For some weeks now we’ve brought you the episodes of Sex In The Mother City, detailing the life of intrepid sex pioneer, Kira, and her exciting exploits around the Mother City. Sex In The Mother City is based on true happenings in the Mother City (names have been changed).– Follow the link for episode 7.

Constantia Capers

Quieten your beating heart. Still its rushed thud. And with each slowing breath, focus your mind’s eye to imagine the kind of opulent splendour that characterizes the empires of ages past. Giant colonnades framing an entrance to soaring ceilings and majestic winding staircases. A stately driveway snaking through expansive lawns sprinkled with rose bushes, flashes of blue and orange strelitzeas, vines twisting in rows. Fountains spouting tumbling water; and cottages for staff, relatives, guests, and pool parties dotted about infinite acres of groomed ground.

And then, suddenly, in the midst of it all, a Borat mankini.

Bright green. Barely covering an elderly man goose-stepping across the grand hall to music from an ipod and speakers. Weaving in between dancing dinner guests, he parades his luminous bulge and gawky white legs. Suburban parties, thought Kira, the same blend of ingredients, but a completely different set of characters. Alcohol, drugs, sex, huge sunglasses and egos, yes; but gone were the tans, the flashes of cash, the impossible heels, imitation plastic.

Kira had been invited to dinner by Catherine. The splendid home belonged to a friend of Charles called David. Kira had been seated to the left of a man who owed a number of chateaus in Belgium and France. Across the table from her was an ex-mercenary – British, and consuming alcohol at an alarming rate.

“I piled those corpses up. We were trained to kill. Stealth; gun, knife, rope, hammer – whatever we could get our effing ‘ands on. Would throttle a bloke with me ‘ands if I needed to.”

“Fascinating. Quite fascinating. What would you do with the bodies?” The man to Kira’s left.

“Leave ‘em. Leave ‘em there to fucking rot; or be eaten. Oi, more whiskey down ‘ere.”

“I have a wonderful collection of body parts in one of my French chateaus.” The man to Kira’s left whispered conspiratorially to her. “Jars and jars of them from all cultures, races, ages…”

“You’re kidding?!” Kira looked at his face for a teasing smile. “Bottles and bottles of human body parts? In a room? In your house?”

“Oui, mademoiselle. Many parts. I collect them.” He smiled at her, but there was no tease. “I also have an extra special collection. My favourite body part for collection. I would like to show you this collection when you are next in France.” He took a sip of his pinotage. “It is a collection of penises.”

“Male penises? Actual human knobs?”

Mister British mercenary, who had finally secured more whiskey, unfortunately picked up on the word knobs in the conversation.

“Knob! I’ll show you knob!” Standing up he unzipped his trousers, pulled out his member and preceded to urinate in his dessert bowl. Kira could not bear to look, but nobody else seemed too perturbed by this genital display and urination at the table.

“For goodness sake! Sit down, and put your pecker away. We don’t need to see it.” The woman seated next to Mister Mercenary reprimanded him. “I said sit down and put that away!”

Somebody was smoking a joint. Kira could taste the distinct aroma in the air. She was feeling drunk, and dying for the loo. The nearest toilet was occupied so she ascended the winding staircase towards the bedrooms.

The hum of two male voices. Kira paused to hear if she could recognize either of them. She was wary of exposing herself to another unwanted penile display.

“Unusual pattern. Where’d you get them?” Charles’s voice.

“Can’t remember exactly. Susanna’s I think. ”

“My wife has sheets just like these.”

“Does she?”

“Ja. We cut a little square from one corner at the bottom to try to get matching curtains.”

“How about that.”

“You have a little square missing from your corner too. Are these my wife’s sheets, David?”

“”She may have given them to me. Yes.”

“Well, I guess the next question is kind of obvious.”

“What’s that?”

“What my wife’s sheets are doing here in your house. On your fucking bed.”

“I needed them.”

“You needed them?”

“That’s right.”

“Here’s another obvious question. How would my wife know you needed new sheets, David?”

“I told her.”

“You told her.”

“Ja.”

“How the fuck did you get around to discussing the state of your sheets with my wife?”

“We were talking about the trouble I was having sourcing all the stuff Susanna took with her when she left.”

“Uh-huh. I see. Sure.”

“So she offered to give me a set of your sheets.”

“So what did she do, put them on your bed herself?”

“No, I did that.”

“She just watched.”

“No.”

“For sure. She just watched, and maybe her clothes weren’t on, right?”

“She wasn’t here.”

“She wasn’t.”

“No.”

“Not that time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I suspect Catherine is having an affair. And I now think she may be having an affair with you.”

“I thought you were mad because I borrowed your fucking sheets. Now you’re asking me if I ever slept with your wife. You’re wandering around in here, a scotch I poured you in your hand, and never mind we’re friends, all you want to know is if I ever slept with your fucking wife.”

“Don’t call her that.”

“I’ll call her anything I want to call her. What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it? Is that what you’re asking me? Are you asking me what I’m going to do about it?”

Kira heard a thump, a crash and then a further crash. Suddenly Charles and David flew out of the bedroom door wrestling one another against the landing’s banister. Someone shouted from downstairs and a small crowd formed at the bottom of the staircase.

Kira thought that this was probably an ideal time to exit. Feeling too drunk to drive home, she texted Julian, despite the fact that her feelings towards the human male member were rather distempered after the evening’s events.

Leaving via the stately driveway, Julian stopped the car and led Kira across the lawn.

And true to form, with the bird-like strelitzeas as audience, Julian aptly recalibrated her attitude towards the phallus.