Akushika was number thirty on my DIAL list.
I didn’t have any compunctions about deceiving and making love to her, no.
I knew that in a way I hurt her, maybe badly, but that was the way it was. Really, I wasn’t wicked, no, far from that. I knew that she would hurt for a while, but she was wiser with that, and it would make her more experienced.
She would probably hate me, and probably hate boys too, but if there was real love then someone would eventually come along, heal her broken heart, and make her happy.
I wasn’t the settling-down kind of guy. For starters, love didn’t mean cowhide to me. It was all sentimental crap. I just couldn’t understand how a guy would tie himself with one girl and believe he was happy. No girl, in my estimation, was worth that sacrifice.
I was a realist, and I knew I would get bored with one body beside me. No girl had ever convinced me that I couldn’t live without her, and that meant that love really didn’t exist. To me, the fun was in the chasing, and then the real fun was in getting the girl naked and knocking her up. After that, she ceased to be an interest.
Life always moved on…and I moved on with it.
My thirtieth birthday was coming up.
I had the money, and I had the looks, and I could marry and comfortably take care of a hundred women if I had to, but I wasn’t interested.
This might sound callous, and might brand me as an unfeeling jerk, but both adjectives couldn’t be farther from the mark. My father was an industrialist. He struggled through life to make it, and he stuck to life with a rugged tenacity that eventually made him a rich man.
He was thirty-five years when I was born, and he was was just a carpenter then, without much of an education. The girl he loved, my mother, was the daughter of wealthy parents. They went to school together, and fell in love, or so my father thought. However, he couldn’t continue with his education because his parents couldn’t afford to pay his fees through university.
My father had had no option than to help his father with his carpentry vocation. Around that time my mother got pregnant. Actually, they planned it so that her family would let her marry my poor father.
Well, it seemed she went through an awful period of time during pregnancy, and somewhere along the line she decided she really didn’t love my father that much. She gave birth to me, but didn’t want to see my face. The doctors called it Post-partum depression – PPD.
Well, sure, whatever.
Anyway, her parents came to dump me on my father, and they sent my mother abroad. So I was raised by my grand-mother. She had to be injected with some drugs that produced hormones which made her get breast-milk to breastfeed me.
So, I suckled at my grand-mother’s titties because my mother and her parents didn’t want me. Crap, wasn’t it?
But my old man, bless him, wouldn’t give up. Turned out he was a natural with wood, and he churned out incredible furniture and other wooden innovations that sold like the hottest cakes.
He made his money, and diversified. He was shrewd, you see, and his decision and investment plans were top-notch. My father made money, and put them into valuable ventures for me. Obviously, he didn’t want his only son to go through the same painful life that he had.
He never remarried, and he never brought women home. I knew he had other women, but he settled with any of them, or made them comfortable in his home. Obviously he was protecting his heart from being broken again.
By the time I was twenty years old, I was alone with my father because my grandparents were long dead. Father always drummed in my ears to kill my heart, and never let woman treat me like sawdust. Apt, wasn’t it?
He told me, in one extremely sad moment when he was showing me photographs of my mother, to live my life like Solomon who had three hundred wives and seven hundred mistresses.
He was drunk then, and he was only jesting, but I saw a sadness in him that day, and I did read about King Solomon. My old man taught me how to invest, and very soon I was running the businesses with him.
The girl that broke my virginity was a married woman.
She came to the shop one day to enquire about some of the luxury beds. She wasn’t quite satisfied with any we showed her, and so I took her to the back room to show her further samples.
When we were alone she simply locked the door, dropped her clothes, took hold of my throbbing appendage, and we made love on one of the beds. She refused to tell me her name, despite my probing, and eventually she got dressed again and left.
She was back a week later, Thursday night, four in the late afternoon.
We did it again, and once again she didn’t tell me her name. After the third time I simply wrote down her name on my phone as MYSTERIOUS LADY.
Later on, I kept staring at that name on my phone, and then casually I added 1 to it, and it became:
1. MYSTERIOUS LADY
And that was how the list began.
Later on, I met a girl at a dance club. I didn’t know her from crap. She was high on some drug, and I was quite drunk, and she was gyrating and grinding against me, and suddenly she held my hand and pulled me along to the washroom where we spent about twenty minutes pumping away against the wall.
Afterwards, when she was leaving the club, she came over to my corner, kissed me on the lips fully, and drunkenly declared.
