Capetonification

I met Stacy at an up-and-coming Eatery in the Summer of 2009.
By up-and-coming I mean sleazy and by Eatery I mean bar.
I forget the details, but it was in Woodstock. The hour was late (or early if you counted from 00:00) and I was several pints of beer into a drunken stupor.
When I felt like going on a binge I'd hit Woodstock. For a boy from Parow, it was like a home away from home. I was anonymous. I got into less fights, and on occasion scored a piece of pussy.
This night was turning out to be no different. She was sitting at the end of bar, sucking back on a cigarette. I remember watching those painted lips. Those large, moist perfectly shaped tubes, and I imagined them wrapped around my cock. She wasn't a beauty, but she looked good in that denim miniskirt. She had a good body.
I called the barkeep over and told him to send her a cosmo, courtesy of moi. He nodded dumbly and proceeded to mix the drink. He did it with no flair. Guess there was no one left to impress. There was still a good number of people around, but they were playing pool mostly. Me and this girl were the only ones at the bar.
The barkeep completed the mix and took it to the lady. I heard him whisper to her that I had sent the drink over. I looked up again and saw her stairing at me. The look was blank. No emotion. No gratitude.
I shrugged my shoulders and returned to my own drink.
"Ek het a boyfriend."
I looked up and now the girl was next to me, cigarette and cosmo in hand. She didn't look Afrikaans.
I raised my glass and replied in English. "Good for you, but it's only a drink, not a marriage proposal."
She smirked. "My name's Stacey."

And that was all it took. We started our fling while Stacey was still with the other guy, Werner. She left her number with me, and a day later I was over at her place and we fucked. In her bedroom. Her grandparents (who she stayed with) were watching T.V in the lounge, while I gave it to her.
And I didn't hold back. It was rough, hot sex. Not like a porno, but more like two animals fucking relentlessly, in the full knowledge that the survival of their species depended on it. And on that first night, we survived the shit out of it.
The bitch was game though. We did it four times.
A week later, she had broken up with the other guy and moved into my place. I still lived with my mom and little brother in a three bedroom flat in that shit hole of shit holes: Parow Park.
It was a haven for the down-trodden, the poor, the crazy, the old, the discarded. And those were the quality folk. It was low-cost housing, and as is the way with these places, it breeds scum. Cheap means low standards. So you found alcoholics, drug dealers, gangsters, ex-convicts, whores, and all of society's other less-respectable ilk living amongst us too.
Stacey didn't seem to care or notice.
My mom seemed to like her, and my brother was indifferent.
In the first few weeks we just stayed in my room. I was doing to her all those things I had seen during my formative years in all those pornos I had gotten from my friends.
Doggy style, Cow-girl, 69, against the wall, standing up, ankles-behind the ears, in the shower, on the bathroom mat, in the changing room of a Mr. Price, in the car. I came in every orifice she had. And she liked it.
She loved giving blow-jobs. Anytime of day: before I slept, after work, when I woke up.
She was my first steady girlfriend, my first taste of guaranteed tail. I was hooked.
In my world, the clam was king.
After three weeks she confessed that she loved me. More than anyone she had ever loved before.
"I want to marry you." She told me.
It was a weird position to be in. I panicked. "I love you too. I want to marry you too."
Those words seemed like a good reply at the time.

Outside the bedroom was where the problems started.
Our first fight was spectacular. When she went into bitch-mode I thought she was going to kill me.
It was so stupid. We had gone out one night to a house party at my friend Ryan. Things were going well. We were drinking and having a good time, and I had been speaking to another girl during some of the night. She was an old school friend I had had a crush on way back when. We flirted and made small talk. Stacey didn't seem to notice.
Until we got home.
We walked into my room and she closed the door behind us.
And then she exploded. Shouting, gesticulating, swearing, spitting. She threw a punch at me, landing against my ear. It hurt. I became angry and started screaming back. It woke my mom up and she came to calm things down.
That night I slept in the lounge, on the couch.
The next day I apologised. The make-up sex was awesome.
"I don't want to go to Ryan's house parties anymore." She said afterwards.
"But it was your first time there!" I pointed out.
"And the last."
"OK."
And that's how I lost my friends one by one. When Ryan called me, asking to meet or go out and I would make up some lame excuse. Kris, Carl, Evan. I did the same to them. Eventually they just stopped phoning.
It was just me and Stacey. But it was OK. I was eating pussy like a king. She didn't keep it away, as long as I played along.
One day I was sitting at home. Stacey was at work.
My mom cornered me and started talking about how unhappy I looked.
I denied it.
She didn't quit there. "You don't go out anymore! Ryan hasn't been over in months! This is not a healthy relationship!"
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS!" I screamed.
Suddenly the anger was there. "You're divorced! You fucked around! Stabbed him in the back! It was the shittiest thing you could have ever done to us!"
"I was unhappy!" She countered. "Because he was jealous and controlling, and moody and I didn't love him anymore! Stacey is just like him! She is doing to you what he did to me!"
I shook my head. "I'm going to marry her some day. So accept it now."
Yeah. I couldn't believe I had said it either.
I saw the tears well up in her eyes and I left.
I never told Stacey about that conversation. But it was always like that. I defended her behind her back against everybody.
My brother thought she was a cunt. They fought all the time. About everything.
I eventually approached him about it, demanding to know what his problem with her was.
"We don't ever talk anymore." He told me. "She just keeps you in that room, with her, all the time."
"It's not like that." I said softly. "You and I see eachother all the time! We live together, man."
J shook his head. "When are you going to open your eyes?"
And I left it there.
Fuck him, I thought. He's just jealous because I've got a girl.

