How far would you travel just to have sex?
Kabelo had driven the three hundred kilometres from Johannesburg to Newcastle in over three hours for a girl he had met on Facebook, and still didn’t get to do the nasty.
Right now, he was driving back to Johannesburg, alone in his car and steaming from his ears.
The girl’s name was Nkully. They had been chatting for a few weeks now. She enjoyed books and movies, and didn’t go out much. She had been single for a year now. Her last boyfriend had cheated on her. And she had been a disappointment right from the moment he had laid his eyes on her.
They had met at Newcastle Mall. She had come with a friend who was way hotter than she was, and a face full of acne.
“I just had to make sure that you don’t kidnap my friend,” her friend had giggled. Nkully had smiled sheepishly.
Great! Kabelo had feigned a smile. He wouldn’t have kidnapped Nkully if she had been the largest girl in the world, and he, Jame Gumb in a hunt for skins.
He had shaken hands with the cute girl and had been compelled to give Nkully a hug. Her bumpy cheek had brushed against his own. It had felt scratchy. He had only prayed that whatever she had wasn’t easily transmitted.
The three of them had gone to a restaurant. It would have been rude to just leave. Kabelo had subtly examined the dark marks on her face as he ate. Perhaps after a drink or two he could do her. But no! She had fresh red sores forming over her scars.
She had looked up at him then and said that her sister had surprised her with a visit. She and her baby daddy had been fighting. “They fight all the time,” her friend had added. So Kabelo could no longer spend the night at her place.
It was around eight pm at that time. Still, he had been relieved… until Nkully suggested that they book a room for the night.
“And I’ll leave you love birds to yourselves,” her friend had said.
“No!” Kabelo had replied, perhaps too eagerly. “You don’t have to go. Let me… wait… I-I… actually have a work emergency. I need to be in the office first thing in the morning.”
“But tomorrow’s Sunday,” Nkully had said.
Kabelo had fake sighed. “I know, babe. I know. I… I got the call on my way here, yes! So I couldn’t exactly turn back. But hey, on the bright side, at least I got so see you, right?” He had smiled. Nkully had not. In fact, she and the hot girl had exchanged a glance.
He could tell that they didn’t believe him. He didn’t care! It wasn’t his fault that the filters on Nkully’s photos had brushed up on her acne.
The only way he would have booked a room was if the hot chick was open to a threesome, and Nkully, to going back home.
He had left them at nine pm. Kabelo was a twenty-six-year-old junior IT technician for a database company. What he did mostly was install programmes, and they could always wait until Monday.
Tomorrow at the car wash he would be the butt of the joke when he told tonight’s story to his friends. They had told him not to drive so far for a woman he had never met. “She might be a man for all you know,” Thiza had emphasized. But Kabelo couldn’t help himself. He had genuinely enjoyed their chats on Facebook messenger.
Last year, his squad had competed over who could sleep with the most women by the end of the year. Kabelo had beat them all with almost fifty conquests, two of which being sisters – and tomorrow he would be reduced to just another desperate man.
He took a deep breath. He drove at a constant one hundred kilometres per hour. He didn’t see too well at night. Plus, the mist he had seen at distant mountaintops earlier on, was slowly making its way to him.
It disquieted him. His father had once told him that fog was a blanket for ghosts. It sang songs you couldn’t quite make out, and often lured men to their graves.
Kabelo was alone in godforsaken plains. The dark night and white mist were all he had for company, except for the occasional trees and boulders on distant mountains.
He had goosebumps on his arms. It was curious. He didn’t believe in ghosts.
His father always said that it was not a good idea to pick up hitchhikers on the side of the road at night, unless one had a fancy of being found on top of a stranger’s grave the next morning.
Father claimed that he had once seen a ghost himself. It had been a white man, shirtless with sickly pale skin. He had walked barefooted on the side of the road. And no matter how fast Father had driven, he had still been there, taking languid steps that were somehow in pace with a moving car.
“And what did you do?” Kabelo had asked, excited.
“I prayed, son. I prayed,” Father had replied in his sonorous voice.
Kabelo tried to forget his father’s stories, but another of daddy’s lessons came to mind: “Ghosts never look directly at your eyes.”
He sighed. Just to be safe, he would also not pick up any hitchhikers on the side of the road.
