Swirling in the Dark

Chapter Four

I actually did the research before I even landed at OR Tambo International. I was to stay at a company-owned apartment in Rosebank, and down the road from that, you had the Moody Muse and The Lodge in Rivonia.

I never made it to The Lodge because the advertised prices were eye-watering, but I did conduct some personal inspections at the Moody Muse…not really my cup of tea, if I’m honest.

While the Moody Muse was very famous, as was its owner, Kolbein Lauring, I swiftly determined I wasn’t going to get any value for my buck there. The girls weren’t very generous with their time or emotions, and the place was devoid of any curvature whatsoever.

Even if the girls of Moody Muse unexpectedly made a more concerted effort to stroke my fragile ego, I simply could not see the value in paying top dollar for a plate of bones with no meat on them.

But then again, it did occur to me that I wasn't the target market for these girls.

Why would a skinny white girl waste her time and emotions tending to the fragile ego of some random black fellow from the sticks?

This was South Africa, after all, where the argument is consistently made that lions don't mate with zebras. In the eyes of many, I am a completely different species altogether, and I couldn't reasonably expect the precious girls of Moody Muse to think otherwise.

Sitting back and observing the movements at the Moody Muse, I vaguely recalled Kolbein Lauring telling some or other journalist that he fired girls who developed any cellulite.

Almost instinctively, I found myself conducting my own inspections, and at the end of it all could only conclude that these poor women looked hungry. I couldn't help but feel that King Kolbein, as he was more fondly known in the criminal underworld, was doing his clients a massive disservice here, rich white male client or not.

Nevertheless, the search continued unabated, and It led me to a little treasure trove in Randburg called the Honey Pot. I had actually heard about this establishment before, in some or other documentary, but I wasn’t in the least bit deterred by the prospect of being associated with something dodgy. This was a strip club, and I doubt it gets much dodgier than that.

I decided I was in the mud anyway and had absolutely no intention of getting out either. Every cent I made went to rent and strip clubs, with the Honey Pot the main beneficiary.

When I wasn’t at the Honey Pot, I was at Slay Queens in Hillbrow on the outskirts of the Joburg CBD - it might actually be a part of the CBD. The point about Slay Queens is that it couldn’t possibly be in a dodgier part of Joburg, yet I was prepared to risk life and limb just to encounter the scent of its women.

Among the more compelling features at Slay Queens were affordability and variety, where zebras and lions were encouraged to mate. It wasn't just zebras and lions; though, that place was the Kruger National Park of strip clubs, and I didn’t need to burn through my pocket to experience any of it.

The cover charge of just R100 was nothing, especially for what you were getting in return, as the Slay Queens of Hillbrow took men beyond the borders of South Africa, from Brazil in the West to Laos in the East.

While I never actually spoke to any of the girls back at The Cage in Cape Town - my visits there were purely experimental - I was actually starting conversations with many of the girls in Joburg.

In one of my initial conversations, I spoke to a girl called Lisa at the Honey Pot. Lisa was a tall and slender Sotho woman and one of just two black women in the establishment.

She was a goddess in my estimation, a woman with flawless features and a charming personality. What on earth was she doing in a place like this?

If I hadn’t known any better, she could have passed for one of those Top Billing types with strong but mellifluous voices.

Come to that, Lisa actually reminded me of Kgomotso Christopher, the only reason I watched a local soapie called Isidingo.

The first encounter with Lisa was always going to go well for both of us. Lisa and I laughed a lot , and genuinely laughed. She was a woman after my own heart, and when I reflect on it now, I don’t think I have experienced as much joy with anybody since.

If Lisa was acting, she deserved a role of her own on Isidingo, but I always got the impression we enjoyed each other’s company.

When I was with Lisa, I rarely thought about the private rooms at the Honey Pot. I just enjoyed sitting with her at the bar and gladly paid her for the time, too. Physical stimulation isn't everything.

It was a win for her, too, not having to fulfill any serious physical obligations when I was around and still getting paid for it.

You see, bar conversations weren't on the official menu at the Honey Pot, which meant no bookings needed to be made for private rooms. It also meant that Lisa could keep 100 percent of how much I decided to slip under her knickers at the bar; no rental fees or commissions for the owners, provided they never discovered the skulduggery.

These were the kinds of details that helped ease my guilt. While I am sure that nothing could have stopped me from transacting with women in houses of ill-repute, I still had a basic sense of right or wrong, and paying a woman to humor you physically or otherwise is not normal.

On my first visit to the Honey Pot, I encountered a slightly more sophisticated atmosphere than anything on offer at The Cage, or Slay Queens, for that matter. This applied to everything from the lighting arrangements to the styling of the furniture. The music at the Honey Pot was less rowdy, and the interior design was a lot softer and easier on the eye.

