My three friends and I attended this party ko Phokeng, and among many revellers at that place, a group of dandily dressed four guys and four females particularly caught my attention.
Maybe it was because their large table was littered with expensive bubbly, vodka and whiskey, and because, except during Miss World beauty pageant, never in my life had I seen so much beauty and voloptousness all gathered together under the same roof!
About a hour later, one of my friends and I went out for a smoke when one of the ladies from that table (a beautiful cappuccino-coloured Motswana woman who wore a large straw hat and with a phisique like that of Niki Minaj) approached my friend and requested a private word with him. Instead, I volunteered to step aside and provide them with the privacy she requested.
From the sidelines, I observed with jealousy and envy how the pair exchanged nervous (albeit infatuation-filled) smiles, how they hugged; how the Phokeng Niki Minaj crossed, uncrossed, recrossed her feet; how my friend laughed sofly; how she kept on giggling, until eventually she took out her phone and typed while my friend read out his digits.
After yet another hug, I watched her as she disappeared back to the party area while jiggling her beautifil backside; I wondered what it felt like to have such a human being as one's woman, let alone to hold closely and exchange bodily fluids with her.
I wasted no time in congratulating my friend on having a beauty like that throw herself at him. He laughingly disabused me and informed me that the Niki Minaj look-alike was in fact acting as a mediator and Judas Iscariot for her friend who was too shy to approach him!
Now this became curious because there was one particular lady, who I stylized as Femme Fatale at first sight, on that table who set the entire place ablaze with her radiance and hotness.
To my dismay, we learnt that the lady who actually wanted my friend was indeed that sizzling hot Femme Fatale!
Pretty soon, I discovered which of the four girls, including Femme Fatale and Niki Minaj, belonged to which dude on that table, and I particularly noticed how Femme Fatale's boyfriend could not get his hands off her female companion, clearly head over hills in love with her.
As the fading late-afternoon sun metamorphosed into the evening darkness when all ugly creatures and dark forces come forth, my friend's phone suddenly sprout to life with endless clicks of Whatsapp messages!
I still remember the hot topic that day was Shoes Moshoeu's death, but my friend was glued on his phone, all smiles like an infatuated adolescent, and no longer interested in the former Bafana Bafana star's death!
Like how Daniel Mambush Mudau would make those mazy, dexterous off-the-ball movements in anticipation of those left-footed passes from Roger Feutmba, my friend and Femme Fatale started movements and crept to the darkness from whence snakes and night creatures crept out, away from our scrutiny!
Draped in blue jeans which fitted her like a glove, a white sleeveless vest, black high heels (my friend says they are Stilletoes), and a hair style (real hair here) like that of Tony Braxton when she first came out, long eyelashes (I only learnt later that they were real eyelashes after I mistook them for fakes), and some generous eyebrows which appeared to have been brushed in a particular method (I later saw her directly from bed with the eyebrows still arranged in that particular decorative fashion). garments with black lace for wedding ceremony
Everytime my friend joined us at our table, he not only showed me the contents of their Whatsapp convo, but he related to me how they had sneaked out to our vehicle for some heavy mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
And from where I was sitting, I could see that Femme Fatale was also relating to her friend, Niki Minaj, the details of their undercover shenanigans with my mate.
The two girls were all giggly and tjatjarig, while their dudes remained oblivious to the sudden excitement which had enamoured their women, as well as The Bold & The Beautiful episode in which they were cast in. I was super duper fascinated.
I was super duper fascinated until matters came to a head, shit hit the fan, and the bubble burst when one of the four ladies alerted the Femme Fatale's boyfriend that his woman's disappearing acts from the alcohol-littered table was not trips to the toilet, but in fact trips to our vehicle "with that light-skinned guy with a red Lacoste golf T-shirt", that is, my friend!
Mzala confronted Femme Fatale about this piece of info, and when she vociferously denied any escapades with my friend, some dude who was all along on the phone on his car parked in the dark a few paces from our car, voluntarily provided damning evidence, detailing how he saw Femme Fatale and my friend having a cosy, touchy-feely chit-chat next to our vehicle.
Then lo and behold, Femme Fatale, at the peak of her voice, admitted that she just exchanged a few words with my friend and so what? She then proceed to tell Mzala that he was insecure, jealous and suffered from lack of self-esteem, going as far as threatening to leave him and get a real man who does not listen to distorted stories from her enemies.
When Mzala demanded to see her phone if she had nothing to hide, Femme Fatale, still at the peak of her voice, exclaimed that her phone was her private belonging and no one had a right to touch it!
She then grabbed her black Chanel handbag and stormed out, compelling Mzala to pursue her while stuttering "baby, baby, baby please don't leave. Don't leave maan baby, it's dark and dangerous out there"!
At this point, pretending to get something from the car, I followed them.
There they were, just next to Mzala's Benz CLC, with Femme Fatale repeatedly saying; "Take me home tuu, just take me home. I can't take anymore of your jealousy and insecurities! Just take me home!"
But dude apologized profusely, promising not to confront her with "lies from people who are jealous of you baby" anymore. I sensed that he was going straight to his knees any moment...
Moments later, and in the midst of Mzala's desperate apologies and entreaties, Femme Fatale's phone flicked yet another message, she checks her phone; her frowning face transforms to a beaming smile; she quickly types something, and slips her phone back to her handbag.
After this, she tells Mzala okay, let's go back to the party, I forgive you for your ghetto behaviour, and please, please, please, stop hearing stuff from jealous people. Mzala accepted all this Code Of Conduct like a docile chihuahua! I was left sick to my stomach.
Later, I learned two things:
1) The lady friend who spilled the beans and snitched on Femme Fatale did so because she was the one who first expressed interest in my friend, and so she was mad that she was deceived by Femme Fatale and Niki Minaj.
2) Through the text which Femme Fatale received in the midst of Mzala's heart melting apology outside, my friend had INSTRUCTED her not to leave and return to the party, and this is how Mzala was spared the humiliation of getting down on his knees!
At this cruel, nefarious and sadistic betrayal of a man whose only sin was to love his woman, I was mad as fuck, my blood was boiling, and I felt like killing a whore or two.
Typical black whores; they whore and whore and whore and betray decent, loving dudes and when their loose-panty ways are exposed, they refuse to display remorse and admit that they need help to tighten their panties, instead, through emotional blackmail, they make the poor victims of their Emotional Abuse apologize!
Even in the company of their boyfriends, some women have no qualms about fighting for a strange man even when they are buddies, and they mostly report the whore behaviour of their friends out of jealousy and envy, and not out of the desire to help arrest whore culture!
Had Mzala acted violently, society would have labelled him an abusive man fuelled by toxic masculity and sponsored by patriarchy, and more male and female whores would have ostracized him non-stop!
I expressed to the guys how women were filthy, heartless pigs and murderous witches who served Satan, until...
I let it known to the guys that women were filthy, heartless pigs and murderous witches who served Satan, until I was interrupted by my friend who showed me a message from Femme Fatale that her friend, the Niki Minaj look-alike, was politely asking for my numbers!
Out of the spirit of Ubuntu, Nation Building, and National Cohesion, I consented to my numbers being furnished to Niki Minaj, and after this selfless gesture, I was glued to the phone, all lovey-dovey and all that jazz, while in naughty conversation with Niki Minaj.
I felt pity for their men, but more feelings of pity were to come after what we did to these women a week later!