Chapter 5
‘So how did it go? Did he look like his picture? Wait, send me a screenshot of his page, I wanna see!’ I’d called Sade to give her the rundown of the night’s events as I made my way to bed, rather proud that I’d gone through with the whole experience in the end.
Sure, there was some awkwardness in the beginning, but as the night went on it felt more like chatting with a new social media friend on FaceTime than a co-ordinated, paid-for date with a male escort.
Despite our brief conversation, Jericho had had a way of making me feel at ease and comfortable, and it was that feeling that I was desperate to experience again.
I lay on my bed, kicking my feet up in the air like a girl having her first crush. ‘Sis! It was actually really nice, you know. He was such a gentleman, and he had this way about him, man …’
I took a screenshot of Jericho’s OuiMeet page and sent it through to Sade. ‘What do you mean “a way about him”? Finish your sentences, please!’ Sade pressed, gagging for the tea as only a best friend would.
‘Did you see the screenshot I just sent?’ I replied, skilfully sidestepping her question.
The truth was, I was still sorting through my feelings about the encounter – and, more importantly, whether speaking to him again was a good idea.
I had started down a path, and I needed to be sure I didn’t lose myself in it.
‘Well, well, well. He’s a hottie, isn’t he? He’s fucking sexy, I can see why he charges that much boy.’ Sade swooned. ‘What’s he like? Did he give off “prostitute” vibes? Were you guys talking dirty and shit?’
‘Rah, look at this one!’ I replied, sounding mock-stunned. ‘First of all, I think you’re supposed to call them “sex workers” now. You’re supposed to be the progressive one! Secondly, no, we didn’t talk about sex, actually; we kept it nice and wholesome. Some might even say demure.’
‘Ohh booo!’ snapped Sade. ‘I’m here trying to fish for dirty, sordid tales and you’re here doing up Disney Princess with Prince Charming.
This was your opportunity to get DOWN AND DIRTY Cass.
DIR-TEE.’ I laughed at her last sentence, thankful that I had a friend who encouraged all of my random exploits.
‘Girl, we’ll get to that in time, I suppose! I’m thinking about maybe booking another phone call with him, but actually I’m wondering if I should just take the plunge and go on a date with him? I’m struggling with it, to be honest.’
As empowering and fun as the last hour had been, there was still a huge part of me that was struggling with having to pay for a date. For me, it still felt like an admission of failure as a woman. There had to be some way I could twist the narrative so I didn’t feel like such a loser.
‘Well, babes,’ summarised Sade in between what I could hear were sips of tea, ‘if he was as nice as you say, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t chat to him again.
If I were you I’d just go all out and book him for the evening.
You only live once, and at our age, you gotta start creating random life experiences for the plot, and to do shit for the fun of it, because life only goes downhill from here, man. ’
‘Thank you for the life-coaching session, Oprah,’ I replied, rolling my eyes.
I knew she had a point; I supposed that one day when I was older, this would be a great story to tell the kids, that’s if I ever went on to have any.
They’d know all about Mummy’s brief, torrid affair with the escort and how it led to nothing but probable heartbreak.
‘Oh wait, he’s just sent me a message!’ I told Sade, noticing my phone’s notifications going off.
‘Wonderful!’ Sade responded. ‘I’m gonna go to bed, but catch me up on it later, yeah? I need to share some gossip with you at some point too, actually, so let’s maybe make a night of it – we’ll sort out the details tomorrow!’
‘OK, sleep tight, my love, and thank you for everything – you’re my favourite enabler!
’ I added. As we ended the call, I glanced back at the OuiMeet app, pausing slightly before opening.
What if Jericho had sent a message asking me not to contact him again?
What if he found the whole encounter weird?
He did mention that our talk was one of the ‘strangest phone dates he’d ever been on’.
What if he actually meant it? Better to rip the plaster off, I supposed.
I opened the app and headed straight to my inbox. I clicked the tab to open it and read the message out loud to myself:
Cassie. It was a pleasure to chat with you this evening and I want to thank you again for booking with me. You’re a curious little sprite, aren’t you? I’m intrigued. Hopefully we can talk again soon. Goodnight, beautiful. J x
I read through the message three more times, basking in the warmth and apparent sincerity of his words.
Toby hopped up into the bed and began to make biscuits on my tummy, before curling into a ball to sleep.
