Now Brad was often short of male partners for his students and offered me a night in his daughters wendyhouse as reward if I stayed on for two sessions. Anyhow once we were done we went over to his house and met his beautiful wife for the first time. I’m ashamed, I can’t remember her name.
Prior to coming back to South Africa the two of them had spent a couple of years in Spain. He had earned his keep as a trapeze artist in a Spanish circus and she a flamenco dancer. He wore his blonde hair long and had the body of an olympic gymnast.
Upon learning that his wife danced so exotically I wished to see her moves. She sweetly obliged beginning awkwardly in her bare feet to a vinyl tune that Brad had spun up on the record player (remember those?) She soon dashed off frustrated and returned in full blown outfit complete with shoes and castanets, jumped up on the coffee table and blew my mind with a private show. I asked to be taught some of the gyrations and she explained that it wasn’t that easy as it was danced mostly on emotion with a lot of spontaneity.
Brad was still pumped and suggested we go out, on condition we only drank beer, somehow convinced that this would keep the hangover at bay. By this time it was beyond the witching hour, she declined and promised to lock us out with us promising to be quiet on our return.
We set off in his Merc and went to almost everywhere that was still open in town. Sometimes having to leave surreptitiously, with him being such a babe-magnet there was the ever present danger of the odd angry boyfriend or two.
When we finally returned to his place, crept past the pool, built on a steep slope, excavated on one side with the spoil forming the other side. The pool was an unusual shape designed to get in a good length, long and geometric with two opposing triangles before each end.
Now this wendyhouse was no normal wendyhouse commissioned for his dear daughter – From the pool you crossed a causeway in the sky and on to a room the size of a single garage in the trees with thatched roof. Two single beds, windows with fairy tale curtains and the odd candle. Scattered about were the odd child’s toy left lying about from a day’s play. After struggling to light a few candles in his partial stupor, an idea popped into his head “Do you fancy a beer” says he. “Ok” says I, equally wobbly. “No problem” says he “Wait here”. He negotiates the bridge and smashes into the glass sliding door, forgetting that we’d been locked out and the door was shut. He took the thing completely off the rails, lifted it out the way and stumbled inside on his quest.
He’d blown it. Lights flashed on, angry words exchanged, nevertheless he soon returned meekly clutching a six pack of castle. On discovering we hadn’t the means to open them, he decided to risk returning for an opener. Whilst there he must have figured that some music was also in order. He dragged two massive speakers outside and angled them in the direction of the wendyhouse, replaced the door in the misguided belief we’d go unheard. Hit the remote control from outside and launched 100 watts of tunes down the valley. We cracked the frosties with the opener he’d retrieved from his pocket, chinked the bottles together and proudly raised the sweet nectar to our necks.
She exploded from the lounge dragging a howling child. Miraculously he managed to calm them both down and we all finished the night in the wendyhouse.
Mangled Neuron 