Make no mistake: a strip club is a strip club. You can spot it from a mile away, but the Honey Pot was more tasteful, which I struggled to reconcile with the mere R100 I was expected to fork out for entry. This R100 seemed to be a standard cover charge at facilities like this, regardless of quality.

Nervous as cats I decided to make my way to the bar, where I spotted the only other black man in the joint - the barman. I needed a soft landing here, and this dude was it.

I then ordered an exorbitantly priced Carling Black Label. So, this was where they hit your purse, I thought to myself.

I stared directly ahead to calm myself and sipped very slowly at my Black Label while counting all the bottles on the bar wall when a strong but comforting voice caught my attention.

“My sources tell me you are only interested in the white girls,” she said. A question disguised as a statement. It wasn't the first time I faced this accusation either, but this was the first time a stripper had seduced me.

What was the protocol here?

Did I just play it cool?

Did I source the deepest voice my vocal cords could muster?

Did I just splash the cash?

How did any of this actually work?

“Are you on the clock?” I asked tentatively, trying as hard as possible to appear assured.

“Not yet,” was the reply.

Lisa's voice was a little more playful now, which helped ease my mind. But I still had to wonder, was I in the middle of some test, and what was the penalty if I failed?

“Is that your only evidence?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You said your sources told you I was only interested in white girls. Is that your only evidence?”

“No…”

“I’m listening.”

“I have been sitting next to you for 15 minutes, and you haven’t so much as blinked. I figured you were waiting for Marietjie to come along.”

“So, why did you even start this conversation?”

“This is business. I don’t get to pick and choose. Every man is an opportunity, even coconuts like you.”

“Ouch.”

“What, have you never been called a coconut before?”

“I have, far too often actually, but it has never been delivered with such malice.”

I eventually decided to steal a glance directly to my left, not realizing just how close Lisa was to me. She had me with her voice, but nothing could have prepared me for her breath-taking beauty.

"It took you an eternity to even look at me, even after I had initiated the conversation. Even now, I detect disdain as if to say I am ruining your prospects with Marietjie. I can leave if you want me to, but just know that the Marietjies of this world are not searching for clients like you. Black men are a last resort, on a slow night.”

I can never wrap my head around women this beautiful languishing in a place like the Honey Pot. All the evidence I have seen suggests that pretty women always get ahead.

They quickly climb the corporate ladder; if they don't land a rich husband. What the hell was Lisa doing here? What happened to pretty privilege in her case?

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," I exclaimed, ignoring all the bile about black men and slow nights.

"What?"

"Exactly..."

"I don't follow."

"What sin have you committed to find yourself hovering around a loser like me?"

There was a moment of silence as I stared directly into her eyes while she stared into mine. I had no idea what might have been going through her mind, but my trousers had stretched in record time, and my zipper was starting to **** itself open.

“Your sources are unreliable,” I said, glancing down in the direction of my crotch. It is not the kind of charm one can expect to work on any woman, but Lisa managed to crack a smile before discretely reaching down to cop a feel with the tips of her fingers.

“Are you on the clock yet?” I continued, very conscious still of my experience with the Lady in the Red Shoes.

“We will play it by ear,” she whispered back.

All thoughts of Marietjie seemed to have faded into oblivion, as Lisa played with the tip of my swollen penis, and my eyes closed shut while my erection stiffened. The adrenaline was pumping uncontrollably.

What sorcery was this?

Lisa was also taking a bit of a risk because "hanging onto men" at the bar for too long was frowned upon and even punishable with a fine.

“Wow, that is rock solid. What will happen when you see me undressed?”

The moment she said it, my penis flicked upwards in uncontrollable fits.

“I am already picturing it.”

“I can tell,” Lisa held back her laughter as she gladly played along when my penis slapped her fingertips vigorously.

And just then, the music started blaring loudly as the lights went out for the next evening show on the main stage. I don’t know if it was the night's first show, but it was certainly my first at the Honey Pot, yet I never even bothered to turn around. My attention was clearly elsewhere, and nothing could distract me from that.

The timing of the show was most opportune, too, as Lisa started rubbing the tip of my penis with her fingertips, starting slowly and gently. I guess she knew how long the show would last, knowing how much she could get away with while the lights were out.

While she was in no rush, Lisa’s strokes became more defined as the intensity increased noticeably. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, trying not to give too much away despite the relative safety that came with being in the dark.

I am certain the barman knew exactly what was happening, but there was no need to rub it in his face, especially when he was taking one for the team.

Lisa also played along, staring blankly at the bottles in front of her as if to study the quality of each design. All the while, her right arm was tucked away at her side, barely moving, as her fingers did all the heavy lifting.

