Part II

Satan is a Woman – May 2008

My hopes and dreams were shattered the moment he told me to Fuck Off. My crime – refusing to buy him the Jacket he wanted. Had I not suffered enough already, forsaking my real life to languish in a Love sick bubble. Giving up the present; living for the day that I would see him in May. I felt duped. I felt Angry. But worse still, what really stung was that all those doubters were absolutely fucking right. How many times have I had to deal with the insinuation that he’s only with me because he’s some kind of evil Visa bandit. Stupid really -the sad truth is I wouldn’t have thought twice about sending him the lousy Jacket if I had the money. What stuck in my mind though was his vile reaction to my poverty. It’s true you can do everything virtually these days. You can watch porn, Shop till your credit card gets declined, pay council tax and I swear I see my friends online more than I do in real life. So it didn’t take much for his virtual cuss to cut deep – I felt the venom. I imagined wiping it from my face as he spat those two words at me from across cyber space. ‘FUCK OFF’ yeah the bastard even hit the caps for that one.  My head is trying to get around what has happened, my fingers quiver over the keyboard but I was left – type less. I look at the little window, which informs me that he is typing a message. Then he pulls a farce of a guilt trip. He tells me that because I’m not going to get him what he wants the only alternative is to sell Cocaine to fund his consumer needs. How dare he be so fucking reckless with my feelings. I mean what if I was some two bit brainless giblet who got sucked in by his sob story? Then I would have been the one drug running to buy my crooked Turkish boyfriend gifts, in order to prevent him from joy riding the downward spiral. And, I later thought (always bloody later isn’t it) hang on a second mate if you’re threatening to raise the stakes to Midnight Express proportions shouldn’t you do it for something more honorable like putting some food on the table. The only repartee: to Block, sign out, and shut down.

I am a stupid, stupid girl because if alarm bells were a chiming as they surely did – I was completely cloth eared and it only took a couple of weeks of gut wrenching silence before I initiated contact. Look it’s no easy task to sustain ones self preservation, if only because it is easier to block in the virtual world than it is in the real.

Did I say two bit brainless giblet?

It was now April and I was proud that I kept up the nonchalant once a week (instead of every night) contact. I signed off with ‘yeah anyway I’ve got to go now’ instead of the ‘OMG I miss you Askim’ bullshit. Plus I was now going out more, living my life again. That love sick bubble had well and truly burst. And I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt when I finally succumbed to the advances of a flirty friend. In fact I relished that lovely all consuming feeling of being wanted. And that is the key ingredient required to maintain the fools gold which is the self preservation of the Ego.


The Waiter and the Diver

He tried to rip the string of my halter neck with his teeth in a fury of passion but it wouldn’t give so he found a kitchen knife. The rest is a blur of ecstasy – we even came together. Afterwards we looked at each other in amazement neither of us were expecting this. But to come together; the first time -Well. We both pulled hard on our cigarettes. My vagina throbbed. My heart was still pounding. To say I felt smug would be an understatement. To say I didn’t contemplate if this was a one hit wonder would be a lie – so it was only natural to anticipate a second meeting if only to see if we could achieve the same result. I was still in last nights clothes which were more like rags now – he couldn’t apologise enough when I attempted to fix my shredded top. ‘Jesus there’s nothing to be sorry about, last night was fucking amazing!’

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other as we travelled down to the lobby in the lift. It was a shame the hotel only had four floors, really.

I squinted as we walked back to my Hotel under the blazing Alanya sunshine. We didn’t hold hands because he knew about Mustafa. He left me at the corner to go back to my room; he would see me in a couple of hours where as my waiter he would no doubt treat me like his best customer.

And so it goes like this – The Waiter or the Diver? Or what actually happened was – the Waiter and the Diver and then later when I returned home – the Waiter or the Diver?

In my defence, I had gone back to Turkey to see Mustafa. Our first meeting in three months and he showed no emotion, it was evident that he didn’t give two flying Battenberg’s about me. Our exchange was cold and formal. He said he was fine, I said I was fine – thanks. He then said he had to go back to work and didn’t mention meeting up later. My friend AJ and I walked back along the promenade. AJ had joined me as much for a girly holiday as to offer her uncompromising moral support. I asked her what she thought, of my brief encounter with Mustafa? I was torn up inside but alone I could have made a million excuses for his behaviour. I could have kidded myself that we had a future but like a good friend should she told me the truth. ‘He doesn’t care about you honey’. So by the time we got back to our room I had built a wall around my heart, the cement might not have been dry but within a matter of hours I had a willing accomplice in the form of a celestial Waiter who would help me to forget Mustafa.

