I walked out of the multiplex into the INOX parking lot, and looking around, I counted three cars. It was well past 2.00 am and, personally, I really enjoyed Johnny Gaddar. Well, to be honest, I enjoyed the whole cinema experience that night, considering it was a true test of my will power - I was dating this drop-dead gorgeous chick I bumped into while at Calangute and the animal in me lost out to the movie-buff that I was. No mushu. Unlike many couples in the theater, we ended up watching the movie.

Besides, I had just gotten off the phone with who I think is my ex. I’m not sure if she counts as an ex anymore. We haven’t broken up although we never really went out either. But try as you may, I can’t be friends with a girl I’m in love with. No freaking way. Ask me to blow the JD(S) supremo instead. The problem was me. Mea culpa, as always. Luckily or unluckily, I had this other one-night-buddy for company tonight, and her idea of a date was a movie in INOX Panjim. Sigh. Whatever made her happy.

But she didn’t like the flick. She probably didn’t get it. I’ve always maintained that most single women are blessed with either beauty or brains. If they had both, they wouldn’t be single, you see? Which brings me to another of my increasingly growing number of fetishes.

Older women. Sometimes, married women too.

I’m just being honest - I somehow can’t get my mind around single women for too long. And while I’m no Daniel Craig unless he gives up gymming for a year and lives off Pizza Hut, allow me to quote a scene from Casino Royale:

Vesper Lynd: am I going to have a problem with you, Bond?
James Bond: No, don’t worry. You’re not my type.
Vesper Lynd: Smart?
James Bond: (shaking his head) Single.

I got into the black Santro I had rented, while the other two cars were still in the parking lot. One of them was standing still. The other, most certainly, wasn’t. Apparently, Johnny wasn’t long enough (the movie, I mean) for that bit of the Animal Kingdom to benchmark their reproductory capabilities. I was humming the title melody oh-so-softly. Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy aren’t just musicians - they’re the pied pipers of Indian music - and yours truly is just another music-maniac rodent succumbing to their beckoning. I invited her inside, and, with the belts safely strapped and the car in motion, I asked her what she wanted to do. Very, er, gentlemanlike, if you may. Which was very unlike me.

It is only apt that, at this stage, I must remind you that this was a civilized catch. Very unlike ‘my’ type, which includes the unsophisticated ones who wouldn’t mind spending the night out at the airport having a six-buck mallu chai. Six bucks I have, a six-pack I don’t - and as beggars can’t be choosers - I simply make do with whatever comes my way. This one, however, was different. She was fussy, she had long fingers which only accentuated the importance of nail-polish to womenfolk, she never left the vehicle without spending a lifetime adjusting her face (although that is some face, I tell you), and she was totally brand-conscious. Well, so am I, but atleast you’d find desi Provogue all over me, and all inside me (or, inside my wardrobe, to be precise). This one was a Levi’s freak, and maybe a Benetton loyalist as well, and everything she wore was as firang as it gets.

Personally, I didn’t care. The lesser the better, if you ask me. As I sped south with a midnight Miramar breeze caressing my cheeks, I nurtured this part-sexual part-occidental desire to lose the clothes that guarded her lovely frame. I thought about what might happen tonight. I wasn’t sure. She was a bomb, but she was as boring as she was beautiful. It was awkward. The kind of girl you don’t want, but can’t takes your eyes off.

That she would spend the night with me was a taken. That she would sleep with me, wasn’t. I needed to figure it out somehow. Like every other guy, I’m blessed between my legs with an itch too. Besides, sex is as addictive - if not more - as smoking or boozing. Add that to the fact that she was sitting adjacent, in the navigator’s seat, although she wasn’t much of a navigator herself. Honestly, her sense of direction was as accurate as Jack Sparrow’s compass. She had gotten rid of the footwear, and a good thing too. Those were lovely feet. A bit of a tan from her stay at Baga, I guessed. The pair of denims that enveloped her legs was probably a bootcut, hugging her hips firmly. She wore a white strappy top, the neck as deep as the Atlantic’s bed, and if the idea behind the shirt was to conceal anything, it failed miserably. The lips were still wet with gloss - cherry, to be precise, as I luckily found out later - although they were slightly marred with a tinge of darkness.