It was then that he spied a garage with a convenient store on the side of the road. He drove into it. He found a parking spot and killed his engine.
It was busy. It must have been where long distances took their break.
A bus had come just come in. Passengers came out. They walked in groups to the restrooms. Some went into the store.
Kabelo followed the way to the store. In his car, he had a bottle of gin. He had planned to share it with Nkully as they went about their night. Now he just needed a soft drink to mix it with, to fortify him for what remained of his journey. After the store, he went to the loo. When he was done, he shook his man-stick four times over the cubicle and left the stall.
He stood outside and lit a cigarette. The stench of piss was on his nose, but he remained poised. He didn’t smoke in his car. He didn’t want it smelling like a cheap prostitute.
She came from the direction of the bus, but not from the bus. She was walking towards the restrooms. Her eyes were on the ground. She didn’t pivot where the other women had. She seemed to be coming to the men’s.
There were no other people around. It was just her, alone in the world.
She wore a mini dress that glittered with gold. Her weave was blonde. Her heels were in her right hand, and she dragged a heavy looking luggage with her left.
She came straight at Kabelo. She stopped before him, like it was only then that she was seeing him. “Oh,” she blinked. She looked into his eyes. Her pupils were large, and pitch-black. “Don’t ask,” she said. “It’s a long story.” Her words flowed with natural familiarity as if she wasn’t talking to a complete stranger.
Kabelo’s mouth was open, but he could find no words.
“Can I have a smoke?” She opened her palm. Her shoes thudded on the floor.
Kabelo reached into his back pocket. He gave her a fresh cigarette. Their hands touched when she took it. Her nails were long, sparkled with glitter – and they scratched the back of his hand. They were razor sharp. Kabelo gasped. The pain was an exquisite sweetness.
He looked at his hand. She had left no mark. She looked at it too. She smiled. The thrill was instantaneous.
Wisps of smoke flowed from her nostrils, and she asked, “And where are you going by the way?”
“Jo’burg,” he said.
“Oh, cool,” she said. “Can I catch a lift?”
They locked eyes. She seemed a few years older than him. That only excited him more. He could kiss her on both cheeks and suck her tongue. Perhaps his drive hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.
They were in his car. The clock had just hit midnight. Kabelo cruised with his window down. He flicked a cigarette into the open air. He vaguely remembered that he did not smoke in his car, although he could not remember why.
“And what do they call you?” his hitchhiker asked. Her voice was low, and ever so sweet.
“I’m Kabelo,” he said. Sex KB. “And what do they call you?”
She laughed. She covered her face with a hand. She had a bracelet woven into the fingers of her left hand. “And why do they call you Sex KB?” She asked.
Had he said that aloud? He looked at her for a moment. Her hand had gone down, although mirth still danced on her lively brown, brown eyes.
She ran a hand through her auburn weave. It was long and shiny. The red dress she wore was tight around her waist and threatened to spill her breasts when she giggled.
“Sex KB?” He asked.
“Yes!” She said with a radiant smile.
“Well, it’s a long story.” He waved her off.
“And we have all the time in the world,” she said.
He looked at the clock on his dashboard. It had just hit midnight. “Sex KB,” he began. He then told her of the tournament he had had with his friends. He couldn’t say which embarrassed him more, partaking in it, or winning it?
“And that made you feel like a big man?” She asked when he was done.
He simply shrugged. Honestly, it hadn’t. Wooing women was tiresome work, and it made liars out of honest men. And for what?
“Well, my friends bought me a bottle of Bombay,” he said instead.
She laughed again. She tapped a finger on her bottom lip. She had pretty delicate hands. Her nails were short. That somehow seemed important to note, although Kabelo could not say why. She said, “So you fuck for booze like a regular whore?”
His felt his nose shoot up. His foot fell on the accelerator. Fog rushed onto his windscreen. When had the world gotten so white?
Kabelo couldn’t even see his bonnet. His companion didn’t appear the least perturbed. Instead, she mixed him another drink. Yes! That was it! They had been drinking for some time now. Kabelo just couldn’t remember when they had started.
She handed him his glass. It was full, so was hers, which was smudged with red lipstick.
He took a sip. He felt himself calm down instantly. He went back to cruising. Fog receded a bit. “You wouldn’t understand,” he told her.