The waiter was like the leading man in one of my mum’s old Mills & Boon books. Smouldering good looks a glint in his eye brimming with confidence and dishing out compliments like there was no tomorrow – only tonight. He had tried to seduce me the moment I ordered pizza from the sticky laminated menu. I told him that I had a Turkish boyfriend whom I was here to see. The tone in my voice was unmistakable – I was in love with my Boyfriend. This was the first day before I had been coldly rebuffed by Mustafa. Three days later I had ignored my friends’ plea not to ‘put out’ on the first date and was spread eagle on top of the waiter in a dingy Hotel room.

Mustafa did eventually want to see me, and so one night my friend and I, met him and his cousin on the boat where he was working. The Cousin was so abhorrent to my friend and me – every time another rude and crude comment came from his mouth I swear I wanted to get all 1950’s on him, grab him by the neck and forcibly scrub his lurid mouth out with soap. But I put up and shut up because there was some fucked up connection between me and Mustafa that made me lose all my principles and there was some gorgeously fucked up sex connection with the Waiter who made me lose my morals along with my knickers. Every time I looked at Mustafa I was cast under a spell, a spell that enchanted me to not tell him that he had now been Rena gated to a part time lover, that he was in fact splitting shifts with another guy. By 2am my friend had had enough of Mustafas Cousin when he suggested that she go and ‘see’ the Castle with him. She spun on her white stilettos leaving in a whirlwind of contempt. Contempt not only for the oversexed Cousin, but I suspect for her oversexed best friend too. Another night, another grubby Hotel room Mustafa jumps on the bed. I think, yes! Maybe things have improved. I make my way over sashaying my hips as I unbutton the front of my dress. He’s not paying much attention; he’s searching for something in the darkness. Ah a condom I think. The room was then suddenly illuminated by the blue light of the TV screen. What the Fuck?

I’m not the kind of girl to beg, but this is just outrageous. Foreplay was metaphorically replaced with a gun which I placed firmly to his head. We did it, and all I could think about was how the Waiter would have devoured me the moment we got into the lift not letting a moment be lost to the trivialities of shit TV at 2.30 in the fucking a.m. Oh and this wasn’t the worst of it, afterwards he rolled over turning his back away from me.

I felt less used with the Waiter, even with the knowledge that his kind of tryst was down to pure carnal adoration and nothing else. You see when I was in the grips of the Waiter I felt worshipped; I felt like a sexual high priestess. So how come I am still fruitlessly clinging onto the hope of Mustafa?

The next day it was pouring with rain and my friend was holed up in bed with period pain. She even asked me to get her a Hot Water Bottle. I mean give me a break it’s like 30 degrees out there! I couldn’t even bribe her to get out of bed with the promise of chocolate ice cream. I’m growing increasingly restless staring at the four walls and I keep thinking about last night’s rejection by Mustafa. I need a stiff drink preferably served up by my new number one fan at the bar.

Great; I’m now lying to the Waiter. When I order a drink he asks me where I had got too last night. Why didn’t I just tell him that I was shagging my Boyfriend? Maybe because it was hardly worth a mention or maybe the truth was that when I was with Mustafa I felt like I was cheating on the Waiter. I told him that AJ wasn’t feeling well. Not a complete lie then. He told me that I was an Angel to look after my friend like that. I shuddered at his compliment because I was anything but, ditching her as I had done nearly every night since to indulge in selfish, sinful pleasures. I order another Irish coffee, laughed at his jokes most of which I didn’t understand. It didn’t really matter I just enjoyed looking at him. The whiskey from the Irish coffee licked the back of my throat like flames. Even though it’s started to rain I feel like I need to cool down. I saunter towards the pool disrobing as I edge closer to the turquoise rectangle. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, I have a diligent audience. I slowly lower myself into the pool and arch my back letting the water absorb my hair. When I stand up in the shallows the bar staff, including the waiter give me an enraptured applause. My first reaction was one of horror – shit had my Bikini top disintegrated – is Turkish rain somehow majorly acidic?  Instinctively I place my hands on my breasts to check, the waiters let rip another round of applause. This was probably one of the most ridiculous and best moments of my life. I soon grew tired of performing the charade of ‘laps’ that I was doing (width ways of course) who was I kidding I wasn’t exactly swimming for my own pleasure here. Gripping the slippery chrome handle bars of the the ladder I lift my body from the water; whilst discretely freeing my derrière from a water logged wedgie. The Waiter runs over enveloping me with a towel and a deliciously heat charged embrace. ‘You are crazy, swimming in the Rain’