‘She does nicotine’, I heard myself saying, trying hard not to recall that scene from Desperado. I don’t particularly like the idea of getting a smoke smooch from a Zamira. I looked at her again. She wouldn’t, would she?

I was clocking 110kph now, and the Santro started to wobble on the road, like jelly on cheesecake. I didn’t bother braking, instead, I continued accelerating until she - the car - started screaming for mercy. Babe adjacent was uninterested.

This was the moment, though. If she refused me now, I might’ve gotten us killed. I don’t know if she knew it or not. But, honestly, that was a lame way of landing a girl for the night, don’t you think? It was all too complicated, and being the simple guy that I am, I brought the vehicle to a halt and asked her the easy way. My style.

‘I need to tell you something.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re beautiful.’

A smile. Was it out of pity? Honour? Self-praise? Whatever. She just smiled, wihout saying anything. I had to do the talking, for sure, otherwise the only sex I’d get that night was from a stray mongrel on the sidewalk. And I don’t do dogs, hadn’t reached that state of desperation yet.

‘Honestly, you look seriously hot today. I can’t get my eyes off you.’

Another smile. I started to wonder if she was losing her ability to speak. Mute-sex isn’t my idea of pleasure. It isn’t attractive, is it?

‘Can I get a kiss?’

She looked at me, probably wondering what had gotten into me. True, I mean, what had gotten into me? A kiss? What? Where? When? How? Why did I ask? Did I really want to? Of course not. I looked back at her. This was the moment.

This girl, I figured, she can’t kiss for nuts. No authority, no seduction. Just skin-contact, and the only take-home from that smooch, or smoochlet, if I may, was the aftertaste of cherry. I love fruit.

‘Back to the hotel then?’

‘Yes.’

This was it. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. It was now or never. I asked her.

‘we are gamperilonger hotel, imbomburanchu single bed, howprunkanivongal sleep fawghrealsy night?’

Gibberish. What the fuck? I tried again.

‘You don’t mind sharing the bed with me, do you?’

A giggle. Atleast, she evolved from her mysterious smile. ‘No.’

‘I can’t promise I’d keep my hands to myself though.’

‘Why not?’

‘You know why.’

‘No I don’t.’

When girls go into this play-dumb mode, you got to be wary. Luckily, I was there before, so I knew how to play this one.

‘Ah, no worries. You’ll find out soon enough.’

Curiosity killed the cat, but it absolutely murders the pussy. Women just can’t NOT know a half-fact. She nudged, poked and even scratched at me all throughout the journey back to the hotel, but I wouldn’t give in. She was dumb - yes - but not that dumb.

We entered the room, and she fell plop on the bed immediately, stretching her arms out and stifling a yawn. Like, she’d been waiting to sleep all day. By herself, of course. I asked her to make way for me too, unless she expected me to sleep on the floor. She promptly moved across. I then did the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I asked her. My style. Straightforward, and very, very lame.

‘I want to have sex with you.’

‘You what?’

‘Listen, don’t be playin’ dumb. You know it, doncha? Lookit you. Lookit me. I can’t do this anymore. Now, will I be getting somethin’ tonight, or am I not?’, in the best black accent I could come up with, sounding like a 15-year old Chris Tucker trying to land the black women in the audience. Half-invite. Half-request. Total hunger.

She made a weird face, a cross between a frown and an teacher’s inquiring gaze, before she spoke. And she spoke slowly.

‘You said I will find out tonight.’

That was my cue. Was that my cue? It was, I guess so. I rummaged through the drawer. She was surprised to see that I had stacked protection in it last night.

‘So you planned this all along? You’re a naughty kid.’

Kid. She called me a (grimace) kid. I wanted to retaliate with a ‘fuckin’ granny’ or two. She was just twenty-nine. Five years is negligible, one would think.

