THE BOOTY CALL

I am barely settled in his house, my visit just about 7 minutes old, when my friend gets a call. His face lights up when he looks at the screen and I know the caller is someone who is about to offer him something he really wants.

“Hey, what’s up?” he croons into the phone. He listens for a few seconds, and then says, “For real? So what you want me to do about that?” His voice has lowered some octaves, taking on that bedroom-sexy lilt that men adopt when matters of konji are being discussed. After a few more seconds of listening, he says with a chuckle, “OK. Hold on then, I’mma be there real soon. Let me come take care of you.”

He hangs up and looks at me. I don’t have to be a psychic to know what has just happened. A booty call has been made and he is ready to answer.

“Sorry, sorry,” he starts saying with a playful grimace.

“Who is he?” I ask.

“A friend of mine,” he replies as he gets up and begins to shuck his boxers. He reaches for a towel. “We’ve known each other for some time now. I was initially interested in us dating, but he doesn’t want that.”

“So y’all have settled for a friendship with benefits,” I finish for him.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking somewhat glum.

“Let me guess, you are not satisfied with the arrangement.”

“No, I’m not. I really like him. But I respect him not wanting a commitment. Better to still be in his life and be taking the good sex he offers with that nice ass, than to fuck things up by insisting we should date.”

He goes into his bathroom and seconds later, I hear water splashing. He doesn’t spend too much time with his bath, before he is out and getting dressed. We chat while he gets ready.

He pulls on a fresh pair of boxers,

dabs some deodorant in his armpits,

spritzes body perfume about his torso,

and slips on a singlet,

then puts on a pair of shorts,

and while humming “It’s raining men, hallelujah, it’s raining men, amen”, he sits on a chair to dust out his palm slippers.

His phone rings then.

He glances at the screen and smirks. It must be the booty call calling to hurry him up.

He hits the answer button and then the speaker button, because his hands are busy.

“Sup, babe,” he hollers, “I’m almost ready. Just about to leave my house now.”

There is a brief pause, the kind that serves as forewarning for disaster.

And then the voice comes crisp and clear on the speakerphone: “Sorry, hon. I was so horny, so I downloaded a Rhyheim Shabazz porn video and wanked. I just came and I’m good now. I don’t need your dick anymore.”

Total silence crash-lands in the room and I stare at my friend as he stares at his phone with a dumbstruck look on his face.

“Obi, are you there?” the voice of Voldemort’s evil twin enquires from the phone.

My friend quickly clears his throat and says, “Uh, yes. Sure… So you good now? You sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely, babe,” the destiny destroyer’s voice says with a small giggle. “I hope I didn’t waste your time.”

Yes, you did, you bitch! I fume silently.

“No, you didn’t,” he says quietly. “A friend of mine is even here. I won’t have to dismiss him anymore.”

“Oh good,” Satan’s right-hand man says on the phone. “You guys should have fun then. Talk to you later, boo.”

And he hangs up.

My friend sits there, still staring at the phone, his konji dying a slow, cold, painful death.

Chai. No pain compares to that from the rude interruption of a booty call by the other person’s masturbation.

Written by Pink Panther