Valentines woe’s Two: The Date part one

Khan has suggested we meet at the Sarit Centre food court in Westlands for our date. I had turned the idea down, suggesting instead we meet at Java, which is on the ground floor of the same venue. I take a long long shower and oil myself properly. If the man is going to pay that much for something, he might as well get value for his money. I wear a red push up bra with another red pant although not a matching pair.

I look at the mirror and remove the bra. The bra hides my always erect nipples. I leave the house dressed in a strapless black flowing dress, that’s tight waist downwards. My nipples stick out like sore thumbs. I smile at the thought of Khan’s face when he sees them. Then I remember he wants the back. Probably an ass guy. It gives me an idea. I wear four inch high heels that make my already big ass look a lot bigger and rounder. I would have preferred the six inch but that often screams whore and when you know you are a whore, you don’t want to give that impression.

I look at myself in the mirror before I leave the house. I am beautiful. I have smooth skin, an oval face and huge round eyes that look innocent. The fake eye lashes accentuate the size. I feel sad and wonder how I got into prostitution in the first place and quickly brush the though aside. Today is not the day for regrets. Its the day for making rent money. I get an Uber and the driver keeps on looking at his rear view mirror and I know its the nipples he is staring at. Am satisfied with how I look. The Uber hits Jogoo road and that’s when Njoro calls. Njoro is one of my regulars. An old man over eighty, who has a pot belly that makes a soccer ball look small. Best part about him is that he suffers from ED. Which means it doesn’t get up. But he is not an idiot. When he wants a date with you, he will use you like most men. Keep you around him like a cow on a tether and touch you anywhere without discretion. You cant blame him. He wants to look like a functioning man before his friends. His idea of a date is often at the Veterinary Club in Kabete, where he buys me lots of beer, pats me on my head and sends me home with two thousand bob. Of course by the time you leave his hand has crept into places that have you feeling disgusted.

Sometimes I think his ED is a way God punishes him for the way he treats women. When I first knew him, we tried the bed thing but it didn’t work because was totally unable to get it up. Once he did but it fizzled away before he could get it where he wanted to. But that doesn’t limit him. Often he will have you go down on him and he has that smell of old men. But he is an old client and his money is always welcome. I pick up his call. “Kairitu,” he starts. “Its the day for Valentines so you come to the usual at nine. And put on a red dress.” he hangs up before I say anything. I am confused since he didn’t give me time to say a word.

So I call Wairimu and tell her. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “You go finish with Khan first and later on go see the old guy. You don’t leave money behind and stop being an idiot.”

That conversation is finished. I arrive at Java confused. A million and one questions run through my mind. Will Khan want to have a meal or are we going straight into a room. Will he use a lubricant? I mean if I don’t see a lubricant I can run off, right? And if its painful, will I scream for help? Will he stop if I ask him to stop. I wish I had suggested we meet in a bar. That way I could have been drunk before we go to the room. In the morning I had contemplated smoking weed but I had stopped that shit a while back. It brought out the beast in me.

He is not at Java. I take a seat and order house coffee. Everyone is either carrying flowers, cake or dressed in red. Trust Nairobi women to go overboard. I am sipping my tea looking at women who are walking with men holding their hands with envy. It is at this state that I notice Khan standing next to me. He is carrying the hugest banquet of flowers I have ever laid eyes on. He smiles at me and half hugs me bending over my seat. “For you,” he says handing me the flowers and I look at him confused. I had thought they would be for his wife. I take them wondering what I was going to do with them. Didn’t this guy understand that I was a prostitute.

He calls the waiter and pays the bill while still standing. I guess he is a man of action.
We leave Java, pass via Uchumi where he buys water, red-bull and several packs of condoms. My heart is racing. I keep thinking a thousand dollars to try and get fear out of my system. We walk into the car park where we find a jaguar waiting for us and the driver immediately starts off when we close the door. Khan tells me nothing. He pulls out his phone and starts speaking Arabic to someone else. The car heads towards the city centre and a few minutes later I see we parking outside Hilton hotel.

Khan steps out still on phone and holds my left hand. I am holding flowers with my right hand. The driver comes behind us carrying the shopping which he gives to a bell boy. We take the lift to the room without a word. At the door, he finishes his cell phone conversation. He tips the bellboy and takes the shopping from him. I enter the room and put the flowers on the table. I turn and he is standing at the closed door with a smile on his face.

“Take your clothes off,” he says. “What?” I ask wondering if this was it. We were not going to have foreplay or anything else. The man is a beast. He just wants to take me without even showing any signs of affection. Usually clients often want to kiss and things like that and I often refuse to show affection knowing it is a job. Now that the roles are reversed am confused. “Take them off.” he points at the clothes. I remove the dress slowly, he stands watching. He then points at my pants and I take those off too. I look at him and he smiles wider. “Shoes out too.”

I remove the shoes and walk towards the bed. “No bed. Open wardrobe, wear new clothes we go.”
(Will our girl get her rent money or what game is Khan playing? Wait for the next story on this series on Monday)


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