“If, I am right,

If, I can be,

Constant and faithful,

You’ll find me, in my devotion.” – Tracy Chapman, ‘Devotion’ (2000)

“Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others, or low or absent interest in or desire for sexual activity. It may be considered the lack of a sexual orientation, or one of the variations thereof, alongside heterosexuality, homosexuality and bisexuality.” Wikipedia

May 20th, 1999 (Hilbrow, Johannesburg)

They locked eyes across the dark and crowded basement people like them convened in to enjoy a peaceful good time. Between the walls of the below ground-level floor of the old flat, under kaleidoscopic flashing lights, the collective mass of their vibrantly adorned bodies swarmed to heady, rhythmic music. In a flash of purple light Winnie saw the face that halted her fevered movement. She was instantly transfixed by the sweaty forehead wiped clean its eyebrows and eyes so intense they made her heart beat harder than the music thumping from the speakers beside her; flattered that her gaze was met and held. Her friends continued to dance around her, seemingly unaware that she was just standing there; panting and staring. Cool, sweat-and-cigarette-smoke scented air settled on her face and arms, drying her sweat and easing the heat from her body.

A few silhouettes fluttered across her line of vision and seconds later the subject of her rapture was no longer there.

She took a deep breath to swallow the sudden disappointment she felt. She knew that face would haunt her for the foreseeable future; at least until the next time she was drunk. DJ Snowy, her friend’s current love interest, transitioned into one of Arthur Mofokate’s latest dance numbers. Winnie watched her friend stare dreamily up at her lover whose skin seemed to melt into the black velvet boob-tube mini she was wearing and whose lovely fat body maintained enticing rhythmic movement in keeping with the hot tunes she pumped into the room. A few members of the crowd yelled at Snowy in mock outrage; their bodies and faces already primed for a heated, enthusiastic sing along and get down.

The familiar horns of the song blared out of the speakers once more. “MNIKE!” the crowd bellowed in unison.  Everyone roared when Snowy manipulated the famous horns in the song in a rhythmic stop-and-start record scratch that made this listen an experience unique to only the people in that cramped but joyous space.

Two hours later Winnie still felt a steady vibration from the music and alcohol coursing through her slim body as she and her friends stumbled into the cold night.

“Yho, sister-girl, I hope you have cigarettes in your flat, coz you finished mine in there,” the tallest among them, Pinky muttered, linking arms with the woman she was speaking to, Precious.

Precious rolled her eyes in exasperation and unlinked her arm from her friend. She theatrically dug her hands into the pockets of her crumpled faux-fur pink coat and – finding what she was looking for – pushed two almost disastrously bent Stuyvesant’s into her friend’s hands. “Mi!”

“Awuuu, mnike!” Winnie slurred in a sing-song voice, lurching forward and landing in a stumbling giggling fit between her friends. They latched onto her protectively.

“Someone’s really drunk, ke,” Pinky chuckled. With her friend firmly lodged between herself and Precious, she placed one of the cigarettes she’d retrieved between her lips. She used the arm that wasn’t around Winnie’s waist to search in her denim cut-offs for her box of matches.

She paused and sighed in exasperation.

“Bathong, kodwa, Precious!” she yelled sending a sharp accusatory glare her friend’s way. Winnie giggled and slipped away from them, predicting that a fiery argument would soon ensue.

“Here, I have a lighter,” The voice was only slightly lower than those of the three women. Pinky regarded the generous stranger with an arched eyebrow but leaned forward to allow them to light her cigarette.

Beside her, Winnie had stopped moving. She had to consciously remind herself to breathe as she stared intently at the large hands with impeccable red nail-polish cupped around her friend’s face and steadily holding a lighter against the end of her Stuyvesant. Winnie turned her attention to the stranger’s face. Although now dried of all sweat the face belonged to the person she had seen inside the basement. Where their eyebrows should have been was a hairless smooth expanse of brown skin, and below them lay the piercing black eyes that had halted her dancing inside. Winnie self-consciously pulled the frayed hem of her deep plum velvet jacket over her exposed thighs, unsure as to why this stranger’s presence unnerved her in this way.

She was accustomed to men making her feel this way. A fluttering in the stomach, a sudden insecurity about the way she looked and the state of the clothes she wore; an annoying amnesia where regular physical tasks like breathing were concerned. And yet the cause of her current unrest, seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be a girl just like her and her friends. They were about as tall as Pinky, but thinner; the long black coat they wore over a black turtle neck almost buried their broad shoulders, slim waist, and long legs.

