya announced, allowing her sit on my bed.
I resisted the urge to glare at Maya. Just because my roommate always shagged her on my tidy bed didn’t give her the audacity to use it to host strangers who were about to bed-wet. Instead, I used those few seconds to guess why Maya would consider me someone who remotely offered comfort to people scorned in a relationship. I came up with no possibilities. “So what should I do?” I mouthed so the girl with the fragile nerve endings didn’t graduate the puddle she was crying on my bed into a river.
“I need a favour.” Maya began again, hugging the girl tight to her chest. “She needs us to help her confirm her suspicions.”
I shut my laptop. I was vaguely interested (in getting Maya and this girl out of my room!). I walked towards the two and sat on my roommate’s adjacent bed. “How can you be so sure?” I addressed the girl.
“Well,” she sneezed into a handkerchief Maya offered her——wait, was that the shirt I’d hand-stitched for Teddy-Teddy?——“I saw him stash a condom into his pocket as he left my room,” she sobbed. That explained everything, her boyfriend was definitely a cheater. “And I am on the pill.” She added. OK. That wasn’t necessary.
“A favour Kobs. In turn, I would grant you one, how about that spot on Focus’ breakfast show you’ve always wanted…”
Maya knew the only bribery she could offer was using her relationship with campus’ biggest TV personality Sandra Buttock (——I got the spelling right, thank you!) to get me a spot on the breakfast show so I could promote my blog.
I could have clocked her in the eye. All the times I’d been asking her to link me up. But my mind was going miles per second, as a fantastic blog post idea came to me.
TYPING: How can you tell if your partner was cheating?
“Why do you ask?” Raymond, my roommate yanked off his shoes when he was back from lectures, and threw me a curiously entertained stare.
Without even guessing, I knew what he meant. “I’m still single, Raymond. It’s just for a blog post.”
He breathed in a sigh of relief for effect. “I do not really know how to spot my partner cheating because almost all the time, I really do not care.”
“But you do cheat all the time so you could shed some light on how to find out your boyfriend is cheating.”
“OK, but promise you wouldn’t give it away on your blog because I do not want ladies finding out.”
I nodded. He hardly read my blog.
“One,” he began, sinking into his bed, “Women are all about their intuition. And fucking half of the time, they are always right when they have the gut feeling their boyfriends are cheating.” I began jotting down on my little notepad. “Two, if the other woman is kind enough or jealous as hell, she’d leave a trace of her perfume topped with lipstick on his clothing. Three, your boyfriend has a sudden preoccupation with his appearance, tweezing the brows and all.” I didn’t want to point out his brows were perfectly tweezed to the point of insanity. “Four, He shows a sudden interest in a different type of music, mostly songs that have adult language like ‘I want to stick my—‘”
“Enough detail.” I cut him off. It wasn’t necessary since I always watched him at the mirror with my hair brush as mike.
“And mostly he doesn’t sing them staring at you. Five, He claims he’s pulling all-nighters, but it never shows on his semester results. Last, he mostly asks the question, ‘how do you tell if your boyfriend is cheating’,” He mockingly added, “So, Kobs, are you cheating on me?”
“Hey,” I acted offended. “I’m all into safe sex with a single partner.”
“Oh, no.” He retched his breakfast at my feet. “Don’t you ever say that again!”
I’m really sure it had more to do with his polygamous tendencies than his homophobic ones.
TYPING: How do you find out if your partner is sleeping around?
I resisted the urge to cuss out loud when a pointy branch on the hedge clawed at my arm. I quickly took out my phone and tried Maya’s number for the umpteenth time.
“Where the hell are you?” She finally answered.
“Oh, hi, Kobs.” She greeted breezily. One would think she was on spa vacation while I was getting my skin pricked (——I do not think acupuncture could ever be described as soothing). “I am at Cheaters HQ.”
“What?” I demanded, peering through the hedges at my target.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” I could hear the eyeroll in her voice. “It’s where I collate all the information you gather and analyse it.”
I almost yelled at her, but chose to bark sotto voce in order not to be spotted from my vantage point. “You get here this minute, Maya. I’m not doing all the dirty work. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Right. So I’ll speak to you when you get evidence that Celeste’s sleeping with Yaa’s boyfriend.”
The line went dead. I stared at my phone in horror. I could get a cab right this minute and leave. But then I thought of my blog. I thought of the chance to be promoting my blog to campus’ vast reader audience. Then I knew I just had to be Maya’s dog in order to get my pageviews where I wanted them.
