I've always been a good girl, a shy girl even.
Was 17 when I got my first boyfriend and we just kissed, nothing more.
At 25 and a few boyfriends later, I was separated with a toddler.
Then arrived “the year of living dangerously”.
I never had sex because I was, er, horny, no, I was on the hunt for a new man in my life but unfortunately, the men didn't understand that. But I went out a lot with a friend and we were, well, a bit free.
So one night in summer, I found myself talking to this African guy, as most clubbers there were African which we liked. I more or less had agreed to go home with him.
Hadn't really noticed my friend was dancing with the weirdest guy I had ever seen there. Well, nothing wrong with him really, but those African men wore suits and shirts and this guy apparently came straight from the beach. He was wearing bermudashorts and a t-shirt that was in need of a wash. It was a white guy, so I wasn't really interested.
Then my friend said she was going home, I went outside with her to get something from the car and as I got back inside, this white guy came up to me and asked me to dance. When I said I was really tired and wanted to leave, he popped the most memorable opening line :
“Ok, one more dance and then we go home”
Don't ask me what came over me, but suddenly that seemed a wonderfull idea. So after the dance, I went over to the corner where the African guy was sitting to fetch my jacket. Then another memorable conversation (in French mind you!)
“ah, are we going home?”
“no, I am, not you”
he came running down the street after us, so I told him, sorry, my brother wants me to go home with him and I have to listen to my brother.
He looked very sad and asked if perhaps another time...and I answered “maybe”
The white guy was nice but I never saw him again. I saw the black guy weeks later. He came up to me and said with a big grin “tonight we go home together”.
No dear, I said “MAYBE”
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