“You should have been a cricketer,” I shouted, the sound of 3 Doors Down drowning us out now.

“Why?”

“Finger spin is a dying art, but you definitely have the requisite skills to revive it.”

She burst out laughing, almost enough to give us both away.

“I certainly hope you aren’t picturing Saqlain right now.”

“Ah, an aficionado nogal. Woman after my own heart.”

Another burst of laughter.

“Never judge a book by its cover.”

“Said the pot to the kettle.”

We weren’t dating by any stretch of the imagination, but we were becoming friends…with material benefits.

“What is the meter reading on the clock?”

“This round is on me,” she said.

Lisa knew exactly what she was doing. Women are skilled at spotting the misers, and she clearly understood that I was one of them. Misers don’t part ways with their cash without being guaranteed a return on their investment.

Just by keeping at it in this way and asking for nothing in return, Lisa had successfully trapped me. She understood that I would be back for more every opportunity that I got.

“Generous, too,” I said.

“I have a good feeling about you, mister.” That was just about the nicest thing anybody had said to me in ages.

“Wolf’s the name.”

“I am Kgomotso, but you can call me Lisa.”

“Kgomotso?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Meet you? I would say we already know each other pretty well.”

Her fingers now pulled away at the zipper, just enough to slip the top half of her hand in.

Lisa gripped the top half of my shaft with considerable authority, like a NASCAR driver, and for a fleeting moment I had a thought about Danica Patrick.

The intense stroking evolved into a full-blown massage. Up and down, up and down, slowly but definitely, and with a bit more purpose now.

The second song was over, and with two songs to go, which meant our little adventure was fast running out of road. There was a decision to be made, complicated by the small matter of an impending ejaculation, which I was determined to avoid at all costs. I didn’t care how dark it was.

I slipped R500 under Lisa’s skirt, just enough to clip onto her dark knickers, when she grabbed my left hand and held it firmly in place, encouraging me to explore a little longer.

She helped me brush her mound using gentle strokes. The decision to brush above the underwear was justified, as it allowed for a smoother stroke, enhancing our experience.

This was getting wild, but extraordinarily I hadn’t ejaculated yet. The Lady In The Red Shoes would have been furious.

“I see you also have some stamina, or is it just exceptional control?”

“I was an opening batsman.” This was total bullshit of course. I am just a product of Stacy’s advanced training. That was the first time I had thought of Stacy in ages.

“Explains the elegant strokes,” she said, almost flippantly, as she got up from her seat before grabbing my left arm and whisking me away from the main lounge.

Usually, in these circumstances, the customer decides what to pick on the Honey Pot menu, but Lisa took total control of the situation and made the menu selection for me. It was the High Evolution Dance, which was the highest-paying item on the dance menu.

I was completely fine with that, too, and didn’t even blink as I pulled ten R100 notes out my wallet. I wasn’t sure what her cut would be, but that seemed an insignificant detail in the greater scheme.

Lisa just smiled before whisking me along a dark corridor and into a private room. I took it for granted that I was just getting a highly eventful dance and had no idea Lisa was intending to break all the rules for me that night.

As soon as the door shut, Lisa grabbed me and threw me onto the bed. Where did all that strength come from?

Before I could even register what was happening, she then leaped on top of me, placing a knee on either side of my thighs, squeezing them together like a vice grip. Again, where was all this strength coming from?

With her skirt slipped up, she began to rub her vagina against me, slowly but intensely. She did this without removing her knickers and without unzipping my trousers. I gathered this was the very definition of a dry hump.

Although it was getting considerably less dry with every motion, as Lisa straddled me tightly.

She held onto the back of my head with one hand, and with the other, she removed the two top buttons on my shirt. Effortlessly, she transitioned both her hands and lifted the shirt up and over my head.

At this point, Lisa started rubbing both of her hands on my chest, where she discovered that whatever I might have lacked in muscle, I certainly made up for with hair.

“Wow, you really are a Wolf...” Lame jokes would prove our bread and butter.

She then propelled herself upwards while pulling my head down with both hands as she pressed her triangle against my face.

“This is better than anything you will come across in the Valley of 1000 Hills. More pronounced, lush, and much sweeter, I imagine."

Valley of 1000 Hills? She had obviously deduced I was Zulu. Was it that obvious?

I took a good whiff before gripping her two thick lips with my mouth, knickers still on, which I felt actually enhanced the experience.

“Grab a taste, Wolf, don’t be shy. When you are done with this, you will never see ordinary meals in the same way again.”

Not one to argue, I swiftly used my teeth to pull down on the black (that color is my kryptonite). lingerie, just enough to slip my chin in first before strengthening my tongue and pressing as hard as I could with every stroke.