I took out the camera Maya had sent over my room this morning, and let the lens zoom onto Celeste, my target in the restaurant. You see, Yaa, Scorned Girl, was sure Celeste was giving her boyfriend more services than personal-shopping. I knew Celeste, my self-imposed personal stylist was a professional. So this all was just absurd. But that didn’t stop me from being curious.
Maya had printed out——however she got it——Celeste’s to-do for the day. And I didn’t have the slightest clue I would be tailing her alone when she sent that over with the camera. It was already noon and Celeste, in all her grand ways, was lunching at the Golden Tulip. And oh, my…
Was that a mystery male? I zoomed the camera lens, but Celeste and her companion were in a far corner of the restaurant.
If only waiters would stop moving by every second, if only that elderly couple wouldn’t be rocking back and forth in their chairs with laughter, if only Celeste would not be blocking my view of this guy with her giant turquoise ring... zoom, zoom, Oh, for crying out loud, would Celeste for once, stop necking this guy! Was he so hot it was hard to keep her hands off him?
I really didn’t even know why I was distressed, because even if I did spot this mystery male, there was no way I could be sure it was Yaa’s boyfriend. Because apparently, when you found out your boyfriend was cheating, without even confirming your suspicions, you deleted all their pictures from your phone so you wouldn’t be seeing any reminders of their philandering faces. Cruel world.
Perhaps, if I got any closer I’d be able to get that pic of Celeste and this guy. I mean, leave my vantage area, take a risk and…
OMG. Why was the maître d’ heading towards me? I hadn’t even left the comfort of my hedges yet. I would just lay there limbo, so he could mistake me for a homeless man. Oh, and while at that, stuff some leaves from the hedges into my mouth. No one wanted to bother a homeless mad man.
And out I was kicked without a hedge over my head.
In the next couple of minutes, I was still on Celeste’s tail as she came out of the restaurant and headed in the adjacent direction. I was running after her, ducking behind road signs, diving into thorns, trying to match up the pace of her and Mystery Male. Where were they heading to and why couldn’t I just get close and ask? After all, she didn’t know I was tailing her. Except it was hard to convince anyone you weren’t spying on them when you were wearing a catsuit and holding a camera, and having a headpiece receiving orders from whoever commissioned you to get into this.
“Maya, I’m giving up already,” I spoke through my mouth piece as I watched Celeste and mystery male dive into her red convertible and drive off.
“Kobs, great discovery.” Maya was too upbeat she was beginning to upset me. “Abort this mission, I repeat, abort this mission. Our target and her beau are heading for Rossana hotel. I’m heading over so we get there together.”
Maya had left out the little detail that she’d be waiting outside the hotel so we head in together. And I’d only found out when I got tired of waiting and decided to get to the hotel myself.
“I spoke to the concierge,” Maya informed as we climbed up the grand staircase to the residential quarters of the hotel, “I really didn’t even need to bribe her. She was disgusted at the thought of guests demeaning the reputation of the hotel by being infidel. I know right. Hard to believe. There must be a reason the hotel industry is always a booming one.”
We got up to the corridor lined with rooms, one of which Celeste and Mystery Male might be dragging the hotel’s reputation through the mud. And to my horror, there was Grannie-Grandma dragging a cart around in the hotel’s hospitality uniform for maids.
This was the last straw! I was calling my parents so they admitted her into a home. Sometimes I really didn’t get why she would trade the comfort of a nursing home just so she could work hours (cleaning other peoples shit, I supposed that was what these hotel maids did) so she could be able to afford her stay on campus. Last time I even checked, my mum was waiting for her to kick the bucket so her pension could be wired into hers and my dad’s joint account.
“What is your gran doing by the door of our target?” Maya asked curiously, walking off to Grannie-Grandma. I followed.
“Gran.” I called out her name in annoyance before she could pound on the door. “What are you doing here?”
She didn’t even look like I’d walked in on her secret shame. “Oh, Kobs.” Her voice marked exhaustion. “Please do not get in the way of my work.”
“We aren’t, trust us.” Maya smiled pacifyingly, preventing me from stepping around her so I could get to my gran and release the duster out of her grip. Had Maya no idea how ridiculous my Grandma looked in a maid’s outfit, with a hairnet and sneakers she would have bothered lacing if she was consistent with her arthritis medication?
Of course, she didn’t when she was blinded by her desire to help out Yaa, and out Celeste who she despised for being Raymond, my roommate’s, ex.
Grannie-Grandma finally knocked the door. A male voice called to ask who it was. In a shrilly nasal voice which I wouldn’t have placed on my gran thanks to how humiliating it made her look, she announced she was the cleaner.
