The Beautiful Boxer

Me: “Oh myyyy gaaawwwwd!!! This guy is fuck.king.hot.” nudging my homegirl. hard.
Anjali: always quick to react, snaps her head 360 degrees. “Oh, I know him. He’s hot. But he’ll never like you babe…”
Me: took one last look at him and turned to Anjali… zeal in my eyes and in a nothing-is-impossible-for-a-seven-year-old tone. “and why is that?”
Anjali: I’ve been dying to fuck him. But he’s a close family friend. So he’s out. Super hot, super shady, heard he’s done time before. big time badass... And… he only likes Indian girls babe. He’s dated all these girls that are fucking beautiful. They got nothing up there of course, but yeah, fuck-ing beau-ti-ful. *biting her lip in an attempt to be a ventriloquist* shut up. He’s coming this way.

He makes a beeline for Anjali. Holds her by the waist. Forceful grip. Check. Defined jawline. Check. Tight butt. Check. Intense eyes, sharp nose, charisma. Check check check. He playfully rubs his thumb on her back and goes, “You gotta stop looking so goooood, girl…”

one.sexy.motherfucker.

Anjali took her time flirting with him and laughing at his jokes before remembering to introduce us. One handshake later, he was on his way.

Me: “so, is he smart?”
Anjali: “he has his moments. A pathological flirt though. Good thing is, he doesn’t sleep around. He’s very selective about who he fucks. I soooo wanna fuck him.”
Me: “Me too!”
Anjali: “I have a slight advantage, I’m afraid.”
Me: “just cos you’re half Indian?”
Anjali: unapologetically “Yup.”

Anjali: “So we’re on.”
Me: “what’s on?”
Anjali: “W.F.H.F”
Me: “what’s that?”
Anjali: “Who’ll. Fuck. Him. First. I’m going to win.”
Me: “Screw you. I’m going to win. Loser buys beer.”


trreeet titit treet. That’s my SMS tone.

Anjali: gonna give tonight a miss babe. You girls have fun. Big kiss.
Me: ok. I’m stuck with ms. Hanger-on tonight. Wish you were here. Next time then. X
Anjali: if I’m not there, you stand a bigger chance. WFHF.
Me: Fuck you. But thanks anyway.

So I walk into the club with Ms. Hanger-On and headed straight for the bar… on the way to the bar, I see HIM. He looks at me, and gives me a stern nod, followed by a teasing smile. I throw him a flirty frown and said “don’t I know you stranger… Remember me, anjali’s friend?” and he said, “of course I do… face like yours, how to forget?” and we stood there, for three full seconds soaking in the sexual tension, before he leaned in to give me a kiss. He pressed his cheeks against mine and planted a dangerously lingering one. I could smell his perfume. Strong and masculine. From the corner of my eye, I saw ms. Hanger-on having a successful night getting the 20 yr old ah beng of a bartender to buy her drinks… I was just thinking she’s learning the ropes fast, when he said something that completely jolted me back into game.

Him: “What are you doing later?”
Me: “huh? later?” like i’ve never heard the word before. What a complete pillock.
Him: “I’m going to pop by another club first. And I’ll be back here at 4. will I see you?”
Me: “Will you?” (fucking dumb blonde I just turned into. I’m usually a lot more engaging. The promise of good cock sends my conversational skills into space)
Him: “Give me your number.”

And so we met at 4. I was careful to make it look like I had lots of stuff to do in between, although all I could think of was what to SMS Anjali after I scored. He walked in… and with fluttering eyes, mock surprise and a weak smile I said “hey, you came back… just in time to say goodbye… I gotta go…”

Works like a charm. Cos he puts me in a cab, climbs in and says… “Where do you live again?” I looked at him, no words came out of my mouth. He put his arms around me and I obediently buried my head in his chest, and he gave the taxi driver his address. 20-minute cab ride and we were kissing like teenagers.

Pretty Fucking Mind Blowing.

I woke up. Seeing him in the day for the first time; his body for the first time. His back was inked with various tattoos. Some on their own, some a kaleidoscope of colours and some were obvious cover ups of memories best forgotten. I looked around his place from where I laid, I saw old trophies. Some pictures, and made a quick deduction that he was a one-time professional boxer… explains everything, I thought… then he woke up. We looked at each other for the first time in sobriety and daylight, and we both smiled, probably both thinking thank god he/she looks the same. I ran my finger on a name inked on his chest. He looked down, as if he needed to remind himself what he tattooed on his chest, gave a grimace and said. “ex-girlfriend” I gave a nod and pointed to another. And he said “that’s my favourite”… then I said, “so, I hear you only date Indian girls”, to which he replied. “your source is rubbish”… He made me wear his oversized t-shirt and his size 11 flip flops and brought me down for breakfast. He showed me his hood, brought me back to his place, popped in a dvd, told me his mini plans for his bachelor pad, told me Jamie Foxx and him are similar, and we made sweet shag again.

The minute I got away. I SMSed:
“babe, we have to meet tonight. I’d like to claim my beer.”