She thrust her pelvis forward with every stroke I made while digging her nails into my back. This was certainly the most intense dancing I had ever experienced, pure unadulterated ecstasy unlikely even to be matched at a rave.

“What do you think about Marietjie now?”

It was a rhetorical question, but I pretended I never heard it at all. Instead, I grabbed Lisa’s buttocks even tighter, locking both our bodies together. Suffice it to say, no penetration was required.

Lisa’s hands made their way up and down my back, digging in deeply at every opportunity. It did hurt, but what was that saying about pain and glory?

Lisa started thrusting her vagina into my face harder and harder with every movement, and while this whole experience was supposed to be about me, the paying customer, I could tell she was reveling in it, too.

I could not stop rubbing her everywhere, and anywhere my hands could reach. From the small in the back, down her butt cheeks, down her thighs - inside and out. All the while fully immersing myself in her folds and soaking up all her juices.

Then suddenly, she just shuddered and dropped into my lap as her head collapsed on my shoulder. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what number song we were on, and frankly, it didn't even matter.

As Lisa continued to shake, I decided it was my turn now, and I pushed her vagina right up against me. I didn’t even stop to think about the fact my trousers were still on as I kept pushing, riding, and grinding away. This hump was only dry in name as I, too, began to shudder uncontrollably.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear.

What a night. The objective had been achieved for both of us. She had her client and I felt wanted, needed even.

I returned to the Honey Pot thrice weekly, parting ways with an eye-watering amount of cash while at it. Every time, not a word needed to be spoken on entry, as I completed the transaction at the cashier, and didn’t even bother entering the main lounge.

Lisa, who received word of my arrival before I even made it through the turnstiles, always stood waiting for me in the main foyer.

The moment Lisa spotted me, there was not so much as a wave or acknowledgment, as she just swiveled on her heels and walked. I followed like the obedient pet that I was.

Every time, Lisa allowed me to walk into the room before slamming the door shut with extraordinary zeal and an alarming sense of purpose. Every time we met, the experience got wilder and more adventurous, and yet no penetration was ever required.

There sometimes comes a point in a couple’s life cycle where each party understands the other perfectly well. Most couples never actually achieve that level of understanding, yet here we were, Lisa and I, fully in tune with each other’s bodies in less than a week.

This was awfully grand, and I never wanted it to end. I kept coming back for more, like Oliver Twist

***

After a few weeks, I managed to convince myself I was in love with a stripper and, worse still, that she loved me back, but I had been down a similar road with Stacy before, and I knew where this would lead. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it a cruel joke that women enjoyed playing on me.

The reality, of course, is that I was the problem. What man in my condition could reasonably expect a woman to fall in love with him? I have the looks of a low-grade bank clerk and the personality of a damp rag.

I blame this all on The Big Bang Theory because there are no Pennies and Bernadettes in the real world, and frankly, Howard and Leonard had a considerable amount more going for them than me.

A conversation with Lisa brought me back down to earth in a matter of seconds.

“So, Lisa, how long have you been in this line of work?” Upon reflection, it was such a patronizing question, and Lisa was well within her rights to treat it with the disdain that it deserved.

“Long enough.” I suspect Lisa could already see where this conversation was heading. I wasn’t the first man who thought he could save her and certainly wasn’t going to be the last.

Lisa had to nip this conversation in the bud and seemingly knew just how to go about it too. She was a seasoned pro, which I had taken for granted.

“Do you ever want to leave?” I continued.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So, you like this work?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…”

“Wolf, please don’t ruin what we have going here. The past few weeks have been great, truly memorable even, and I genuinely mean that. Please, don’t fuck it up now.”

“What do you mean fuck it up?”

“Wolf, you aren’t the first love-sick puppy to cross paths with me, and you won’t be the last. But you can’t save me, and I am not asking to be saved.”

“What if this isn’t about you and more about me?’

“If that is the case, I am sorry I misled you. I thought we had an understanding here. This is a transaction, Wolf. I am having tremendous fun at work with a customer I thoroughly enjoy being around. But don’t mistake that for love. This isn’t Moulin Rouge.”

“Diamonds are a Girl’s best friend…”

“Precisely. The only condition that would drag me away from this job is a man that could afford me. Wolf, you need to understand I make more in one night than most of these men make in a month. It would take a tremendous amount for me to give that up.

“The men who come in here with serious money aren’t searching for a wife. So, in a way I am stuck here, but this is far better than anything out there.”

“I hear you.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Are you surprised?”

“No.”

And just like that, the whole Lisa project was doomed. I was devastated but determined to move on. I always did.