Border Run
by Brian O’Connell
Author’s note: this is meant to be fun
“Dallas wants to see you,” the African waiter said, pointing out a white brunette woman who was sitting at a table with some other white female friends, about ten meters away.
“Who’s Dallas?” I asked the waiter while handing him two ten-pula notes for the beer he put on the table in front of me, already dripping with condensation from the humid night air.
“Dallas as in Debbie Does,” the waiter replied, looking at me like I was an ignorant child. “Man, that was Jim Clark’s seminal work. Released in ’78, I think, and starred Bambi Woods. She sure could take some cock. Great film, Debbie did the entire football team, hence the moniker Dallas, your new friend, has adopted as her own. She’s married, but that shouldn’t bother you. She sent her husband to that German woman doctor and got him sorted. He’s as gentle as a lamb now.”
I had been in Botswana for six months and despite the friendliness of the people, I was trying hard to find out what was redeeming about it. My sex life solely involved myself. The bar I was in, The Bull & Bush, was supposed to be one of those legendary expat hangouts that one can brag about going to ten years or so hence, when one’s forgotten what life in a city of 300,000 Africans and a few hundred whites was really like. I had another year and a half to go so, in lieu of anything better to do, I made my way over to Dallas and sat down by her side.
“I’m flattered,” I said by way of greeting. “You’re the first white woman I’ve spoken to since I’ve been here. I wished I had something witty or interesting to say, but Bots seems to have taken that out of me.”
The table had gone quiet as all the women fixed their stares on me. Dallas seemed to be a well-preserved woman in her mid-forties, slim and petite, while the other women seemed rough looking and each could have lost ten kilos and still not be slim. I was struck by her makeup which seemed to be a fashion statement from the same decade the film whose name she had adopted had been released. She was heavy into blue eye shadow and her hair was done in a permanent that also harkened to a few decades prior in terms of style.
“You’re younger up close than you looked in the distance,” Dallas replied. “But I need a new lover and it looks like you’re my best choice, so go up to the bar and settle the bill and let’s leave.”
As I rose from the seat, she caught the back of my belt and pulled me towards her to whisper in my ear. “Do you have a big cock?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied in a normal tone.
“That’s good,” she replied loudly in a wide South African accent. “Because I’ve got a big sloppy pussy.”
The group of women howled in laughter as I extricated myself and made my way to the bar to pay the bill, which was not insubstantial by local terms but in the real world would’ve been about enough to cover the cost of a couple of cappuccinos with a tip in a small town American coffee shop.
I walked out of the bar to find Dallas standing aside a large pickup truck. She motioned me to get into the passenger seat. The road was unpaved and strewn with large rocks. She drove slowly until she hit paved roads and speeded up.
“Where are we going?” I asked, as the oddness of the situation began to hit home, making me feel a little off kilter. I was all for getting laid but the news about the big sloppy pussy threw me.
“We’re going to your villa at Motheo Apartments,” Dallas replied. “I’ll have my husband bring my things over tomorrow.”
I was taken aback by the fact that she knew where I lived and that she obviously intended on moving into my villa the next day, without so much as an invitation. I just decided to ride with it, because I had already lived the alternative life for six months and it was pretty dismal and, anyway, the time I spent in Bots was just a short interlude in my life and would be soon forgotten.
As we went through the security gate, Dallas didn’t hesitate as she drove right up to the front of my villa. She got out of the car, extricated some keys from her purse and unlocked my door and made her way right to my kitchen and got two beers out of the refrigerator, handing me one before she lit a cigarette.
“Let’s be clear about one thing, right off the bat,” she said, staring me in the eyes. “If you so much look at another women in Gabs I’m going to take you right off to Hilda and get you fixed just like I did with my husband. For the time you are here, you are mine only. Do you understand?”
“OK, I understand perfectly,” I replied. “But who the fuck is Hilda?”
“Hilda’s the fixer,” Dallas explained, looking at me as if I were as ignorant as a potted plant. “German. Very efficient and loves her work. When men reach a certain age, she fixes them so they can concentrate on more important things. It’s also a good treatment for young boys who keep getting in trouble. Straightens them right out.”
“Are you saying that she, uh,” I stopped when my brain froze, suddenly realizing that there are certain points in time, in some very out of the way places, where absurdity can collide with reality.
“Yep, deballs them,” Dallas said with a thin smile. “Only the white ones, the witch doctors handle the Africans. It’s for the best. And for the women whose husbands have undergone the treatment, things like jealousy don’t get in the way of our extramarital fun.”
“By the way, do you like eating pussy?” Dallas asked, changing the subject abruptly as if Hilda’s handiwork was of only minor passing interest. “Much as I like fucking a big cock, I sure like my pussy eaten for a long time beforehand.”
