Carol’s Column

Naughty, naked and oh so nice

THE man beside me was naked.

My eyeballs swivelled off their tiny stalks. I couldn't believe it.

I'd gently eased my shining fire-engine-red chariot into Jan Smuts Avenue traffic — driven half a kilometre and ground to a usual early-morning halt.

Tied a doek on my head, taken out the cotton wool and cleansing cream and was just about to give myself a facial massage.

When something made me look to the right. And there, as cool as a cucumber, sat this naked man.

Young, not Robert Redford — but then not Woody Allen either. With black hair and a wicked little moustache with curled ends.

He must have heard my jaw drop because suddenly, he turned and stared.

I blushed to the roots of my newly-dyed ash-brown with ginger-highlighted hair and looked away.

Could it be, that there really was a naked man sitting in the middle of the rush hour traffic?

I glanced surreptitiously to the right again.

There was.

As bold as brass, clad only in his birthday suit, he leered through the slightly misted window of his jazzy little sports model. Then, as the lights changed, he winked and pulled away from me.

I was mesmerised. Angry hooting from a large Continental make of car almost on my rear bumper, galvanised me into immediate action.

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I dropped the cleansing cream, put my car into gear and jumped away. Only to hit the car in front.

Fortunately, the concussion on both cars was minimal and our line of traffic was only delayed for 15 minutes.

There was, it is true, much hooting and abuse from behind. But that is commonplace among Johannesburg drivers, who, unlike their country contemporaries — hoot before they bump.

In fact, it wasn't long before I glimpsed the naked man three cars ahead.

Determined not to stare, I almost sprained my neck twisting it at a peculiar angle trying to keep a watch on the mobile strip show.

A three-wheel vehicle called Goldberg's Kosher Polony obstructed my view.

I calmly cleansed my face and started applying make-up. My hand shook so much that I smudged my eye and had to re-do it twice.

How ridiculous, I thought to myself. Why should the sight of a naked man distress me so?

Especially when one considered that I had four of my very own, so to speak, at home.

I knew it wasn't middle-aged fantasy, it couldn't be, I'd passed that stage three years ago.

No, it had to be the unusual circumstances that had thrown me somewhat.

The two lines of traffic drew parallel again and I found myself next him.

I shivered, imagining I could see goose-pimples on his well-built but slender torso. It's amazing what you can see when you stare.

My grandmother would have been horrified at such recklessness, not to mention my mother who wore three jerseys and wool stockings at the height of summer.

Of course, the sheep-skin seat covers he sat on, must have been a great comfort. But nevertheless, there was a definite chill in the air.

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Past the Zoo Lake, zebras frolicking in the zoo and the Bernberg Museum we drove.

At the top of the hill, I noticed him becoming increasingly active. He'd pulled out his portable shaver and was running it over his strong chin.

Extraordinary. And what was so remarkable, was that I seemed to be the only motorist affected by this out-of-the-ordinary sight.

All around me people were picking their noses, reading the papers or eating egg and bacon sandwiches without a care in the world.

At Empire Road, two Minis became entangled in an unfortunate way.

I joined my fellow four-wheelers and tooted along with the best of them.

There was much noise and chaos, as of course the entire traffic department was out ticketing stationary cars at expired parking meters.

So it was fully 25 minutes before we fell into line and I found myself once again, level with the naked man.

Fascinated I gazed openly this time.

He couldn't keep his eyes off me. I almost had the grace to blush again, but then decided that life's short and that one should experience everything.

He leant across to the passenger side and mouthed something through the window.

I couldn't hear. Quickly I wound down my window.

Now I've seen it all I thought to myself. I mean, imagine being propositioned by a naked man in the early-morning rush hour traffic?

His words wafted across to me: "Hey, did your husband punch you or something?" he roared, then sped away into the distance.

It was then I realised I was still one-eye done, as the expression goes.

In the excitement of the moment, I'd forgotten to shade and mascara the other eye.

Ah well, what could have come of this brief encounter other than a cold?

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