I have, over the past two weeks, had one of the more awkard and unusual experiences of my young life. It concerns my new sim card and a young femme from Nigeria who is apparently now enamoured with me as a result of my new mobile phone number. A few months ago my sim card was unceremoniously cancelled by that bastion of good customer relations Vodafone. Their reasoning? I wasn't putting enough money into my pay as you go mobile phone. "*****", I hear you say? Indeed. I only recently decided to get off my pert ass, if I do say so myself, and buy a new sim card. Having done so, I was issued a new number and went about passing it on to various friends. In the ensuing weeks little of note occurred, but then I began to receive intermittent calls from a number beginning +2348033. The first time I answered, I got little besides static and a faint, oddly accented voice on the other end. "Strange", I thought. The next call was somewhat clearer, if only marginally so. My Scottish accent was tripping up the lady on the other end, and I fared little better with her French/Chinese sounding accent. The girl was clearly trying to get in touch with the previous owner of my new number, as far as I could tell. What I did make out from the conversation was as follows: "I lost your number, but found it now. How are you?" I attempted to explain that my name is "James MacDonald" as clearly as my accent will permit. Heaven knows how she would have dealt with a concentrated Glaswegian accent. I then received a text message after I had given up and cancelled the call. This is what it read, verbatim: HELLO MYDEAR HOW ARE ?IS BEEN A LONG TIME,I LOST UR NUMBER,BUT IGOT IT NOW.THIS IS MYNUMBER 0803277 (I'll leave out the remainder of the number).YOU OK? I attempted to reply to her text, again explaining that I was not the man she was looking for. I tried, but failed. For heaven knows what reason, I couldn't reply to her. Probably because, as I later found out, she is in Nigeria. She phoned back and I spoke as one would to a child, in a desperate attempt to actually put the poor girl straight. This was an improvement, and we even at one point laughed at our inability to understand each other. It was still an exercise in futility, however, given the connection and the clash of accents. As I was about to put an end to the call again she said, "I will call you again" in what appeared to be a quite flirtatious voice. Now, I have been told many times that I have a good voice, particularly over the phone and especially from those not from Scotland. Many women do have a weakness for accents, after all. However, my accent being an attribute is usually contingent on the other person understanding a ******* word I'm saying. Anyway, I laughed as she said this and humoured her by saying, "Ok, I'll call you too". I of course had no intention of doing so, but I felt there was no harm in being polite. Soon after I had ended the call, I received another text message. It read as follows: MY NAME IS AMAKA .MEANING FOR ENGLISH BEAUTY.IAM FROM AFRICAN IN NIGERIAN.ARE YOU THE BOYFRIEND 4 MYFRIEND?ARE YOU WHITEMAN?IAM HAPPY HEAR YOUR VOICE,REPLY ME. Now, given that it has been a good few months since I've been laid, I think I have shown remarkable restraint by not going to Nigeria and getting my end away. That aside, is it right that I should be a little freaked out by these events? Right or not, I am, and I have no idea why.
Note to self: when making wise cracks at the expense of a friend's possible love interest, be sure that the token male friend of said love interest is not part of the conversation. A little back story is in order. You will no doubt be aware of the Big Brother scandal involving Bollywood 'superstar' Shilpa Shetty. If you have somehow happened to avoid any news source for the past 6 months, do a quick google search and marvel at the British tabloids' uncanny ability to incite a moral panic in the form of racism accusations. As the tabloids took delight in perpetuating said racial tension, a good buddy of mine had been on a mission to woo an Indian girl named Nisha, who is a member of his course at Bell College. Well, me, being the observant so and so that I am (not to mention very much politically incorrect), noted that Shilpa and Nisha are both of Indian descent and so during one conversation with my friend I enquired, "Any luck banging Shilpa yet?" Of course my friend got the reference and we both went into fits of laughter, as his rabid pursuit of this femme had become a source of great amusement all by itself. Since that conversation, it has become common for my friend and I to refer to his prospective conquest as "Shilpa", to the point where we no longer even think about it. This fact was bound to come back to haunt me. As I sat with my friends at college one day, we were joined in the cafeteria by a male friend of Nisha's, whom I suspect may be on a similar mission to my buddy. We got to talking and, as is invariably the case, the subject of Nisha came up and I remarked, "Have you finally given up on nailing Shilpa?" I knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it, the friend's bemused expression clearly visible from the corner of my eye. I quickly tried to recover and peppered him with a few questions to occupy his mind, feigning interest in his answers. Luckily lunch was almost over and I took solace in the fact that I had no further need squirm. I sense, however, that I may have inadvertently torpedoed my friend's chances with this girl. Not that he is in any way heartbroken by this. On the contrary, he found the predicament quite hilarious, though we both suspect that Nisha will at some point be informed of my trangression and take great offense, possibly concluding in Bell College's very own race scandal.
One of the more underrated carnal ploys, at least in my experience, is that of "sexual bedevilment", or what a less pretentious peep might simply call "teasing". This ploy has served me well over the years, and often not through choice. Our story begins back when I was 17 and as yet untainted. I had yet to indulge in that most primitive of pasttimes. Indeed, my sexual experience at that point had been restricted to 70s porn loops. For all I knew, the modern woman was equally insistent on keeping her "lady parts" unkempt and as bushy as humanly possible. That, however, was about to change. I had been in the midst of wooing a woman almost 10 years my senior. I've had much success with the more mature women over the years for reasons unknown, and this was the beginning of said trend. I was, needless to say, extremely nervous about tackling such a vastly experienced femme. After all, how could I live up to her usual standard? This played on my mind as I was about to take the plunge for the first time. We had booked a hotel and, as soon as we had entered the room, I was under siege. I obliged and we began kissing, touching etc. As we moved toward the main event of the evening, however, I was overcome with fear that I would last all but 30 seconds. Luckily, or indeed unluckily depending on your perspective, I had forgotten condoms. I quietly rejoiced. My prospective conquest was not best pleased and demanded that I leave and buy a pack of raincoats immediately. I was steadfast in my refusal, however. Between intermittent bouts of foreplay thereafter, she literally begged me several times to get condoms and "roger" her senseless, if you'll pardon the antiquated expression. I was struck by how effective a tactic restraint can be. It was driving the poor girl wild. Needless to say, she had to wait until further notice before I bowed to her incessant nagging. The problem when I did finally consent, again depending on which way you look at it, was that I was still bizarrely eager to please, to the extent that I forgot to actually enjoy it. This led to much tension, as I went for a long time, far longer than my questionable stamina should have rightly permitted. She came, I didn't, and God darn it, didn't she want to know why. "You don't fancy me," she whined. "I can't help it," I replied, "I'm nervous as f**k". She wasn't for having it. This relatively mature broad was on a mission. How could a woman with a CV like hers not force a drop out of this insular teenager? She eventually succeeded, secretly with a lot of help from me, as I strained all in an effort to ease the poor woman's mind. This left a lasting impression one me.