‘I love swimming in the Rain’ I reply. On tip toes I plant a sweet little kiss on his lips.

Later that day I tell Mustafa that we’re going to the ‘Turkish night’ organised by the Hotel – I know he hates that sort of thing so it’s a perfect cover. We watch the show, the Waiter once again the leading man, gyrating to Tarkans ‘Kiss Kiss’ to the wonderment of a legion of Swedish girls.

There were a couple of Swedish girls in particular that seemed utterly bewitched by the Waiter and it soon became clear that one if not both of them had been shagged senseless by him. My friend and I were intrigued but we kept our distance as we sat at the Bar drowning ourselves in the decadence of three parts vodka, half a can of Red Bull followed by a good dose of lurid blue syrup – the inspired colour of these ‘Viagra’ cocktails. I nearly fall off the bar stool as I head towards the loos stumbling sexily (I tell myself) on the way.  I was just getting rid of some excess eyeliner when I saw the unmistakable silhouette of the Waiter in the mirror. He moved from the doorway and snatched an electric kiss that made the hair on the back of my neck stand to attention. After the show the Waiter resumed his post at the poolside bar. Before we could blink the two bar stools next to us were taken up by the teenage Swedish fan club. They were impossibly skinny limbed, over bearing perfume and wishful thinking all directed at my Waiter. The disturbing element for my friend and I was that these two girls were our counterparts one was Asian looking like AJ and the other was blonde – Spooky. They were however considerably younger than us and that if the truth be told was the thing that really creeped us out. We whispered to each other as a matter of consolation that what we lack in terms of youth we more than made up for in terms of experience. Girls v. Women – let battle commence.

The Waiter had told us in no uncertain terms not to tell the Swedish girls that we were to accompany him and his friend to James Dean, a local club. Of course we told them and it was no surprise when we saw the girls as they desperately pushed there way to the centre of the heaving strobe lit dance floor. The look on the Waiters face was a picture. AJ and I knew the drill, and just on cue Britney bellowed from the sound system – this was our moment. Our hair flicking, lesbian inspired dirty dancing soon created a palpable sexual tension in the air. No doubt about it we were winning, and when I felt the eager hand of a stranger caress my waist I spun around too his delight and gyrated my hips on his. I made sure I caught the turned on gaze of the Waiter. What a fucking show! – The two Swedish girls were left defeated we had left them virtually invisible, so much so we didn’t even notice when they left the club. Falling out of James Dean into the Arms of the Waiter I was becoming brazen; we were out together, in the main hub of the centres clubs and bars. Mustafa could catch us. This was a sobering thought. I explained to the Waiter that when we are in the street we must not walk together. He grabbed my hand in his and I pulled away pleading with my eyes ‘It’s dangerous’ If Mustafa saw us there was no telling what he would do. He bought the story, not realising that I was just a bitch keeping my options open. So he walked ahead, I followed struggling to keep pace in my heels. I watched as we neared the Hotel, his posture dipped as he broke off a flower from a wall – my heart sung. Later we cooled down on the Balcony with post sex cigarettes this is when he gave me a serious look. ‘I have something to tell you’ Please god don’t go saying you love me. My prayers were answered, this was not a declaration it was a confession. I cut him off.

‘You slept with her’


‘I know’ I said. He looked at me attempting to read my reaction. I let the sentence hang in the air until he felt compelled to spill all about the teenage Swedish fan club.