Despite my reservations against my Gran going inside to wipe the shit off some bathroom (——I really wished Celeste wasn’t the kind who crapped herself when she was on the verge of a powerful orgasm), I was on edge to find out the identity of Mystery Male.
Except Maya wasn’t as patient as I was to wait for the door to fully open. She broke through, almost tripping my weak gran. With her camera in ready-to-pounce mode, she began snapping away at Mystery Male sprawled on the bed in all his wrinkled genitalia glory. Then she stopped snapping.
Even I hadn’t seen that coming, I thought to myself with a smile as I bundled Maya out of the hostel. She was throwing up every second. The sight of an old man’s shrivelled penis certainly didn’t cope well with her gag reflex.
Long story short. Grannie-Grandma and Fetish Priest-Husband had been role-playing. And she was really serious about us not getting in the way, because it had been her eleventh attempt at trying to be the obedient cleaner her husband wanted (——“No, Kobby, he should frigging understand I am not as fit as I used to be, and cannot bloody bend to dust the VCR!”). Story of her life.
Apparently, concierges would find any couple paying higher not to be disturbed guilty of some infidelity. But I was all proud of Maya. In all this, she’d learnt the one thing I’d been trying to teach her since the leap year:
She knocked before she exited the hotel.
Well, who cared if she still hadn’t grasped the basics yet?
TYPING: What would you do If you found out your partner was cheating?
Sandra Buttock rose to blurry heights of TV presenting when she made her first telly debut as the weather girl for Focus news. No one quite wanted to know whether there’d be a downpour that day, they just found it oddly stimulating one girl would rap off weather charts going on about temperatures and climate conditions with her back turned to the camera. Her gigantic bums did the trick. City Campus’ incredibly horny male demographic had been won over.
These days people paid less attention to the weather, because Sandra Buttock had been replaced by Sandra No-Buttock. Focus TV knew if they’d get more viewing time, they should give the big booty girl a show that would make her stand for more than two minutes: the Breakfast Show. (Albeit, they were very particular about her standing with her derriere to the camera).
I knew all about Sandra Buttock and the crazy things her butt did to men. But then as I walked into her dressing room to meet with the campus celeb courtesy Maya, I wasn’t convinced I could go through this meeting without asking if her bonkers were real.
She spun to face me the moment I walked in, sizing me up with that dull gaze critics accounted as reason she could never face the cameras. “Kobby,” she said with an extravagant slur, beckoning me over after pushing away her makeup artist. “You may leave.” She barked at the poor woman whose inaudible sigh of relief was not lost on me as she raced for the exit. “Maya tells me you are very well suited.”
I smiled, nodded, silenced by her not-so-enchanting celebrity aura and pleased Maya put in a good word for me.
“Great, so tell me all what you would be doing.” She leapt off her stool and headed for me.
“Well, I could give away info about…” I tried to keep my voice steady as I watched her race for me, approaching with speed that got me scared shitless. Was that a local celebrity thing? I asked myself having had few encounters with any local celeb. “Well, um, I could give off tips on…” Except I couldn’t concentrate on anything I was saying, because right there was this celeb moving towards me with so much speed you’d think she was about to drive a spear right through me. Just to be cautious, not impolite, I took a little step away from her direction.
Bang! She went crushing into the door. That wasn’t lesson enough for her to learn to walk in her own room. She made another attempt for me. I stepped away again. She crushed into her mirror. It was then I saw the smoke puffing out of her ears——how could I have missed that?——and the look of fury in her eyes. She charged for me again. I stepped away politely. Another crash.
Perhaps, this was how exciting her rendezvous with the least famous were? All celebrities did have their quirks.
OMG, I got that the challenge was pitching my ideas and my blog before I got crushed. The whole metaphor of ‘Get Rich or Die Trying’. And that I had to keep talking as she raced around the room for me, knocking things down and hurting herself in process. But gee, wasn’t she also acquainted with the old nursery rhyme that said, ‘If you rash, you crash.’ I mean, I wasn’t going anywhere if she didn’t get any of my ideas, so she might as well slow down already.
