Death is the junction of crossroads of reality of oblivion for every living soul. Renesh was mourned nationally, her secret rendezvous nicely covered by a streak of luck or by her parents high social status, yet our mourning continued. Bemi’s was filled to the brim, sex workers, both males and females sympathized with our fallen mate who was now above pain in a mythical space. It was tears, wailing, painful laughter which called for alcoholic beverages. I could see the fear written on people’s faces.
I can’t tell how the funeral turned into an alcohol festival but before we knew it, all the gigolos were taken, even the homosexuals were screaming for help, but it was a place typical of survival of the fittest. I reckoned at least many knew we were the safest for ourselves for just that day. HIV/AIDS and other infections held no dagger which killed instantly, no one in that building had thoughts or power to judge each other, we were like same grains in a common bowl, and we were ourselves; this time having sex with no thoughts of money or kindness. I know many will think it disgusting but what better way to mourn the death of a prostitute than sex? If spirits really lived forty days after their death, they certainly would want to see some action before they finally leave, especially if they died at post. I couldn’t come to terms with making the first approach, Mimi came to me. Slowly massaging my scalp at first, then kissing, hugging, crying, fingering and falling in tune with the diverse moans and painful pleasure in the air. Of course, some might have had ulterior motives in coming, but human nature couldn’t have been criticised at that moment. It was a mourning festival of sex that transcended gender, ethnicity, political lines, religious beliefs, individual differences, talk less of death. We lived in the now.
I missed Ntwanu, Guru, Massai and their entire group. On that day, I needed the warmth of a strong partner, the assurance of a strong protector, the thrusts of a manly man, but all I got were memories of what was. I felt alone even in the midst of many but it was all about Renesh, not my fears, not my loneliness, not my past, nothing of me but everything about who I might turn out to be. Every escort group presented Bemi’s with money, or drinks or snacks. I saw the family unit come together and I knew at least, I would get a befitting burial in case I also fell and my parents refused me burial. Of course the Anobeng family would disown me if they realized how I lived my life in any circumstance.
By 12am, all our guests had left, our girls cleaned up. Mimi, Shai and I left for the house in quietude, each immersed in her own thoughts. Right in front of our gate, a slim, tall man hugged himself in tears. He looked like a 30 year old with some issues. He had bruises all over and was shaking with tears. Mimi asked that we sack him from there as calling the police might put us under scrutiny or implicate us in whatever shady deal he was into, but I was of the opinion that he needed to be tended to as he did not strike me as a bad person. He refused to talk to us so I called our security man to help take him in. I called the doctor who came to dress his wounds and we put him in the boys quarters.
Sleep was of tossing and turning but eventually I boarded its train which headed into a dreamland of chaos. A place where hell’s bondage fucked my crying cunt in a fire which battled and overtook pride in plucking my heart out but kept it there, beating in horror of my reality. I woke to the sound of my phone. The lady before me called that I needed to be at the premises because only ten people remained between myself and my interview. I got up, showered briefly and dressed in my formal wear; red shirt tucked into a black fitted skirt, with red heels and a black bag to match, which had been prepared since I got my number and hearded out.
The interview was brief, it seemed my interviewers were more interested in the way I looked than the way I thought. They asked of my education and I told them I was still awaiting my BECE results. They were pretty satisfied with me and asked that I kept my phone by me all the time as they might give me a call. I left for the house, went to the room of my guest, fed him, cleaned him up and read for him Ola Rotimi’s The Gods Are Not to Blame. All he did was look on. He smiled when the funny part was read but was in a pensive mood.
Mimi had sorted out all our problems and was waiting for the next week to open our phone lines but was scheduling meetings for big clients whose wishes could not wait. Shai went for a quickie that day, came back and called one of her personal clients for a free fuck. Asked why? She told us of the uncanny thing that had happened. Apparently, all she had to do was to be teased by a woman as her husband watched in their matrimonial bed. She pricked her nipples, sucked it a bit, placed kisses randomly on her body, stroked her hair, licked her cunt and when she was ready to be ridden, the lady’s husband climbed the bed only to fuck his wife silly, leaving her hanging. She watched them, a little shocked but immensely disappointed as they handed her her payment and dismissed her. Mimi told us that was not weird at all. She had met someone who would only have sex with her when she was in her menses, (Shai’s “May Allah forbid” blasted the room like a radio gone bonkers), she had also met a man who only wanted urinal straight from the vagina into his mouth, he drank and moaned as though he was in a sex gala, she had met one who only wanted her to shave his nostrils, massage and suck his nose, he paid well and came loudly in the end. I asked that she stopped as I had not reached her height, only to see Shai headed to her room.
I was about to get up when I saw the guest standing in front of my door, I could swear he looked familiar but what was scary was the fact that none of us heard him come in, none of us saw him pass by, and how he got to know my room and stood by the door was also something. Clearly, Mimi’s thoughts were written on her forehead, that he should be sacked immediately as he was dangerous. Still, I felt the need to protect him.
“What is your name? I asked”
By Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia
Photo Credit: Google Pics