Missionary Position

by Daisy Prescott

  “Oh, never. We didn’t even have football at my college. But I’ve grown up and matured. Become more open-minded.”

  “What were you like when you were younger?” His aviators blocked his eyes, but his body language showed his interest.

  “Angry. Goth. Black spiky hair. I wanted to rebel against everything.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded and sat on the lounger next to mine. “Why so angry and rebellious?”

  “Probably because I had a completely normal and uneventful childhood. Parents are still happily married. My brothers and I got along, besides the normal teasing. I did well enough in school to be bored. Classic American middle-class life.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “California.”

  “Los Angeles?”

  “No, nothing as glamorous as that. A suburb near San Francisco. Close enough to go into the city and see the hippies and punk rockers, but far enough away that the mall was the main social hangout.”

  “We didn’t have malls in Amsterdam.”

  “I imagine not.”

  “And you? You didn’t want the happy life in the suburbs?”

  I observed him while I figured out how honest to be. I’d had various parts of his body inside of me, but emotional honesty existed outside my comfort zone.

  “I didn’t. I never wanted the husband, or the kids, or the dog, parakeet, turtle, guinea pig…” I let my list and sentence fade away while I studied him for a reaction. “I know it’s odd, and most people, mostly women, think it’s a lie, but I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t past tense?”

  “Don’t. Present tense. Did part is a done deal at this point.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  I waved my hand in a circle over my torso. “Older woman. Like the HMS Virginity, that ship’s sailed, too.”

  “Oh.”

  In the silence that fell between us, I waited for him to speak.

  “Wow, that became heavy quickly,” I said after an awkward moment.

  “No, don’t worry. You were being honest.”

  “And you probably didn’t expect to have this conversation today.”

  He reached over and entwined our fingers. “I didn’t expect you to spend the night with me last night either. Everything with you is unexpected.”

  “Unexpected in a good way?”

  “Unexpected in the best way—like a surprise you never dreamed of, but the best surprise you’ve ever had.”

  If we weren’t sitting by the pool, I’d have kissed him then and there. Instead, I led him up to his room to have my evil way with him.

  THE NEXT NIGHT Kai took me out to one of the beach resorts in Labadi to see a band he first heard three years ago. I hadn’t been out at night since my arrival, unless I counted dinners at Ama’s. Tonight felt wild and adventurous, and very much like a real date.

  Kofi drove us out to the beach. His warm smile had returned, and he shook Kai’s hand enthusiastically when he dropped us off at the club.

  “Everything sorted with him?” I asked Kai after Kofi drove away.

  “I think so. We chatted waiting for you to come downstairs.”

  “Want to clue me in on what you said?”

  “Nope. Some conversations should remain between men.”

  “That sounds sexist.”

  “I knew you would think that. Typically, Ghanaians are traditional people with set roles.”

  “I’m beginning to understand, but my inner feminist struggles with it.”

  “I think you struggle with set roles and expectations in general.”

  I blinked at him. “You figured that out quickly.”

  He laughed and took my hand, leading me down a plant-lined path, following the sound of music. “I figured it out in Amsterdam. You love to label and catalog things, but you don’t like the same done to you.”

  I started to protest, but realized he was right.

  “Your lack of arguing tells me I’m correct.”

  I huffed. “Fine. You’re right.”

  He smirked down at me.

  “Don’t become smug, okay?”

  “Okay.” He kissed my knuckles and released my hand, placing his palm on my shoulder blade to guide me. It was old fashioned and probably chauvinistic, but only in the best way.

  Beats of reggae music greeted us when we reached a large patio, which served as restaurant and club.

  Leaning down to speak close to my ear, Kai whispered, “Dance with me.”

  Normally, I didn’t dance. At least not in public anymore. “Sure.”

  He led me onto the small dance floor, already filled with couples dancing.

  He spun me around and then placed his hand on my hip, drawing me closer. I let him lead. Not surprising, Kai could dance. We alternated between swaying and turns. With each spin, my full skirt swirled around my calves in a sea of yellows and blues. The warm, salty breeze, and slow, steady beats of the drums lulled me into a haze. We could be in any tropical place in the world, another couple in paradise.

  The music changed to an up-tempo beat, and I laughed while I tried to keep up with Kai. When I stumbled over my feet, I laughed harder until I had to stop to catch my breath. Taking pity on me, he led me to a table and ordered beers and water.

  “Where did you learn to dance like that?” I asked, sipping my water.

  “School, I guess. My father insisted on formal dance lessons—such as the Fox Trot and waltzes. My act of rebellion was to learn how to breakdance.”

  I snorted. “You can breakdance?”

  He nodded. “Not well, and not anymore. There was an unfortunate incident involving The Worm.” He shuddered and laughed at himself.

  I could only imagine what sort of thing a boy could injure doing The Worm. Poor Gerhard.

  “You’re very good.”

  “At breakdancing?”