“So, I was thinking, you would be willing to——“ Christ, close shave, I thought as I stepped away so she connected her head with a wall. “——host me to give out telltale signs of cheating men so that I could promote my blog afterwards.” I dodged another time sending her boring a hole through her wallpaper. “Great, isn’t iii——“
I wasn’t lucky this time. I was sent crashing to the floor. I looked at her on top of me yanking my clothes off my body. It was then I couldn’t take it anymore. I rolled her over and yelled in her face Jesus woman what is it with you, and she said isn’t that the reason Maya brought you over and I said, so you could be swiping your tongue over my face no I’m not sure, and she said, mm you are very tasty, and I said, get the hell off me you crazy buttock woman! I threw her off. She gave a loud shrilly cry and admitted the reason Maya had sent me over was to be her rebound because her producer was shagging someone else with a bigger butt and soon she’d be taken off the breakfast, lunch, supper, and late-night bingeing shows.
She was sorry for pouncing on me. I told her to not apologize, it was all Maya’s fault. But then I looked at what she’d done to my clothes (ripped them in several shreds), and I screamed at her to apologize for that instead. She appeased me by allowing her personal stylist to make me go through her on-screen wardrobe, pick from anything she owned (——apparently to show off your bootylicious butt, pencil skirts with slits were the way to go).
That was how I found myself rushing out of campus’ media headquarters in female clothes, shielding my face with the gigantic Donna Karan bag as I spotted Celeste in the driveway with someone vaguely familiar, crouched through car parks and bushes so no one I knew would recognize me.
Be honest, people, the Dean of Students, had been very kind. Although I found out in his car, he was very well aware of my muscular thighs, and his secret tastes for very muscular thighs. I whacked him with my bag so many times before I ran out of his car (——“Oh, for crying out loud,” whack, whack, “Why don’t you get me real lunch before reminding me there’s nothing like free lunch, perv!”).
TYPING: We all know handling infidelity is hard…
Sandra Buttock had agreed to give me a spot on her show as apology. After giving away tips on How To Find Out Your Producer Was Fucking Someone With A Bigger Butt and You’d Be Laid Off Soon (——I’d warned her against modifying the title running at the bottom of the screen to suit just one audience), I promoted my blog for everyone who watched Sandra Buttock’s Breakfast Show. Everyone that was alive, that is.
I was so excited afterwards I high-fived the whole production crew because I couldn’t contain myself. Me, Kobby Gyampoh, getting a stint on campus TV and promoting my blog in the process. Ahh, could this be what accomplishment felt like?
I was getting off the show when I received a call from Maya. She was heading for the Parade Grounds with Yaa to meet Celeste’s Mysterious Male. The P.I she’d hired (—after I’d yelled at her I wasn’t ever doing that shit anymore—) had dropped in a tip that Celeste and Mysterious Male were at the very open parade grounds.
I was about to quit the building when an idea sprang to my head. I could save Sandra Buttock’s job if I could get her to increase her ratings (——as if!). I told her of the idea and we rushed into Focus TV’s van with all her camera crew. (Hey, and I could also have done with the really free ride, because the Dean of Students was honk-honking his horn in the car park waiting for me to get out so he could perv. I knew for sure refusing the ride would have been tempting because I didn’t want to miss Maya’s discovery.)
TYPING: But sometimes, you’ve got to ask yourself if staying with that philandering partner is worth it…
The van pulled up at the arena stage that was the Parade Grounds and the camera crew raced after Sandra Buttock and I. It didn’t take long for us all to halt; Sandra Buttock, because she was so exhausted if she run a few inches with the gallons behind her she was bound to have a heart attack. Me, because my mouth was wide open in horror.
Right in the middle of Parade Grounds was Celeste with my man-ho roommate snogging. And Maya, standing a few inches away with shock spelt over her features was clutching a sobbing Yaa to her chest.
Mystery Male was Raymond? I got so enraged I wanted to head for them and cause him some bodily harm for toying with the hearts of innocent girls. But then I halted in my tracks before I was remotely close.
The nakedness of the fingers Celeste used to grab hold of my roommate’s neck caught my attention. The heavy presence of a giant turquoise ring on the finger Yaa was digging into Maya’s shoulder caught my attention. Then the memory of seeing someone vaguely familiar with Celeste outside Focus’ HQ avalanched on me. And I knew it.
I knew the joke was on Maya.
TYPING: … and thinking of all the pain and heartache they caused, you find an answer to your dilemma.
AUTHOR NOTE: Catch Sex And The City Campus on this blog every Saturday. I would love to read your comments or feedback your at firstname.lastname@example.org .
READ PREVIOUS EPISODE: It Felt Like A Hump (episode 8)
AUTHOR NOTE: Catch Sex And The City Campus on this blog every Saturday. I would love to read your comments or feedback your at email@example.com .
READ PREVIOUS EPISODE: It Felt Like A Hump (episode 8)