Why - A Complicated Love

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Why: A Complicated Love - book excerpt

Chapter One

A Mishap

The first time I saw her was twenty-seven years ago to this very day, but it is not she who lies in this coffin. She is in my memory and will never die.

         “What the fuck!” were part of the first words I heard from this woman and again a coincidence, because that’s what I said when I saw her, except mine were said silently and for a completely different reason. Some may say that we were connected by fate; if that was true, then fate was not kind to either of us. 

Sammy Swale was thirty-four, I was nineteen and for neither of us was it a first-time experiment in casual sex. We were in the garden of her detached house in the leafy suburbs of Mottingham, close to London but a fair distance from where she worked and I lived.               

We had met late on the Friday, preceding this sunlit August dawn, at the Face Club in Soho’s Dean Street, my normal second port of call at the beginning of the weekend. I had gone with my usual two pals, scoring some coke as we had arrived. We were out for the weekend with no need of sleep and only one thing on our minds, and it wasn’t dancing! I had literally bumped into Sammy earlier in the evening, exchanging only a few words on that occasion. A more detailed introduction came later.

I’d tired of the young things with the 80’s bob-and-bang hairstyles and the giggles that erupted every time I mentioned sex. I was direct, maybe a little coarse but I had a passion for playing with girls of my own age and an insatiable appetite that normally I could satiate adequately, but not tonight.

One quick fondle with a quicker, up against the wall in a corridor at the Four-Eyed Cat, having been the sole beneficiary of my expertise so far, before her boyfriend played more heavily on her mind and my ardour was left dangling in mid-air. I was frustrated and eager for more sexual pleasures.

Graham and Keith had left the club. They also were bored. Whether they did go on to somewhere else, as they told me, or off to their homes in Bermondsey where I lived too, I neither knew nor cared. I had a need and only an hour or so to fulfil it, not sufficient time to find pastures new to wander.

At that point in my life I had never been out, let alone had sex, with a black girl. At fast approaching 3am, it looked as though that missing part of my sexual education was about to be filled. The truth was black women frightened me, making me shy away from them. I was not discriminate because of colour, it was a fear. I had admired their beauty more than once but I had heard stories of well-endowed black men and how the women would frown upon whites, believing them inferior in that department. It wasn’t as though I could show any samples to get an introduction, if you catch my drift. Our first encounter had been brief. I had inadvertently brushed against her on arriving, causing her to drop a cigarette, which was unusual as I was light of foot and not in the habit of bumping into women accidentally.

         “Oops, sorry, that was clumsy of me,” I said, to which she had made no reply, simply picking up the almost unsmoked cigarette and stubbing it out in the silver bullet-shaped ashtray beside the door. The white blouse that she wore with a contrasting bra caught my eye more than the rest of her.

         “Did you get enough of an eyeful, mister?” she asked dispassionately, not staying for an answer.

The club was still busy but beginning to empty out as it neared the time that it closed. The dance floor was less full than when I had arrived, now with couples paired off or more in closed groups. I moved rhythmically amongst them in my quest to satisfy my desires but all I could see was unattractive mediocrity with expressionless faces packed into lookalike packages that held no appeal. My previous smoking acquaintance was behind the bar speaking to two other black girls, seated in front of her, with their backs to me. At the exact moment I noticed her she smiled in my direction then swayed effortlessly across the floor and approached.

         “Been watching you, you’re a good dancer. Got any money on you, boy? I’m hungry and not just for food. Wait for me right outside the door when we close. I’ll be the last one out, it won’t be until after four. My car is round the corner and I’ll give you a lift. Can you wait that long, lover boy, for the time of your life?”

That was it, and not just because I was desperate. She was a beautiful, sexy woman and I was flattered. I was hooked and flying and I was to be carried in her car. Never been with a black girl, never been with a girl with a car. I was thinking that it was turning out to be the day of my life. Little did I know that was precisely what it was about to become.

* * *

She locked the door to the club with a swagger of importance then linked her arm into mine and with an exaggerated bounce, and roll of her bum that kept touching my own, she walked with me in silence for a few paces. I was ‘having kittens’ in expectation!

         “How old are you?” she asked, as we were entering an underground 24-hour car park.

         “Twenty-three, been round the block a few times I can tell you,” confidently I replied. To which she laughed and pushed me gently. As I pretended to regain my balance one of her hands went around the back of my neck and she kissed me, driving her tongue deep into my mouth as her other hand rubbed the front of my jeans, playfully pulling down, then up, the zip.

         “I’ll save that for later,” she said smugly. “Let’s eat first, shall we? I know a place where the T-bone steaks are as tender as me.” I was in no mood to argue but neither was I eager to let her go. I held her hand there for longer, asking, “like what you feel, do you?”

         “I’ll let you know...Cock...ney!” she replied with a wink and a deliberate splitting of the word. We had reached her car and I was driven away by a goddess.

She suggested an all-night restaurant in New Cross that I knew of, but I didn’t want to go there and made excuses saying that I owed money to the proprietor and wasn’t in a position to pay. That wasn’t the reason though. I’ll be honest, there was a part of me that was wary. The year in which this took place, white men with black women seen together was rare, and it must be said, where I came from; frowned disapprovingly upon. I was excited yes, beyond anything I had ever known but cautious of recognition.

         “Owe any money in Peckham?” she asked. Perhaps it was my imagination. She seemed aware of my discomfort.

         “Plenty,” I replied, adding, “mainly in maintenance for the kids I’ve fathered. In any case, I’m up for anything. Want proof?” Her hand rested gently on the bulge in my jeans as she drove and I teased her breasts, annoyed that the bra restricted my touch of her nipples.

We chatted amicably during the meal about nothing really but everything it appeared to me, music, clubs that we both knew and sex; my favourite subject. My whole world had changed and I was liking the new one. Her big brown eyes hypnotised me into a sexual stupor that was hard to contain. Again she sensed my irritation.

         “I know that we can all tell stories, Cockney, and I don’t book you down as a virgin nor as experienced as you make out, but you do know that I’m going to rape you when I get you home, don’t you? I don’t want you finishing quickly on me as I’m just getting started. Now that would not do. No siree. Do you want to go visit the Gents and toss off before we get to my place?” She had a deep husky voice and spoke slowly, which taken together intensified her appeal and sexuality. It had crossed my mind, but I wondered if she would still be waiting when I got back.

         “Only if you come with me,” I replied enticingly, holding my breath in anticipation. She declined my invitation but I swear she was tempted. I stayed where I was and trusted that my staying power would be adequate.