“Sure, I do,” I replied. “Look, if I am not allowed a sideways glance at other women while we’re together, you’ve got to let me update your look a bit. You look fine, if I were taking you to the drive-in theater in Peoria, Illinois in 1970. But it doesn’t work now. I worked in a hair salon during university and I can make you look younger and more beautiful than you can imagine.”
“You worked in a hair salon and you’re not a cocksucker?” she asked in wonder. “I’ve never been to a hair salon that wasn’t chock full of cocksuckers.”
“That’s another thing,” I added. “We’ve got a few things to update and one of them is your language. If you said that stuff in the real world they’d put you in a mental hospital.”
“Well, looks like I’ve found a Houdini,” Dallas exclaimed. “We can do that in the morning but tonight is all about fucking and eating my pussy.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I replied. “OK, lets go upstairs and get to it.”
I’ve actually had bigger and sloppier pussies in my life before than Dallas’s but what struck me most about it was its distinct aroma, not unpleasant at all, like the smell of a ripe Limburger cheese. She was easy to make cum, which she did numerous times before I put my cock inside her. Then it was like riding a rather dangerous roller coaster. She moved around the bed as if possessed. I fucked her a couple of times in the morning as well, when we woke up and tasted her pussy again.
A funny thing happened after that when I was taking a shower. I seemed to be incapable of getting the smell of her pussy off me, despite soaping myself twice and washing my hair a number of times. The smell seemed to have infused inside me. After I dried off, I made a list of things for Dallas’s husband to pick up on the way over to my villa. She texted him the contents of the list.
“Do you want breakfast?” I asked Dallas when she finished showering and came down the stairs, wearing the same tight jeans she wore the night before. “I can make something.”
“Robette will do that when he comes,” Dallas replied. “I told him to bring wine and beer too, so we don’t have to go out.”
“Robette?” I inquired. “What sort of name is that?”
“Oh, it used to be Robert, but Hilda changes the names to reflect their new status,” Dallas, said with a laugh. “Anybody with an ‘ette’ at the end of their name has been fixed by Hilda. So, if you were fixed, you’d be Brianette and women would know not to bother with you.”
“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I’ve got about twenty years to go before then and I’ll be long gone.”
Robette knocked on the door then, which Dallas opened. I remembered then that she seemed to have a copy of my house key last night, because she unlocked the door before me. A made a mental note to ask her about that later.
While Robette unpacked Dallas’s things and hung them up in the upstairs closets, I began working on her hair, which I straightened and added highlights to. I trimmed it by a few millimeters and gave it a shape. While the dye set on the highlights I gave her a quick manicure, removing the bright red nail polish she wore and putting on a pail pink shade. When the dye had set, I quickly washed it and blew dry her hair and then applied very subtle makeup to her face with pale pink lipstick. All the while, while I did my transformative work on Dallas, I couldn’t stop smelling my body scent which was eau de Dallas.
When I was finished, I took her to the mirror. She was momentarily stunned and then she broke into a big smile. “My god, I look like one of those Joburg TV news girls,” she exclaimed. “I never thought I could look like that.”
She did, indeed, look quite beautiful and significantly younger as well. I was rather proud of myself. Now I had to try to refine her a bit, clean up her language and teach her that gay men wouldn’t like to be referred to as cocksuckers. It took a few months, but she slowly became refined and took up reading instead of watching bad American television on DSTV endlessly. My affection for her began to blossom into something like love and we began to talk about leaving together at the end of my contract.
During this time I was doing about a dozen women’s hair and makeup regularly, including the dreaded Hilda, who actually turned out to be much nicer than I imagined, despite the collection of thirty or so specimen jars she proudly displayed on her mantle. I was careful to be as asexual as possible around other women besides Dallas, never forgetting the threats she made to me on our first night together.
The scent I wore now became so distinctive people recognized it when they smelled it. I would often be asked, when I was in a shop or, even at an outside restaurant, how Dallas was just based on the signature smell I gave off. One white business owner took me aside one day and told me it would take about three or four months after fucking her for the scent to wear off.
About a month or so before the end of my contract I proposed marriage to Dallas, which she accepted. We decided to be married in my European home base of Brussels and we collected all the paperwork needed for that legal process and bribed a judge to get an instant divorce for Dallas and Robette. It was a week before we were to leave that Dallas turned to me in bed and gave me the shock of my life.
“I think Hilda won’t let us go,” she said. “You have changed all the white women in Bots for the better and, when you leave, nobody will be able to replace you. I think she wants to get you fixed and force you to stay.”
“You’re the only man who has really filled my big sloppy pussy,” she said with a tear trickling down her cheek. “I don’t know what to do, but I want to leave here and get married to you.”
“For the last time, will you stop calling it your big sloppy pussy?” I asked in an exasperated tone. “We’re leaving now, get your passport, your purse and the legal papers. Leave everything else.”
Within five minutes we were heading to the South African border which was only 30 kilometers away.