One day (a rare occasion back then) I visited my Uncle Rebel. The guy was my biggest hero, the greatest influence in my life. To all intents and purposes, he was the dad I never had. I had grown up with him, spent weekends and holidays living with him. We used to love playing video games or drawing, or playing sports. The years went by and I grew up, but I still saw a lot of him. But after Stacey, my visits became less frequent. Stacey felt that Rebel didn't like her, and therfore she didn't like going to his place.
That day I broached the Stacey subject with him.
"I don't like her, Tony. She's turning you into a different person. She's not right for you. She's cutting you off from your friends, and your family."
"But it's my choice!" I told him. Tears were welling in my eyes. I had never even had an argument with this guy before. I respected him so much.
It was difficult just getting the words out. "Please accept my decision. Please be nicer to her!" I begged.
"No." he said softly. "She's not right for you. You deserve better."
I left his place dejected.
On the drive home I thought about his words. It was true. I had no friends anymore. I fought with everyone to keep her safe, to keep her happy.
But it was worth it, right?
That's what love meant. You stick up for the one you love, even against the whole world!
Time went by, and a little bit of dust settled.
I didn't see Rebel anymore, and my brother went to go and live with my father.
It was just me, Stacey and my mother.
My mother put up with her for my sake.

I felt like I was losing all the people in my life. My cousins, who I had been close to since child hood, who also lived in Parow Park, no longer visted anymore. The only family I saw these days was Stacey's grand parents. We went there every Sunday for Lunch. They were nice folks, and I got on with them swimmingly. When I was there, I forgot about my own family problems and things almost seemed normal.
At home, in Parow Park, fights between me and Stacey were becoming more frequent. I wound up staying longer and later at work, drinking with my boss, Frank. He was a good guy, and the time allowed me some escape.
At night, when I got home she would moan about it. Everytime. Until one night I had enough. I let her have it.
"FUCK YOU! YOU DON'T FUCKING OWN ME. NO ONE OWNS ME! I DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I LIKE!"
My mother ran into the room. "Why are you fighting with her!"
I was fuming. "She's fucking mad! She is always trying to tell me what to do!"
My mother sided with her. "You're drunk! Whenever you stay after work with Frank, you get drunk!"
"It's my choice. And what's wrong with having a couple of beers with your boss? I don't need this shit from you or her!"
"Hy is net gelukig as ek met my bene oop le!"
He is just happy when I spread my legs for him
The words filtered through.
I stopped arguing and went to my room.
After an hour Stacey joined me.
"I'm sorry." She said.
"I'm sorry too."
We had make-up sex. It was good.
But the truth was out.
I was only happy when I was fucking her. Nothing else about her made me happy. In actual fact she made me very UN-happy.
It was a week later. I made my decision. It was hard. Fucking hard. It was tearing me up inside.

I arrived home from work.
Stacey was in the kitchen with my Mom, preparing supper. They were chatting away happily.
I packed a sports bag with three day's worth of clothing and called to Stacey. She came to the room.
"What's going on?" She asked when she saw me on the bed, the bag at my feet.
"Sit down. We need to talk."
A look of concern came over her face, and she obeyed, sitting on the other end of the bed.
"It's over." I told her. "I'm breaking up with you."
Tears instantly started spilling to her cheeks.
"Why?" She said, starting to shiver, lip quivering.
"I've met someone else." I lied. Betrayal was my way out. She wouldn't understand all the other bullshit. And I didn't feel like explaining.
"You have two days to move all your stuff out." She leapt at me grabbing my hair, teeth bared, slapping at me. I grabbed her hands firmly swung and pushed her back onto the bed. "Psycho fucking bitch!"
My mother came in, hearing all the commotion.
"What's going on here!" She demanded.
"He's leaving me!" Stacey screamed.
"What?"
"It's true. Let me know when she's gone."
And then I left.

Two days later I arrived back home, and dropped my bag onto the bed. All her shit was gone.
I had my life back. It was going to be OK.