( The final part..from the last episode..)
…We met several other times. He was a gentleman of sorts. He loved walking around town holding my waist, which made me uncomfortable. He also opened doors and pulled chairs for me. Privately I thought he knew I was a prostitute and was just playing some psychological game; A mindfuck.
We didn’t have sex the first night we spent together in a hotel room. He didn’t ask for it, and though I had planned not to give myself to him, I was irritated that he didn’t make any effort to have me. The second time he came for a weekend. We went to a movie, then had my hair done as his nails were manicured. He mainly talked of himself. The most he wanted to know about me was a simple question about where I lived. The rest were silly chit-chat queries about whether I liked some particular food or venue. He seemed content just staring and spending time with me. Our moments together didn’t have any real happiness rather they were jittery and full of tension. He was a dull man who didn’t talk much or pretended to have some aloofness. Yet every time he wanted to meet me I faithfully agreed.
When we eventually had sex, it was clumsy and not with a hint of passion. I wouldn’t say I liked the way he looked when naked. The sex was just an ego thing on my part. He didn’t seem to enjoy and I wondered why he even made the effort to have me. Something was not adding up and even at one time felt like a goat being fattened for slaughter. We had this kind of awkward sex several times. It ceased being about satisfying my ego but filling some unexplainable gap in the uneasy relationship. When not drinking in silence, we watched Family Guy in the $200 hotel room. At one time while watching the cartoon I said Brian, a dog in the animation, represented wannabe intellectuals who are found all over the world. He was mad; he said I was making fun of him because like Brian he had ambitions of writing a book. He sulked for the rest of the day and night. I pretend to sulk too. In the morning I escorted him to the airport; he gave me his usual hug and $150.
Nothing changed despite our meeting more often. Then he started saying he would like to have me carry his child. He told me of his six-bedroom house in Kampala where I would live happily ever after. He claimed to be in no relationship. I don’t know why I stuck with him. Though I appreciated the money he gave me, it came with some emptiness.
One day we were having a drink in a club in town. For lack of anything to do I closely looked at his hand. And there on his finger was the mark left after wearing a ring for long. “You are married, aren’t you?” I asked. Of course not, he denied. I pointed at the finger. For the four or so months we had been seeing each other that was the most fulfilling moment for me. We went back to the hotel room and I was all mad, accusing him of wasting my time, calling him a liar, and many other things. I didn’t care whether he was married or not. I was making a scene for the sake of it. Deep inside I was feeling happy, I had upped the stakes with me on top. He admitted to having a wife, who he didn’t love. He also had two kids. To dramatize a little I took my handbag, asked for money, and decided to walk out in the middle of the night. I was just grandstanding.
The following day he called, but I didn’t answer the phone. A few days later when he called I talked, and he promised to do anything for me as long as I gave him another chance. But I could hear none of it, hoping to raise the stakes more. I remember smiling after every one of his calls and thinking of my bravado.
However, he stopped calling. I waited for his calls but none came through. I found myself staring at my phone and wishing every call was his. I didn’t like or love him but missed him. I never got to know exactly what he thought of me; whether he knew I was a prostitute or not. I still miss his aloofness and of course the USD. To me, my relationship with him had turned into some sort of game. The fact that he withdrew doesn’t make me feel like a winner.
