I’m walking along sunny Oxford Street in July with Bodi, my mind on video games and specifically whether I should get Dead Space 3 now or wait until I’ve completed Crysis 3 first. It’s a tough choice. One constant in my life is wanting more. I get a buzz from buying a new game and booting it up, familiarising myself to new controls and new eye candy in the visual design. Usually the novelty wears off about three hours in and I get into the zone where the controller merges seamlessly with my hands, the TV screen no longer seperates me from the game world and I’m now fully immersed in the game. This flow state is immensely rewarding. Usually by the 50% complete mark (for a typical AAA game that’s about seven hours in) I get restless. I’m so far in that I’m compelled to complete the game (I hate to leave anything unfinished in life) but the enjoyment is subject to diminishing returns due to overfamiliarity. Thus the constant tension between completing games I’m >50% through (Crysis 3) or buying a new one for the novelty buzz (Dead Space 3). Add in series loyalty from me having completed all previous games in both franchises and then reviews saying Dead Space 3 is a staggering twenty hours long – double normal AAA games – and I’m torn.
Such are the things which torment me.
Smarter readers will have distilled from this preamble the tension I have in Game. I want the buzz of new girls but I also enjoy the progressively deeper attachments with girls I like. It’s a constant tension. So while thinking about video games I look behind us and see a hot African girl walking along. She’s a little minx with big wide eyes, great curves, slim and dressed in an unexpected chic 60s Paris style. I double take and open. My vibe is great. She sounds smart and classy so within ten minutes we’ve hit it off well and I take a number. Texting is precise, so on-point from both of us that I use sections for my new book’s Text Game chapter. We meet a few days later.
It’s an excellent date. We have tea then move on to a couple of pubs. She’s delightful company and full of confidence in her femininity. I’ve realised the differences between British black, American black and African black girls are like an abyss. Put crudely:
- British black: Insufferable princesses full of false bravado and hollow aggressive sexuality. Hot black women immediately ditch their own race and try to date rich white professional guys.
- American black: I have little experience of these. They appear to be thick as shit and talk like drunken sailors. The few I’ve met professionally in the banking industry are basically men with braided hair. Think Condeleeza Rice.
- African black: Very nice cultured manner and speech patterns, pretty good education and a traditional vibe. I like them alot.
Does this make me racisss? Don’t care. Perhaps it’s just a self-selected sample because I’m never in the ghetto and I avoid the girls with vulgar street fashion. Who knows, who cares. This girl was nice.
So in the third venue I decide I need to be escalating. All the attraction and rapport has gone well. She’s a graduate student from a nice neighbourhood in Ghana and she’s constantly hammering me with the “I’m a good girl. No sex before marriage” story – which I don’t believe for a moment. African girls always give you that spiel. I move in to kiss. She rebuffs a few times then the barriers are down. I’m still thinking this one will move slowly so at about 10pm we’re leaving the last venue and I’m going to drop her off home (she lives very centrally).
As we walk along the back alley by Revolution bar in Soho I push her against a wall and make-out. She’s way hornier than I expected and the hindbrain is very excited. She’s gasping, moaning, grabbing me. I put her hand on my dick and she’s rubbing it hard. This girl is gagging for it. So I walk her all the way to her front door and try to get inside. She’s holding me off on the pavement desperately trying to regain forebrain control. I get her into the hallway and there’s more frantic making out. Then we’re upstairs inside her apartment but unfortunately she shares with two flatmates so it’s not a done deal. More making out and the forebrain shutters keep slamming down. She’s genuinely torn between a raging horniness for fucking and a sensible good girl forebrain control. I get a real No and we’re back in the hallway making out again. She’s rubbing my dick so I try to get my hands down her pants for skin-on-skin. I’ll happily fuck her there and then, it’s reasonably private. The moment she feels the skin-on-skin she shuts down. I have to bid her adieur.
Next week is Day 3 and it’s the same again. A civilised date, she asks me to walk her home and the forebrain shuts down again while we’re in her hallway with her hand on my dick. It’s achingly close. The contrast between her good girl vibe and sudden wanton abandon is extreme. By Day 4 I decide I need to try a different tack – probably she needs more comfort – so we just have tea and walk through the park. I don’t escalate beyond light kissing. I’m hopeful and then outside intervention busts it all.
I have a few foreign trips, she has family visiting, and we go three weeks without meeting. I sense distraction in her texts. She’s not engaged to the same level but I get her to meet me near my house and after a couple of drinks we are on my sofa. I still sense reticence on her part but different to earlier. On the first few dates she was free to fuck but decided to slow down, this time I sense she’s conflicted by outside forces. I push anyway. She’s topless with her ample breasts in my mouth, straddling me and grinding on my dick but she’s reticent to touch it with her hands and resists all efforts to unburden her of her jeans. She tells me she’s not comfortable having sex today. Perhaps she’s on the rag.
Another week of indifferent texts follow then she invites me out for a coffee. That’s when I get the Speech. Her ex-boyfriend has asked if they can make it official again with proper monogamous dating. She knows I just want a casual fling so she’ll take the surer bet. I don’t have a counter-offer of monogamy, telling her instead that I like her and if she’s single again to look me up. Next day her whatsapp profile photo is updated to show her with the guy. Typical good-looking professionally-competent African nice guy. They seem a good match.
The Ghana flag must wait. I think I played it as well as I could but the real world conspired against me.