“Really?” She rolled her eyes. “Sex KB, it’s simple enough. If your friends don’t clap for you, your wins feel useless,” she said.
“And where are you going by the way?” Kabelo suddenly asked.
She smiled. “You drink too little and talk too much. Have another drink.” She handed him another glass.
Kabelo took it. He sipped. It was sweet. It went down easy. “I’m a regular whore who fucks for booze,” he chuckled. “So what? You’ll tell me to settle down?”
“No. I’ll tell you to do whatever that makes you happy.”
“Well, this makes me happy. What? You don’t believe me?”
“If you were truly happy, you wouldn’t need me to believe you.” She scoffed, “I just want you to do things that feel as good when you’re alone as they do when you’re with your friends.”
“And who the fuck are you? My fucking mama?” Kabelo shot back. She had struck a nerve. In all of his life, he had never once slept with a woman and kept it a secret.
“If only you would fuck your mama,” she laughed. She stretched and groaned. “I think I wanna make myself more comfortable,” she said. She slipped a hand under her T-shirt. She worked her bra from the back. It gave with a snap. She pulled it out from her underarm. She slid her window down and threw it out. Kabelo watched in amazement as it raced backwards into the misty night. She hiked up her leather skirt and pulled down her panties. They came out as red lace rolled into itself. She tossed them on the backseat. She spread her legs apart and said, “Don’t you wanna pull over?”
Kabelo jammed on the brakes. The fog was inside the car now. It was on his eyes like cataract. His dashboard clock was dim, but he could see that it had just hit midnight.
He could no longer see the woman he was with, but he knew that she was there. She was humming a tune he couldn’t make out as yet. He said, “Please make this a night to remember.”
She broke off her song. She laughed. She was behind him. Or was it the right? She replied, “I’ve already given you a night that you’ll never forget.” Her voice came from everywhere.
Kabelo smiled. His eyes closed…
****
Someone shook him roughly by the shoulders.
He jumped. Sunlight glared at him.
A police officer was standing next to his window. He had fallen asleep on the side of the road, with both front windows wide open.
“You slept here?” The cop asked.
Kabelo looked at his passenger seat. It was empty. He looked at his cup holders. There was only one glass. His. “I’m, I’m sorry, officer,” he said to the cop.
“Alcohol will kill you one day. Get the fuck out of here,” the cop said.
Kabelo drove off. Had he truly slept the entire night on the side of the road? He looked at his clock. It was a few minutes past seven am.
His eyes darted on all landscapes he came across. The world was graphic, as if seen from the eyes of Vincent Van Gogh. The verdant fields were a rich green, flowers a bright yellow, and everything was sliding backwards, away from him.
When Kabelo reached his place, he took a shower and went straight to bed. It was the first Sunday he had not spent at the car wash with his friends. The first of many.
When he got into his car the next morning, his jaw dropped.
In the backseat, there was a pair of red panties. They were lace, rolled into themselves and strewn carelessly.
Kabelo picked them up gingerly. He held the garment to the light, and it was as real as day. It was warm to the touch and smelled like a woman.
Had he truly met the woman?
Had he ever met any woman at all?
To him, all women were means to an end; ‘instruments’ meshed into each other with no distinct identities. Except for her. His midnight rider wasn’t a vague fragment of familiarity. She was a real person, whether she had been real or not.
A part of him urged him to get rid of her panties. Yet another part wanted to keep them.
Like every other woman he had ever met before, his midnight rider had left a part of herself with him. And it was up to him to decide whether it was treasure, or only regular trash.
Sphesihle Vusimuzi Qwabe was born in a small Kwazulu-Natal village. He was raised by his grandmother who, as a retired teacher, read to her grandchildren every evening. He is 29 years old and works for a Foschini store in Johannesburg. Sphesihle completed a national diploma in public relations. He spends every lunch break reading and then writes every evening when he gets home. He writes because he firmly believes that this is what he was meant to do; it is his calling and contribution to this world. He is never so at peace as when he holds a pen in his hand. He is fully committed to the art of writing and is determined to make writing his full-time occupation.
2 thoughts on “The Midnight Rider”
Love it, Sihle!
Thanks for a vreat gime at Paulet House! Keep growing!
Thank, Mr Alex.
It was such an amazing ride.
And I shall keep on growing. One day at a time!