‘She was crying, about her ex boyfriend’ He tossed the cigarette on to the ground below. ‘I felt sorry for her’

‘So you fucked her’ I said coolly. He didn’t detect the irony in my voice.

‘Yes, but it was so bad, it was so boring I thought I would never cum’

We went back to bed, and fucked.

This was starting to become a habit no not the sex, well yes but I meant  me walking back to my Hotel in the small hours – only this time I would be making a detour. Yes Nicola had landed. She was here to see the Worm! That’s right the Hairdresser with the small penis. I had a bad feeling about him. The Waiter left me at her Hotel where the Worm looked me up and down before finally opening the door – god I couldn’t stand him.

He had this big smug look on his weasel like face. I brushed passed him like he was part of the furniture and went into the Bedroom. The air reeked of sex, or maybe it was me, still in last night’s clothes. Nicola was on the Bed, bra-less all T-shirt and Knickers, she was painting her toes blood red. I gave her a big hug. It was great too see her. I filled her in on the Waiter and she filled me in on The Worm. She also wanted to see Mustafa, and like one big head fuck the mention of his name gave me butterflies. Not Butterflies of Love, I told myself more a kin to nervous Butterflies, like the moment when a Rollercoaster pauses at the top of the track. You know what’s coming; all at once you hate and love the feeling.

Later that afternoon Nicola met me and AJ for Lunch. ‘So is that him?’ she cocked her head toward the Bar. I whispered, ‘yes’

‘I understand you completely Hun – He is gorgeous’

‘So what are you going to do about Mustafa?’ She knew the conflict of interest, but as my best friend and frankly as an equal fuck-up she knew the conflict which raged in my heart.

So we three girls hatched a plan over buy one get one frees – we’d go and hang out with Mustafa on the Boat

And then the girls would leave and I would un-ceremoniously  dump him. It’s the right thing to do, seeing as he hasn’t yet dumped me. And contrary to my disgusting behavior I’m not really a heartless Bitch, I’m just a Bitch.

The sun was setting as the three of us waved at Mustafa who was obviously caught off guard at our unexpected arrival. Nicola shouted – ‘Come on Motherfucker, help us on board!’ AJ chipped in ‘Yeah Lan, we haven’t got all day’ I couldn’t speak, the very sight of him bare chested and brooding gave me a scourge of dreadful guilt followed by a secondary pang of desire. Shall I just do everyone a favour now and throw myself in the water?

We made ourselves comfortable as Mustafa prepared the Hooker pipe. Curiously he seems to be taking his time. He catches me watching him and proudly shows me my Initial which he has carefully pin pricked into the tin foil. Unusual behaviour for him, even when he makes a spliff he creates a roach in the shape of an ‘M’. So I was expecting his initial not mine. I’m confused. So does he like me then, or what? I just don’t understand and with the clock ticking I am painfully aware that I don’t have time for such conflicting sentimental gestures.  I have to do the right thing and let him go. Then why in the space of an hour am I letting him lead me upstairs to the top deck. And why do I melt in his arms as he carefully sets me down on a musty blanket, as I grapple at his belt?  Oh good god save me from myself.

By the time Mustafa and I join the others it’s dark and all I can see is the end of AJs cigarette burning like a firefly. I ask her where Nicola is, and she tells me that she got a call from the Hairdresser and she’s gone to meet him. About half an hour later a distraught Nicola is back on the boat choking on her tears. I’m desperate to interpret her words but I’m struggling. I can’t take it anymore and raise my voice to break through her hysteria. ‘He fucking kicked me; he fucking kicked me in the stomach’

Mustafa is instantly enraged. I’m standing like a dickhead, frozen by what I’ve just heard. How could anybody do such a thing to my friend? Mustafa rushes forward and embraces Nicola, before gripping her by her shoulders and asking ‘where he is?’

‘Robin Hood, he’s outside Robin Hood’

Oh my god, He’s going to go and beat the crap out of the Hairdresser. I recover my senses and I repeat the words ‘Oh my god’ this time out loud. Nicola gives me a look, she realises what she has just done but it’s too late as Mustafa leaps off the side of the Boat nearly missing the dock. And like a bolt of lightning he’s gone.

AJ gives Nicola a hug; we gather our shit and negotiate the plank as quickly as we can. The wind whips the hair in my face as we run faster than Carrie in her Manolo Blaniks towards Robin Hood.