“Thank you,” Pinky said, drawing on the cigarette deeply and offering the purple lip-stick stained vice to the stranger.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” they said with a small smile.

“Cigarettes,” they added, catching the skeptical look Pinky and Precious casted towards the lighter they were nervously flipping over in their hands.

“So what do you smoke?” Winnie found herself asking as she stepped forward into the stranger’s line of vision.

A small smile passed over the stranger’s mouth as recognition flickered across their black eyes.

“Ganja, mostly. Other drugs when I’m feeling brave,” Winnie nodded, enjoying the sound of the stranger’s voice in her ears, committing their slight accent to memory.

“Oh, nice, can we have some?” Precious piped up, accepting the cigarette from Pinky and placing it between her own crimson lips.

“Sure, I live just across the road,” the stranger said, turning to indicate the building looming across the street on which many of their fellow party goers were still loudly lingering. The movement opened their large coat and the three women exchanged admiring glances when they caught sight of the small black dress, still intact black stockings, and subtle gold chain-belt around a tiny waist.

None of them could afford the high fashion they were helplessly besotted with so it was always a celebratory occasion when they encountered people who paid attention to detail and made an effort to do something special with the way they looked.

“I like this one,” Pinky exclaimed unlinking her arm from Precious and sauntering towards their stylish new friend. Precious and Winnie rolled their eyes, linked arms, and followed their taller companions across the road.

The security guard on the ground floor of the stranger’s building regarded them with open hostility. The four of them pointedly ignored him as they waited on the loud lift to descend to their level.

“We don’t even know your name,” Precious giggled drunkenly when they were all leaning against the walls of the small carriage. Winnie was trying not to stare, but she noted with an internal smile that whenever she snuck a glance at the stranger, they too, were looking at her.

“I’m Precious, these are my sisters, Winnie and Pinky,” Precious was saying, one of her immaculately manicured hands indicating each of the girls respectively. Pinky pushed her plum-black wig out of her face, smiled and extended one of her hands to their new friend.

The stranger shook Pinky’s hand warmly, before doing the same with Precious and then – with a slight linger before letting go – Winnie as well.

“My name is Rudo,” they said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,”

“The pleasure is ours, babe,” Precious responded cheerfully.

After what seemed like ages, the lift arrived on Rudo’s floor. They walked carefully across the tiled floor of the hallway, trying not to make noise with their high heeled shoes. It was a short enough walk to Rudo’s flat but their inebriation made it seem much longer.

Winnie stood away from her friends and this intriguing stranger as she watched them reach into a clearly deep coat pocket to fish out their flat keys and carefully stick and twist them into the rusted golden lock in their door.

The flat was tiny. Right in front of them was a bedroom-cum-living room with the small kitchenette beside the front door and a door across the room leading towards what was obviously the bathroom. Winnie wondered if it at least had a bathtub. A place this small could at least grant its inhabitants a decent bathtub. The sudden urgent pressure in her bladder presented her with an opportunity to find out. While her friends settled on the tiny black corduroy sofa, Rudo slid thin, graceful arms out of their big coat. They cast a knowing glance at Winnie, who was standing with her legs conspicuously pressed together.

“The bathroom is that way,” Rudo indicated with a soft chuckle.

Winnie smiled gratefully and gingerly wobbled towards the closed door, wishing the ground could swallow her whole so she wouldn’t have to imagine Rudo’s perception of her during such an undignified moment. She walked into the darkened bathroom and closed the door behind her in a rush of relief. A quick fumble along the wall beside the bathroom door revealed uninterrupted cool tile. Where the heck was the light switch?

Ugh, no matter, she needed to go! She used the moonlight to find the cistern beside the tiny bathtub she couldn’t imagine Rudo comfortably fitting in. Carefully lifting the lid off the seat, she hopped around while lifting her skirt and lowering her runny black stockings. The door suddenly opened and Winnie gasped but relaxed when she saw Rudo’s arm reach into the room, expertly locate a piece of string she hadn’t noticed before and pull it; instantly flooding the bathroom in a soft yellow glow.

“Thank you,” Winnie breathed before lowering herself onto the pristine toilet and getting on with her business.