  “No, at dancing.”

  “This surprises you?” He smirked.

  “It does, but I should give up and accept you will probably never not surprise me. Or not be good at something.”

  His dimple appeared when he leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Surrender,” he whispered.

  I met his eyes and slowly nodded.

  I had no immunity to his charms, my defenses were failing, but could I give up control?

  LATER IN THE week, during dinner at Ama’s, Kai announced he’d be staying in Ghana for the next three months. The regular gang had returned from Volta and was joined by a few of the guys from the TNG group, including Matt, aka Not Gerhard. Kai’s announcement earned him a hug from Ama and cheers from everyone else. After her hug, Ama whispered something in his ear and patted his face twice—an odd, motherly gesture for the happy moment.

  My heart raced at the idea of spending three months with Kai—under him or over him. Three months wasn’t a rendezvous. It was something more. A fling? An affair? Something not quite a relationship because relationships didn’t have set end-dates.

  Kai’s arm around my shoulder defined me as his the whole evening. It either marked his territory or he had a compulsive need to touch me. While I preferred the latter, I suspected the former. His whispered “surrender” from early in the week had confirmed his need to possess.

  Matt and I chatted for a few minutes about our missed trip to the art gallery. He promised to take me up on my offer if he returned to Accra while Kai grumbled next to me. When I turned to stare at him, Kai asked Nathan something across the table, refusing to meet my gaze. Kai’s fingers tapped on my shoulder. Instead of feeling endearing, it annoyed me. I wasn’t a toy to be fought over or a tree to be marked.

  Boys.

  I excused myself, letting Kai’s arm fall to the back of my chair.

  Standing at the bathroom sink, I splashed water on my face. My head spun, not from the gin and tonic or beer, but from the man sitting out there who’d showed up a few days ago and invaded my wo
rld. Now instead of a week-long sex-a-thon, he’d be around for half of my stay. He’d already possessed my body, bringing me pleasure I hadn’t experienced in years. I craved his touch, but at what cost?

  Surrender. His voice echoed inside my thoughts.

  To what?

  Someone knocked on the door.

  “Occupied,” I said.

  “Selah?” Kai’s voice sounded through the thick wood.

  What the—

  “Kai?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I opened the door to find him leaning against the frame, a shy smile on his face.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You left abruptly and have been gone a while.”

  “No, I’m fine. Doing the usual.” I gestured at the toilet and sink.

  “You’re not mad?”

  Was I mad?

  “Why?”

  “I acted a little caveman with Matt.”

  I crossed my arms. “You think?”

  He nodded. “I know I did. Something about him making a date with you set me off. I should apologize.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology.” I uncrossed my arms. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  He frowned. “I do. It was rude. You’re a grown woman who doesn’t need a jerk like me claiming you like a piece of meat.”

  I sighed. “Thank you.” Smiling, I admitted, “I kind of enjoyed it. Until you growled at poor Matt.”

  “I didn’t growl at him.”

  “You did. And I might have bruises on my shoulder from your fingers.”

  “You do?” He looked chagrined.

  “I’m kidding, but you have quite the grip.” I rubbed my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.” He swept his hand through the stray bit of hair that flopped on his forehead. “Let me make it up to you.”

  I raised my eyebrow, all sorts of dirty thoughts dancing through my mind. “How?”

  “Come away with me for the weekend. I’ll get a car, and we’ll visit Cape Coast.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, we’ll spend some time together.”

  “Haven’t we done that already?”

  “I mean outside of the bedroom. There won’t be elephants, but we can explore the castles and the park.”

  “You’re planning a romantic getaway to the slave castles? Sounds grim.”

  “Okay, not the most lighthearted place, but let’s go on an adventure.”

  I couldn’t resist him. “Let’s go.”

  “We’ll leave this weekend. I promise, no caveman.”

  “Drats. I was hoping you’d pull my hair at least.”

  His charming charmer smile returned. “That I can do.”

  ABOUT AN HOUR west of Accra, Kai cleared his throat, his focus leaving the road when he turned to look at me from behind his sunglasses.

  “I need to be honest with you about something.”

  “And you waited until I was your captive passenger to do it?”

  “I didn’t want you fainting.”

  “I don’t faint. The shock was your fault.”

  “Okay, I don’t want you to run away.”

  “Are you kidnapping me?”

  “This isn’t a kidnapping.”

  I tugged at my seatbelt as if it were a restraint and stared at him. The gesture meant to show I didn’t feel worried, but with each caveat, I became more unsettled.

  “You’re beginning to freak me out.” I rested my back against the door of his older model Range Rover.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Okay, maybe I worried you’d be mad or make a scene.”

  I crossed my arms. “Spit it out, Kai.”

  “About Anita …”

  “What about her?” My skin prickled.

  “She’s not my sister.”

  My mouth gaped. “She said Gerhard, you, Kai, is … are her brother.”

