The air at the African Regent Hotel is distinctive. Perhaps it was the combination of exotic colognes – of Jimmy Choo and Burberry – carried on the bodies of Accra’s elite and transient residents that gives it that quality. All Kwafo Danso knew was that he loved being there and loved that he was the main attraction that evening. Gigs had been few and far between, but his legacy in this city gave him weight…enough to carry on the façade of wealth and importance until the next pay check. Someone squealed behind him. It was a sound that was all too familiar.
“Oh my God! You’re Kwafo Danso…the DJ! I’m such a fan of yours!”
Kwafo smiled. She was a pretty, perky thing. The girl standing next to her wasn’t hard on the eyes either.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said with a winning smile. “It’s always great to connect with my fan base. You’re so tall. How old are you?”
She smiled shyly and replied that she was nineteen.
“About my own daughter’s age,” he mused.
“Do you mind if we take a picture together?” she asked hopefully.
It would be his pleasure. He motioned for a member of staff to come over and perform the task.
“Big smiles, everyone!”
“Hey listen, I have a few minutes before I have to get on stage. I’m MC’ing tonight, you know. Would you ladies like to come up for some drinks before I entertain the crowd?”
The tall girl and her short cousin giggled in delight. Their eyes were wide and full of stars. He could see she trusted him implicitly. How he savored that look. So young…so innocent…so tender…
Their breathless “Yes!” was all the permission Kwafo needed.
He whistled for his sidekick to join them, winking and saying “We’re going to the suite for drinks.”
Kofi understood immediately and grinned as he led the way to the elevator. He sized up the shorter girl. Not bad. Not bad at all.
The suite was immaculate, as well it should be. He was Kwafo Danso, and only accepted the finest. The tall girl and her cousin yammered on about whatever things university girls talk about while Kofi poured some juice. Kwafo opened up the bathroom door and feigned distress. He locked eyes with the tall girl.
“Afi? You did say your name was Afi, right? Could you help me with my makeup in the restroom? I hate to have shine on my face while I’m on stage.”
“Of course!” Afi replied. She was so eager to please. This was good. Very good.
Once she brushed past him, Kwafo shut the door firmly and kept his gaze fixed on hers.
Afi grew timid and skittish “Where’s that make up?”
“You know we’re not in here to do make up.”
The eyes that were once full of stars were now clouded in fear…confusion. She looked like a frightened woodland creature. Kwafo felt the bulge in his pants grow into a full on erection. Her fear excited him. He took two steps forward and grabbed her by the wrist, slathering her exposed skin with the wetness of his salivation.
“Please let me go,” she said quietly. Her voice was trembling.
“No, not until I get what I want. You know you want this too.”
She paused before asking “Do you have a condom? We really shouldn’t do this without a condom…”
She was trying to smart, eh? The tall girl was backing away, trying to move his hands away from her body. Kwafo was having none of it. He shushed her, telling her she had thought of everything; she needn’t worry.
As he spoke, he bent her at the waist and yanked her panties off of her. She seemed to go limp, as though all the life had been drained from her. He heard her heart racing in her chest. When he prepared to penetrate her, she screamed and begged him to stop.
“Please, Mr. Danso. Please stop! I’m a virgin…”
It was true. Kwafo felt the resistance between her lengthy thighs. The idea that he’d been where no man had been before only fueled his fiendish desire. Kwafo Danso plowed into her core until she gave up begging and began bleeding. With every thrust, he robbed her a little more of her innocence, her tenderness, her life as a child. He had made her a woman. He had brought so many girls into womanhood. The thought of the dozens of others before this tall girl thrilled him to the point of no return. He exploded in her and pulled out after he had gone limp. He looked in the mirror and saw her reflection. Her ebony skin looked ashen, her face frozen in shock. Then he saw the blood.
This was his least favorite part. It was so…dirty.
“Take some of this toilet roll and wipe yourself up. Make sure you flush it all the way down.”
The tall girl complied, dabbing her delicate broken flesh with a wad of two-ply.
“Now take one of these,” Kwafo demanded.
“What is it?”
“It’s Postinor-2. I always keep them in case of emergencies like these.” He winked and laughed, straightening his tie in the mirror. “Shall we go out now and join your cousin?”
The tall girl nodded. Her eyes had lost all of their light, but Kwafo knew she would be okay. She was Ghanaian. She was strong. This was her culture. She even sat next to him at the event when his duties were done. See? She wanted to be with him too! Ghanaian women are so good. God bless Ghanaian women.