She felt in much better spirits when she emerged to rejoin her friends and the intriguing stranger. With her body relieved of some of the alcohol she’d ingested and her nostrils quickly inviting the wafting Ganja smoke into her head, she was able to enjoy the carefully decorated home a little more. Over the bed, Rudo had hung a large likeness of the Zimbabwean flag. Around that were dozens of unframed photographs and pieces of jewelry made from thick beads and heavy leathers hung on nails protruding on the wall.

The bed was covered by a purple bedspread and several brightly colored pillows. The table beside the bed was small, draped in a cloth that seemed to have been some talented painter’s canvas, depicting a village with rounded huts and large fruit-pregnant trees. The table consisted of an artful cluster of framed photographs and pretty containers of varying sizes and, underneath it, Winnie thought she could see a sewing machine.

There was a small dark wooden coffee table between the bed and the sofa, on which Rudo had placed a newly opened bottle of brown liquor with an unfamiliar label on it and four glasses. A large window on the wall overlooking the bed and sofa was covered by thick plum curtains. Winnie walked deeper into the room and turned to see if her friends would make room for her to join them on the sofa but Pinky and Precious were settled into the small couch, heavy-lidded contentment and high smiles on their faces.

“Come join me here,” Rudo said, smiling and patting an empty area on the bed beside them. Pinky, Precious, and Rudo each seemed to have already taken sips of the brown liquor poured into the four glasses on the table, so Winnie grabbed one of them before walking over to where Rudo was sitting.

When Winnie sat down, Rudo leaned over the table and reclaimed the rolled Ganja from Pinky.

“She’s got the best Ganja, chom’am. Hands down!” Pinky exclaimed as Rudo offered the joint to Winnie.

Winnie cast a quick look at Rudo’s face at the pronoun Pinky used. Rudo’s face retained a cool exterior of beautiful relaxation. Winnie accepted the joint.

When the sun rose, shortly afterwards, all four of them were lying on their sides, dozing, on Rudo’s surprisingly large bed. Despite being awake for over 24 hours, Winnie found it nearly impossible to sleep with Rudo’s body heat pressed against her back and one of her slim arms draped across her stomach.

 “What if you find a fault,

Between my purpose and my deeds?

Deem me beyond salvation,

Judge me to be unworthy,

Of your devotion,” – Tracy Chapman, ‘Devotion’ (2000)

September 10th, 1999 (Rudo’s flat, Johannesburg)

“So, I…don’t have sex,” Rudo said calmly. Winnie paused the machine’s steady jabs into the vibrant floral pattern she was turning into a summer dress.

“Like, at all?” she asked, casting her eyes back towards the machine so Rudo couldn’t see her disappointment.

“At all,” Rudo said firmly before leaning forward to straighten the material under the sewing machine.

“Hm,” Winnie murmured.

“What? I know you want to ask me: ‘Why not?’”

“I mean, if you feel like telling me,” Winnie shrugged, giving up on the job she was now too flustered to do. Rudo stood up from where she was seated on the bed and sat beside Winnie, resuming the sewing she had abandoned.

“I don’t really know how to explain it myself. I can, you know, feel attracted to people. I can flirt and kiss people sometimes, but sex is just not something I desire…or enjoy.”

“I think I understand,” Winnie said softly, fingering a small hole in the jet black sofa.

“Yeah? Tell me how you understand, my sweet,” Rudo was always so upbeat and cheerful. Winnie found it both irresistible and infectious. She tried to shrug the heaviness from her shoulders.

“I sometimes have sex for money, you know, like the other girls. But I never fully enjoy it. I don’t ever have it unless it’s with a client. A lot of my exes used to hate that about me. They thought it was about them, you know?” the look Rudo gave Winnie made her stop talking.

“I was afraid you would think the same thing about me. That us not having sex was about something being wrong with you,” Rudo said tenderly. She too had paused her sewing of the dress, although her large hands, nails a dazzling peach, held the material in place. “That’s why I felt it would only be fair to tell you. Since we’re, you know,” she shrugged with a sheepish smile on her stunning face.