“I got dial, baby!” she whispered. “See you sometime soon.”
“Dial?” I had enquired, then she and her friends giggled themselves silly.
“Try pronouncing that backwards, baby boy!” she said, and then they were gone.
I dipped the tip of my forefinger in a glass of Guinness and wrote on the dirty table: Dial.
I god it, and I smiled, then giggled, then laughed.
Later at home, I added her to the mysterious lady:
1. MYSTERIOUS LADY
2. NIGHT CLUB CHICK
And then I paused for a moment, tapped above the names on my phone and wrote it: DIAL, and it became:
1. MYSTERIOUS LADY
2. NIGHT CLUB CHICK
And then I was hooked on that list, and suddenly I wondered how I was going to fill it up, and how far I could go.
Eventually, it ended up in the HONEYZ folder on my laptop, and my DIAL list became active.
Thirty women…on DIAL.
Sometimes I added pictures I took of next to their names.
Sometimes some were naughty, and allowed me to take nude photos, and I added those as thumbnails next to their names.
Some were fascinated by sextapes, and so I uploaded my sexual encounters with them, captured on videos, next to their names.
There were single ladies on that list; married women, fair women, dark, tall, skinny, fat, African, foreign…d--n, it soon became like a kind of shrine to me, and I ended up trying to fill up that DIAL list as fast as I could.
And then I wondered if I could be like King Solomon and klonk a thousand women!
And then my obsession with my DIAL list began…
To fill it with a thousand women I had klonked!
Well, enough for that list but…oh, yes, I remember Number Seven on that list.
Actually, she was the oldest on the list.
She was tall and slim and elegant, but she was old. I met her at a rest stop restaurant. I was on my way from Kumasi, and I made a stopover at this cool spot to grab a bite to eat. A passenger bus turned in, and the passengers got out to stretch their limbs and get the cramps out of their bodies.
Later, their bus wouldn’t start up, and this elderly lady was looking absolutely harassed and pressed for time. It turned out she was on her way to Accra for a very important meeting, and she feared she would be late.
She asked if I was headed for Accra, and I just informed her she could join me. No names were exchanged. Halfway through the journey after we had relaxed in each other’s company, and I was getting the right vibes from her sex-starved body, I put a hand on her knee.
She was wearing this great cream skirt suit with a white inner, and the tops of her thighs were bare. I touched her thighs and she was so uncomfortable, trying to push my hand away, but her attempts were half-hearted.
So I pulled over, pulled her close, and kissed her slowly and gently.
She was panting like she just escaped the desert. She was clean and classy enough, hungry enough, sex-starved enough…and so we found a hotel forty minutes later.
She missed the meeting, but she was a tigress on that bed.
Afterwards, after she had exhibited the fiercest of lovemaking, she said there was no need to exchange personal information. She didn’t want to complicate things with me.
That was okay with me.
Once in Accra, she invited me to stay with her in the hotel for the night. Well, she had impressed me enough, and so I stayed. She was a bomb when she knew we had the whole night. She was insatiable, so well-versed!
I left her in the morning, absolutely deflated, and she ended up in my HONEYZ folder and on the DIAL list as: 07. KUMASI ROAD OLDIE.
We never met again.
My father died when I was twenty-five years, and I was in the deepest of agonies! He was all I had, my father, my best friend, my life!
Well, during the funeral, my mother finally showed up.
I had never met her in my life after she dumped me on my father.
She came with my grand-parents, and they were so filled with remorse. The woman who was my mother fell down and held my leg and cried. She was so devastated! She was sorry for abandoning me and my father, and she told me her three marriages had all failed because she loved my father so much.
Well, I stood there laughing.
Everybody was staring at me. Everyone was shocked, including my mother, as I stood there laughing with a mixture of happiness, shock and pain.
You see, everyone was shocked except my grand-mother whom I was meeting for the very first time.
Yes, you guessed right…
She was 07. KUMASI ROAD OLDIE.
My own grand-mother was on my DIAL list.
She was standing, and the expression of torture and acute horror was classic, so beautiful to me.
I didn’t know it at the time we made love on that Kumasi Road hotel and later in Accra.
She had driven my mother away, and ensured that I grew up without the love of my own mother. She had hated and despised my father, but her actions had ensured that she got klonked by her own grandson!
I laughed till I almost wet myself, whilst that old lady simply keeled over in a faint!
To Be Continued…
Dial episode 2