From Social Media with Love
By Lawrence Kadzitche
Whether you like it or not, there are some women that once you see them, something makes you take a second look. And after taking the second look, something forces you want to know them better. You can meet them at a party, a funeral or just on the road and you decide you love the person. Wham! The idea hits you just like that. Out of the blue, like a bolt of lightning out of a cloudless sky.
That was exactly what happened when I saw Lolita. My eyes fell on her and I fell in love with her hook, line and sinker.
By the way, I should say I fell in love with her picture. You see, I never met Lolita in person the way I was saying earlier. Not at a party or a funeral. Neither on the sidewalk. No. I saw her first on Facebook. Oh boy, the dame was a stunner.
Well, I first saw her when I bought the latest iPhone. I decided to check the sleek cell phone’s picture display quality by looking at photographs in Facebook. The moment I logged into Facebook, a friend request popped up. When I opened the message, the profile picture blew my breath away.
Alluring black eyes stared at me coquettishly from under long artificial eye lashes. There was something both mesmerizing and tantalizing in the eyes. The eyes were whispering, inviting me to come into her life. Yes, here I come, Lolita, I shouted to myself. Her pouting lips were an open invitation for a smooch. And above the kiss inspiring juicy lips which had just earned a heartfelt smack, was perched a film star’s nose. Beauty upon beauty, a dimpled chin complemented the dimples on her cheeks. Her ebony-black hair plummeted over her shoulders. That was Lolita.
My heart thudding wildly, I quickly went to her picture gallery. Even the least talented sculptor wouldn’t have had difficulties choosing which picture to use to model a goddess of beauty. All of them would have fitted the bill. She had an impressive bust with pointed breasts, a wasp waist and wide hips. Her booty was voluminous and perfectly shaped. She had sparkling, snow-white teeth and a bewitching smile. At first I thought she was a coloured but noted that it was because she was very light complexioned. Her skin was unblemished and smooth as a baby’s side.
She was a snazzy dresser. In all the pictures, she was dressed in designer clothes, obviously imitations, but which fitted her perfectly. I didn’t hesitate any more. I hit the accept button with the speed of a descending rock.
The next moment, I received a ‘Hy’ in my inbox.
‘Hi’ I replied right away.
‘Am glad dat u accepted to be ma fwend,’ she said in the ungrammatical English so common on social media.
‘I’m happy too,’ I replied. I always used correct English on social media.
The next morning, I found a message waiting for me in my inbox. ‘Sun is up, gud morn, my dear.’
I seized on the endearment. ‘Good morning, beautiful. How are you today?’
The response was a shy emoji and ‘Don’t flatta mi, darling.’
‘I’m not flattering you, my queen. You look gorgeous!’
Another shy emoji. And then, ‘I cud send u some pics but am outta data.’
I immediately saw an opportunity. ‘No stress. Send me your mobile money number.’
The number arrived with surprising speed. I sent her fifty grand.
‘Oh babe, all that moolah,’ she gushed. ‘U r a laif seva.’
‘You deserve the best, honey,’ I replied.
I didn’t propose but by the end of the next few days it was clear that without directly saying it, I had proposed and she had said yes. Based on the sweet nothings that we automatically showered on each other, it was clear that the relationship had rapidly evolved from ‘friends’ to ‘lovers’. We were now bae and boo. We texted each other non-stop.
I made it obvious that I adored her photographs and she consigned to me loads of high quality pictures fit for glamorous magazine covers. She even sent me some that were only suitable for covers of the popular men’s lifestyle Playboy magazine.
I spent countless hours feasting at her pictures. More often than not, I kissed her pictures. At night, I envisioned that I was holding her in my arms, like a guitar, and playing amazing erotic tunes with her supple body. Further, I would conjure up what making love to her would be like. I nearly went crazy with frustrated desire.
She lived in Lilongwe, a city about 300 kilometres away from the city of Blantyre where I was living.
“How I’d love to see you, bae,” I texted her one day. That was just three weeks after I had first seen her picture. I yearned to hold her sumptuous body in my arms and kiss her fruity lips.
“Me too, boo,” came the eager response. “If u can send me trans-p I’ll come.”
I did not dilly dally. I sent her the transport money that very same day.
“Man, I want the best trim and shave you can give me,” I told my usual barber as he prepared to cut my hair and shave my beard at my favourite barbershop.
“Don’t worry boss. Got a special function?”
I took my phone out of my pocket and showed him Lolita’s picture.
“Is she a model?”
I let out a hearty laugh. “No, my friend. That’s my bae, she’s visiting me today from Lilongwe.”
The barber snatched the cell phone and stared at the picture with naked admiration. I quickly took it out of his hands. “Man, you’re drooling!”
“Wow! Is she a foreigner?”
“Nope, born and bred in Malawi,” I said proudly.
“She’s beautiful,” the barber said dreamily.
“Now you can see why I must look like a movie star.”
That afternoon, looking my best in a red golf shirt and blue jeans, I drove to the bus terminal to await the arrival of my dream girl.
The coach arrived on time. I patiently waited for my angel to disembark. My patience turned to concern as the last passenger came out of the bus. My beauty was nowhere to be seen.
My heart started beating fast. Had she been fooling me? I was aware that there were some girls who would get transport money from their lovers and never turn up. But Lolita had texted me that she had boarded the bus. So what had happened?
Before I could answer the question, my cell phone rang. It was Lolita.
“Hi, darling, I’ve arrived,” she said in a honey coated voice that made my heart somersault.
“Where?” I asked, my heart beating fast.
“In the bus depot. I just got off the coach,” she replied.
She was in the bus depot and I was also in the bus depot. How come I couldn’t see her? An alarm rang in my head. I cut the phone.
I moved to an advantageous position where I could see the people who had got off the bus but they could not see me. I called Lolita’s number while carefully scanning the passengers.
I saw a girl who was standing with her back to me lift her cell phone and answer. “Hello, boo.”
She turned to check if I was calling from within the bus depot. My heart sank. If it was in a film, I would have said she was a shape shifter. But this was not in a movie.
The girl was dark, the face pock marked with pimples. The chin had no dimples. The bra failed to lift the sagging breasts. Neither had she a narrow waist nor wide hips. The tantalizing booty was conspicuously missing. I had ordered a girl with hour glass shaped figure but what had arrived was a girl with the shape of a coffin. Small eyes squinted in my direction.
“Hello! Hello! Boo, can you hear me? Hello…”
I stared at her open mouthed, no words coming out of my mouth as she continued to say…’hello, hello’. I felt anger swell up in me. Not because of her looks but because of the enormity of her lie. She knew we would eventually meet; what did she think I would do when I saw her?
I switched off my phone. I could see her frantically re-dialling my number. I could see panic spreading over her face as she found out that the number could not be reached. I felt no pity. She had asked for this herself. If she thought I would like the way she really looked then why had she posted very heavily photo shopped pictures of herself on the social media?
She should have known that the girl I fell in love with was the fake one she had been displaying on social media and not herself. I drove off without any regard of what would happen to her if she did not have transport money to take her back to Lilongwe.
When I reached home, I blocked her off. No good bye. Nothing. It was as if she had never existed in my life. But one question still lingered in my heart. “Why did you do it, Lolita? Why, Lolita?”