Winnie nodded and giggled, relishing in the warmth of the other woman’s skin and closeness. Rudo always smelled like an intoxicating mixture of things; the essential oils she used on her blossoming back afro and almost entirely hairless – save for her eyelashes and stubble on her chin – face; the fruits she was always chewing: mangoes, guavas, bananas and ganja. Winnie on the other hand knew she carried a less magical scent; R14 sickly sweet perfumes, cigarettes and Rudo’s ganja. Her own head was completely bald under the many wigs she donned and she enjoyed makeup too much to lather her face in the coconut oil her friend recommended to her.

“Pinky asked me what we were doing the other day, and I couldn’t really tell her,” Winnie said softly.

“Because we haven’t had sex,” Rudo said knowingly.

“Yeah, I mean not that I’ve been waiting. And not to say I don’t want to but,” Winnie’s voice tapered off.

“Well. I think we should make it official. I love you. I am in love with you. And if you like, I’d like for you to be my girlfriend. We just won’t have sex,” Rudo said, her intense eyes searching Winnie’s in a steady, electrifying gaze.

“Yes,” Winnie breathed, enchanted once more.

Rudo gifted her a beautiful broad smile and shifted so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. Winnie leaned into the fragrant warmth of her lover’s breath. Their kiss was slow and tender. A soft knock at their door made them ease apart with heavy lidded eyes and caressing smiles.

“Let me see who that is,” Rudo muttered before getting up and walking towards the door.

“Ah; Precious! Snowy! Welcome! Come in, come in,” Winnie smiled to herself as she watched Rudo gather the two visitors in sincerely warm embraces and place her warm hands on each of their faces, with soft inquiries into their wellbeing.

Once they’d been properly welcomed by their gracious host the two lush women moved deeper into the small room, which was warmly illuminated by the sun streaming through the parted thick curtains. They shrugged off their jackets and placed the parcels Rudo hadn’t carried over to the kitchenette onto the small coffee table. Winnie cleared away some of the material on the table before sitting back in the sofa and grinning broadly at her friends.

“Okay, and then?” Precious said, pausing her inspection of one of the plastic bags on the table to cast a questioning look at her friend.

“Well,” Winnie drew the word out luxuriously. From the kitchenette Rudo chuckled softly. “Rudo and I are officially an item,” Winnie exhaled in a rush of excitement.

Snowy yelled and leaned over the table to give Winnie an enthusiastic and loud high five.

“Look at that baby! We aren’t the only gay girls in our circle anymore,” she said excitedly to Precious.

Winnie saw that Precious seemed to be withholding her excitement and congratulations.

“Does this mean you two, you know?” Precious said, ignoring her girlfriend and turning to Winnie.

“Ah, with gays it’s sex this and sex that, and even with girls like us, we can’t think of relationships as valid without sex? Come on!” Rudo said from the kitchenette. Everyone in the room was alarmed by the sharpness of her tone.

“Let me pour us some drinks,” Snowy said, reaching into the plastic bags like someone who didn’t know and didn’t want to know what was happening around her.

“I mean, how do you know that what you feel for each other is real love, if you don’t know whether you are compatible in bed?” Precious turned to face Rudo.

“Yeah, it could get awkward if you’re both bottoms,” Snowy muttered, titling a 1 litre of coke into a glass half filled with Brandy.

“Sex isn’t the only way to measure or show or know love. Now the two of you should just mind your business,” Rudo said, firmly. The girls dropped the topic, but throughout their stay, over drinks, between joints and the delicious vegetarian meal Rudo cooked for them, Precious kept glancing with concern at her friend.

When she was in Rudo’s vivacious presence, Winnie seemed to involuntarily burrow into her lover. She echoed her laughter and murmured agreements with her spirited arguments and seemed to have found a strange contentment in not taking up so much verbal space herself. Rudo was sharp and persuasive and charming. She wasn’t loud like the rest of Winnie’s friends but she easily demanded attention. Her caramel, eyebrow-less face and magnetic eyes made everyone fall into her spell.

The ki in Rudo’s flat was meant to be a pre-drinks arrangements where the girls would whet their appetites for a wild night out. When dusk arrived however, Winnie suddenly felt tired and weak. A quick inspection of her forehead and temples told Rudo that she was feverish. Precious and Snowy were sympathetic. Rudo decided without batting an eyelid that she would stay behind to care for her lover.