  “Right. That’s not true.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Like how you’re not really Gerhard, Anita isn’t really your sister?”

  Who knew the Dutch were wily and duplicitous? Not all Dutch, maybe only this Dutchman. I’m sure the rest of the citizens of The Netherlands were lovely, honest, forthright people.

  “Exactly.”

  I knew before he said it.

  “She’s my ex-wife.”

  STUNNED, I SAT in silence with my mouth open, looking neither beautiful nor smart.

  “Anita is your wife?”

  “Ex-wife.” He stared at me. “Ex.”

  Who were these super human, beautiful weirdos lying about their names and relations?

  “Just to clarify, she’s never been your sister?”

  He laughed. “No, never. Wife only. Now ex-wife.”

  “How ex?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  He glanced at the road, then back at me. “Four years, almost five.”

  I silently did the math …

  “We divorced when I was thirty.”

  Thirty and divorced? “When did you get married?”

  “Too young.”

  I stared at him. “Fourteen? How young are we talking?”

  “Twenty-two, the summer after I graduated Harvard.”

  “That is young.”

  He faced the road again when a truck moved into our lane.

  “Why didn’t you tell me when we met?”

  He frowned and looked over his shoulder to steer around the truck. “I don’t really know. Anita set it up by saying she was my sister, and because I figured we’d never see each other again, why contradict her.”

  “But …”

  “But …” He paused. “I like you …” Another pause. “Enough to stalk you to Ghana.”

  “Stalked me to Ghana, had your way with me for a week, and still didn’t tell me the truth.”

  “Remember when I told you some people think I’m a bastard?” He ran his hand over his neck.

  “I do.”

  “Well, it’s a pretty big club.”

  “Club? Of ex-wives?”

  “No, the Kai is a bastard club. Besides my father and sometimes Anita being members, there are probably others. I haven’t always been the best man.”

  “Or comfortable with the truth.”

  “That too.” He smiled shyly. “But I want to be truthful with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you.” He reached out to touch my leg. I didn’t move away. I had nowhere to move with my back against the door.

  I stared out at the green rolling hills to the right. The occasional tin roof of a home or chop joint broke up the lush foliage. While I observed the scenery, I digested Kai’s revelation. Alongside the shoulder of the road, black plastic bags littered the ground, a reminder of the crap we leave in our wake—sometimes literal, but mostly figurative crap.

  “Why did you call Anita your sister?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Revisiting our conversations, I tried to recall him ever saying his sister and couldn’t.

  “Do you even have a sister?”

  He shook his head.

  “When I texted you saying I met your sister in JFK and calling you Gerhard, did you think I was crazy?”

  He nodded. “A little. Like I said, I immediately texted Anita to find out what was up.”

  “The code?”

  “Right. We agreed you might think that it was weird my ex-wife was setting you up with me.”

  I pinched my thumb and forefinger together. “A little.”

  “We’re not one of those divorced couples who hate each other.”

  “Apparently not. Unless setting you up with me was some sort of attempt at revenge.”

  “Never. Anita is more of a sister to me, now.”

  “You could be related. You’re both overly tall and blond, like giant Dutch Barbie and Ken.”

  He chuckled. “Gee, thanks.” He glanced over at me again. “Are you mad?”

  I took
a deep breath and exhaled. “Honestly? A little. I’m confused more than anything.”

  “A little I can work with.”

  “First the name thing, now this.”

  “We can blame Anita for both.”

  I gave him a side-long look. “I’m sure it’s fine to throw your ex under the bus, but you never set me straight before. Why now?”

  “Ama.”

  “Ama? What does she have to do with all this?”

  “At dinner the other night, when I announced I would be staying, she gave me the scary Ama speech.”

  “After she hugged you?”

  “And slapped my face? Yeah, then.”

  “What did she say?” I chuckled thinking of Ama taking on Kai, all six foot something of him.

  “She told me to do right by you and stop with the games.”

  “She knows about Anita?”

  He nodded.

  “Yet she never told me either.” I frowned. Ama and I needed to have a little chat when we returned to Accra.

  “I asked her not to. When I arrived, you told her my sister Anita introduced us, and when I didn’t correct you, she suspected something.”

  “Why the sneakiness?”

  “You’ve said several times you aren’t the marrying kind, and you don’t have the mothering gene.”

  “And you are.”

  “I was. Divorced, remember? I haven’t rushed to remarry.”

  “I still don’t understand.” I shrugged.

  “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I had no idea what to expect from you, from this trip. I don’t believe our pasts define us. You know me as the man I am now. Why complicate things with my history?”

  “That makes sense. I guess.”

  “I’m sure you have a few secrets and interesting stories in your past.”

  I blinked at him. If he only knew.

  “Now that I’ll be staying for a few months, it changes things.”

  “It does?” I stared at him.

  “For me it does. This isn’t only about sex. I didn’t come to Ghana to get laid. It’s never been about the sex.” He paused. “At least not for me.”