Anyway, I didn’t need an invitation anymore. Got into the bed, and after she helped undress me (and herself, I guess), got into her as well. Granny wasn’t into foreplay. And I wasn’t into sex. It showed.

‘You suck at this.’

‘I know.’

‘But you aren’t virgin.’

It was a question. Was it a question? It was. Anyway, I assumed it was.

‘Find out yourself’, I managed to mumble, as I frantically kissed every bit of her face - and the rest of her - as if I would run out of kisses that night. My eyes were wide open but I wasn’t looking anywhere.

I was surveying a territory unknown to me. The terrain was smooth, and while I ran myself through it, I figured out where and how it rose and fell. I had no clue where I was going, or what I was doing. For all you know, I was probably driving through the wrong lane, making the wrong turns and probably even halting arbitrarily. I was like this unpredictable rickshaw, murdering the streets, getting into places I shouldn’t be, going either too slow or too fast. I’m trying to figure out the right word to describe what I was doing. I can’t, so I’ll make it up.

Explofuckingration. Erratic and erotic.

Five minutes into it and she realized two things. Firstly, this wasn’t an opening innings. I had played a knock or two before, and it was evident that I wasn’t seasoned yet. Secondly, she figured out that she’d have to help me out if anything had to happen. Maybe she was a navigator after all. Her touch improved things a bit. In fact, a lot.

It - the experience - was awesome, and so was she, and when the moment of fulfillment arrived, a sigh of contentment left my lips. She, however, was more vocal. It was some relief though. Excruciatingly fun while it lasted. What was that song again? Pain and pleasure?

‘This has been the best night I’ve ever had’, I lied to her.

‘Never mind’, she snapped back.

What the …? What was that? What went wrong? I just had to find out what suddenly happened. Maybe it was me. Maybe I used her or something. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Yeah, that must be it. I apologized, this time meaning and measuring every word I said.

‘I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t good.’

‘No, it’s not that.’

‘Then?’.

Silence. Pin - drop - silence. So much so, that I could hear the both of us breathing. And maybe the folks in the other room too.

‘Sam, tell me something honestly.’

‘What?’. My heart was beating now as if I was in the middle of an EAI interview and someone was going to ask me the exact latency value of RV 5.4.

‘Why did you fuck me if you love someone else?’

Love? What? Where did that come from? On second thoughts, I’d rather she asked me about the latency. Atleast I could make something up. Here, I was, defenseless, a Karna struggling with the screwed wheel of his chariot. No response to the fatal arrow flying in.

‘I couldn’t resist. You’re fucking gorgeous. I’m ugly and starved. I don’t land too many women, you know.’

‘I hate this about you.’

‘What?’

‘You’re outrageously honest.’

‘Would you rather I be dishonest?’

‘No.’

Then, as an afterthought, ‘yeah, sometimes.’

‘Okay. Here you go. I love you.’

‘G’night Sam.’

Finality. Finito. What the hell? And why was I suddenly trying to befriend her more than ever?

‘This is it?’

She draped the quilt over her glorious body, still clad in lingerie. For a moment, I was wondering if I should suggest that it made more sense to get the clothes on and lose the quilt. Not worth it. Life’s a lot easier when you don’t argue with a woman. I slipped into my regular-fits and slept beside her, looking at her, as she was lying looking the other way. Once in bed, I usually sleep in no time. That night was no different. I thought I was dozing off when she turned to look at me, and she smiled. Those lovely, luscious inviting lips. I wasn’t getting hard again, though. I’m not a camel, you see. I simply grinned back, reciprocating her killer smile with my boring one.

‘I’ll tell you a secret, Sam.’

I was all ears.

‘When you smile, but you mean it for someone else, it hurts the most.’

Christ. That is so true. I thought about the other girl. How many times has she smiled at me, although it wasn’t meant for me? I thought about the ‘ex’. I thought about the girl I just made love to, albeit loveless. I thought about myself, a meandering dot in the middle of this complex three-dimensional structure of two L-boards, love and lust. The lust bit, fortunately or unfortunately, was over.

And they say, love makes the world go round.

It sure does, in damned circles of nothingness.