I held him close as I thought of something to write back; I didn’t want him to think I was super eager to talk to him.
I needed to play it cool and chill. Not too nonchalant; just the right amount of ‘chalantness’ to inspire intrigue, yet not push him away.
After a moment, I typed back, J, the pleasure was mine.
Curiosity is a dangerous yet fascinating thing, you know – leads people down all sorts of interesting paths.
Perhaps ours will cross again soon. Sleep well. x
Yeah, that’s more like it. Mysterious, yet slightly ominous. I put my phone on charge, popped a melatonin pill and drifted into what I thought would be uninterrupted, dreamless sleep.
I woke up at five thirty the next morning, horny and irritated.
As I fed Toby his wet food and slugged into the shower, I reminisced about last night’s dream, which was essentially six hours of repetitive failed attempts to have sex with Jericho.
I kept being woken up by the cold sweat that had gathered underneath my belly and between my inner thighs as a result of these dreams. In them, Jericho had me pressed against my kitchen counter, clearly struggling to lift me – but trying way too hard to play it cool.
We fumbled from one unsuccessful position to the next until, finally, he sighed, pulled away, and admitted he couldn’t perform – said he felt too awkward trying to navigate around my stomach.
The dream ended with me bursting into tears, and that’s exactly when I jolted awake.
Cut to me in the shower, warm water streaming down my body as I lifted my stomach, trying to catch a glimpse of my own genitals.
Yeah, I had a FUPA – but I quite liked it, actually.
It was plump and squidgy and it kept me warm.
Plus, it was cute. The truth was, I’d been rejected more than once because of my weight, leaving behind a string of failed hook-ups and disappointing dates.
At first, each one chipped away at my confidence, but eventually, I realised the problem wasn’t me – it was them.
It was always them. Still, there were days, especially when loneliness crept in, when that confidence wavered.
What if I met up with Jericho and he did the same thing?
The more pressing question was, why was I becoming so caught up in a random internet stranger I’d virtually met less than twelve hours ago? I tried to snap out of it as I lathered the rest of my body and got ready for another work day.
I slipped into my silk robe, tossing a couple of sausages into the air fryer while setting a pan to boil an egg, as per traditional Ghanaian customs. Since I’d woken up early, I had a rare hour to spare before leaving for work – plenty of time to enjoy a home-cooked breakfast, something I didn’t get to do often these days.
I sat on the sofa, Toby purring peacefully in my lap as I searched for the perfect playlist to start the day: I decided to go with a bit of Linkin Park’s Hybrid Theory album to perk me up; a throwback to when I went through my brief period as a grunger back in secondary school.
Halfway through screaming out the lyrics to ‘Crawling’, my phone started to ring. To my surprise, it was my father, a man I typically only heard from when he needed a favour or if he wanted to complain about my mum. I wondered which one it would be today.
‘Dad. You all right?’ I answered casually as I went to check in on my sausages. ‘I’m getting ready for work so I won’t have a lot of time to chat, I’m afraid.’ Silence on the other end of the phone as I waited for him to respond, followed soon by a soft sniffle. Was he – was my dad crying?
My dad’s job as a big-time patent lawyer in the City meant that we rarely saw him around growing up and on the occasions when Steven and I did get to spend time with him, we only saw one side to him – pure stoicism.
He was never one to show emotion outside of anger and frustration, so for him to be on the phone seemingly sniffling at stupid o’clock in the morning seemed somewhat concerning.
‘Hello, my dear,’ he finally replied, and it sounded like he was in his car.
‘I’m actually outside your flat – I’ve got an early Zoom meeting at work with some international clients in Jordan so I’m just making my way into the office – um, can I pop in for a second?
It’ll be like twenty minutes. I can drive you to work if you want? ’
My guard instantly went up. My dad, offering me favours and wanting to spend time with me?
Something was afoot. ‘Um, sure, Dad, come up.’ I peeked through the curtain to see his black Mercedes Benz GLB SUV parked outside my flat, opposite the park.
After getting off the phone with him, I quickly texted the family group chat, lovingly named ‘The Inheritance Squad’, due to me and Steven accidentally finding our dad’s will in his office a few years ago.
The group consisted of Steven and me, alongside Mum when we told her that she was also named in the will too.