I manage to pant ‘Why did he kick you?’

‘I called him a Gigolo’

All three of us stop dead in our tracks as we burst into synchronised laughter.

It’s great to see Nicola with a smile back on her face ‘I didn’t think he would even know what the word meant!’

AJ then says ‘Wait, haven’t I seen him wearing a T-shirt with Gigolo on it?’

Nicola is doubled over ‘Shit, the Black and White one!’

The hysterics soon subside as we realise that there could be a blood bath up ahead so we pick up the pace. Breathless but relieved we spot Mustafa in the crowd – the Hairdresser nowhere in sight. No Police, No distant sound of an Ambulance siren. I run up towards him ‘Askim, what happened, are you okay?’

‘Amina koyum ya, the Motherfuckers not here, I don’t know where he go to’

Nicola hugs him ‘It’s not worth it, he’s a fucking twat. Thank you though’

Mustafa lets out a heavy sigh as his eyes still search the crowd, he’s clearly disappointed. Finally he looks at us ‘No problem’

We leave Mustafa to get some shut eye and jump in a Taxi. It suddenly dawns on Nicola that she gave Veysel the Hotel Key. ‘Shit, my stuff’ AJ and I decide to take the detour and check out the situation. The sleepy receptionist confirms our fears as he says that Veysel was here about 20 minutes ago. We hurry up the stairs, Nicola runs straight into the Bedroom. ‘My Laptops gone’

Thank god the next day the Hairdresser realised his options were pretty limited as we knew where he worked. And after a few choice words Nicolas Laptop was returned. We hung out on the Beach for the rest of the afternoon the main topic of conversation was of course the events of last night. ‘So what shall we do tonight?’ in for a penny in for a pound, I mean what’s the worst that could happen after the Gigolo?!’

AJ enquires ‘so who’s it going to be tonight – The Waiter or the Diver?

The Drama of last night was I admit an almost welcome distraction from my guilt. AJs question flagged up the stark reality of the mess I had got myself into. An acidic trickle of vomit rose up in my throat. A bitter pill to swallow this game I’m playing.

The butterflies in my stomach have evolved into a bird which now flutters rapidly in my chest.

‘So will you come to live with me, in the winter season?’

I navigate the ice with my straw as I suck down hard collecting the last dregs of the Vodka and coke which the Waiter has bought me. I look up at him ‘Really, you want me to live with you?’

Phil Collins, Yes a Phil Collins Ballad plays as if on cue and I roll my eyes. The Waiter takes both of my hands and leads me to the dance floor. I’m cringing, but I’m also literally swept off my feet at the same time. We waltz with the dancing dead, this is a quiet spot off the beaten track where ladies in there twilight years hook up with young Turkish men. The Waiter is now singing along to the track whilst looking at me ‘Wouldn’t you agree beby you and meee have got a groovy kind of love’

Why doesn’t someone press the stop button? Why doesn’t someone slap me round the face and bring me to my senses? It’s too late. I’m gone; I’m totally caught up in the moment. And with my arms wrapped around his waist I whisper in his ear ‘Yes, I’ll come back and live with you’

‘AJ he’s down there talking to some girls’

I’m craning my neck over the balcony; I was supposed to be on the lookout for our transfer bus. But all I can see is the Waiter talking to a leggy blonde (probably Swedish) who keeps crossing her legs and then un- crossing them. She’s tosses her head back and I can hear her laugh as he crouches down on his haunches to get closer to her.

‘Don’t worry; he’s just doing his Job’

My silence begs AJ to reiterate what she just said.

‘You know what I mean; when he sweet talks the girls – they make a Dinner reservation’

I look out past the scene below me and onto the Horizon where I can just make out the Harbor and I think of Mustafa. I didn’t even say goodbye to him after that final argument. I was tempted too but his rejection was still so raw. I had settled with the cards that I had been dealt, not admitting to myself that I was the dealer. What had happened had all occurred for a reason, I had decided this when The Waiter sprung the proposition of cohabitation on my final night. Something that deep down I wish Mustafa had asked me.

To be continued…

© AJK 2010


One response to “Part II

  1. This really answered my challenge, thank you!

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