When their friends left, Rudo drew the thick curtains and prepared a ganja infused broth for her love to drink and steam with. She also brought out a lamp with light that wasn’t as bright as the globe in the ceiling so as not to aggravate Winnie’s headache. Winnie weakly limped over to the bed and collapsed onto it, Rudo swiftly coming up behind her to cover her in a warm but light blanket and a flurry of kisses and soothing cooing. She took to her role as nurturer like a pro; Winnie was too weak to consider just how much of a burden she most likely was in that moment.

*

When she came to, hours later, her head was in Rudo’s lap and her lover was softly humming a wordless melody under her breath.

“How long have I been asleep?” Winnie croaked, not feeling much better.

“Many hours. I think we should take you to the clinic if you’re not feeling better in the morning. I have a friend whose a nurse, she won’t give you any trouble.”

“You are so good to me,” Winnie whispered, a tear crawling across the bridge of her nose. She was unsure whether she was crying over Rudo’s kindness or her sinking feeling regarding her health.

“Am I? I feel like I’ve brought unnecessary complication into your life. I don’t think I make sense to your friends. And I am so firm in my ways; I can’t let anyone sway me again,” Rudo said, her voice dropping several octaves the more passionate she became.

“Can you get over the sex thing?”

“Yes, I think I can. I can’t say I fully understand it – I have never met anyone who didn’t want to have sex, who didn’t enjoy sex. But, it’s a relief to me more than anything else. I can love you without that pressure of sharing my body all the time.”

“I am very grateful for how understanding you have been, my sweet,” Rudo said, softly.

“Of course, I – I lo – love you,”

Winnie’s voice cracked over a vicious coughing fit that seemed to rattle her tiny frame. Rudo gently tilted Winnie’s head back so she could drink the special ganja tea she’d prepared for her.

The steamy fragrant broth momentarily soothed the ache in Winnie’s chest.

“Shhh, rest my love. We can resolve all of this when you are better,” Rudo murmured, running a warm hand over her lover’s heated head and planting soft wet kisses on her temple.

December 22nd, 1999 (Rudo and Winnie’s flat, Johannesburg)

Winnie leaned over the nearly thigh-high potted plant and carefully used the water-filled 1 liter Coca-Cola bottle to saturate the damp dark soil between the large green leaves.

“You are so devoted to that plant,” Rudo said with a smile as she placed a tray laden with steaming breakfast bowls, glasses of bright yellow juice, and medication vials on the table beside her.

“And you are so devoted to me,” Winnie smiled as she straightened to plant a kiss on her lover’s furry cheek. To honor her capricious and creative spirit, Rudo had decided to stop shaving and now sported an impressive black beard which formed a dramatic contrast to her lack of eyebrows and bald head.

“You make it easy to love you, my sweet,” Rudo said warmly. They held hands briefly, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Winnie dropped her hand from Rudo’s and moved to sit on the sofa.

“That can’t be true. Not with this disease meaning you have to take more care of me than I can take care of you,” Winnie said, tilting one of the pill containers into her open palm.

“Hey, you have to eat first,” Rudo exclaimed, snatching the bottle out of her lover’s hands and snapping it closed. “I made your favorite porridge,” she added to soften her intervention.

“Ugh, yes,” Winnie said, pressing an exasperated hand against her forehead in a feigned slap. Her short-term memory loss was concerning to them both, but Rudo’s persistent cheer and determination allowed them a reprieve from that pressing fear.

They ate the peanut-butter infused porridge and made meaningless conversation about a party they had been to recently, the club they met at closing down, Precious and Snowy’s nasty break up, Pinky’s kind married boyfriend who seemed to really love her.

“You know, I knew when I saw you in that club that I had just set my eyes on someone so special,” Winnie said suddenly, a faraway look in her eye.

“You took my breath away,” Rudo murmured.

“Me too,” Winnie smiled. “Your eyes,”

“You were just so beautiful.”

“When you disappeared I felt so disappointed.”

“I had to clear my head. I thought I was hallucinating. I was tripping my butt off.”

“You haven’t used in a long time.”

“No, no, I have not. I have other things to devote myself to now.”

“Yes, like nursing me.”

“Like loving you,” Rudo corrected, gently.

“Yes,” Winnie said after a pause, “like loving me.”

Rudo had a look of grim satisfaction on her face.

“Am I enough? Am I worthy?”

“Worthy of my love?”

“Yes, of your devotion?”

“Oh, my dear, more than you know. More than you know.”

Mercy Thokozane Minah © 2018 The Letter X Publishing House