Episode 20 : My Fee

Men pay for sex with a prostitute as if paying for a commodity. But my ideal situation would be if they paid for the service the same way one pays for a work of art. Not necessarily a Dali or Wanyu Brush but an obscure artist whose abstract painting pierces the soul of the buyer. If that was the case I would have the same basis as great artists to charge high prices; not for the aesthetics of the art but for the inexplicable effect a work has on the soul. But the ideal is only a fantasy I dream of, as I live through a very different reality.

Pricing of commodities is a function of many factors but the key is the cost of production. Someone argued in one of the comments here that in my kind of work the commodity is naturally occurring and I should not price it. That however is a little simplistic. To start with it ignores the equivalent of the cost of mining; compensation for the psychological leap that is practicing prostitution. Then there are the obvious maintenance and packaging costs; buying clothes, making the hair, gynecologist charges and the likes, not forgetting the cost of transporting the commodity from the factory to the consumer. Perhaps I should state, hoping not to sound like Coca-Cola, I don't sell my body, but happiness.

When I moved from the SJ to the street I set myself the standard fee to charge; Ksh.1,500 per session. Though a somehow arbitrarily amount I calculated it was enough to cover my costs and a fair price for what I was giving in return. However I soon did away with it. It was limiting. There were men who wanted to pay slightly less and I was shutting them out. And the others who wanted to pay more but were caged by my price.

Still naive, I then started charging on the basis of the car a man drove. But as I pointed out earlier the car a man drives is a very poor indicator of what he may pay a girl. Some of those who seem to have bought sleek cars through a formal career or clever business, are a little full of themselves, like they are running the world. They feel they have nothing to prove, and are actually doing me a favor. They pay what is a complimentary amount for the bother. But there are those with the expensive cars who seem to have made money the easy way; perhaps through deals, corruption or some other backdoor manner. These are generous with their cash and pay much more than what I ask for.

Those driving the lower Toyota , Nissan, Volkswagen and second hand BMWs ( The latter are indeed very interesting) are quite unpredictable. Some are on low budgets and cant pay a lot as much as they would like to. Others have this constant fear that they are being persecuted or exploited by the government and everyone else, so they are just tough with their cash. The second hand BMW types seem in doubt of their wealth, or more appropriately whether people recognize them as wealthy. They will pay relatively more and with some flamboyance, just to prove they are loaded.

Nowadays I gauge each customer differently. This is the best strategy. I use some simple indicators to know what to charge. For instance men who ask what my price is immediately I enter their car are not ready to pay much, so I quote a figure a little bit low. Those who talk much will definitely negotiate, so I quote a higher price to create room for negotiations. A customer asking when I would like my payment ; before or after the session is a hint to charge more. Why a man is sleeping with me is an important consideration too. Those who sleep with me for the spirituality will have no problem paying more, as  compared to those in it for the physical satisfaction. At one time I thought men appreciate girls who charge more because things classy come at a premium price, but then I realized many men want a prostitute for who they think she is; a lowly girl without social or moral inhibitions.

The much I have been paid per session is $150 ( plus other benefits), not so long ago by a man who flew all the way from Kampala to come spend the night with me at a $ 200 hotel in Nairobi. An exact opposite of Sylvester. I will mention it in my next post this week.


( Thanks for the best of blog votes. No worries about the competition. Winning just comes with recognition and some validation, values anyone building a brand will appreciate. And now that I seem to have figured the direction my brand will take, I appreciate them much more. Mmm this post could be a hint at the direction. )

Episode 18: Sylvester

Every profession has an eleventh commandment. The one thing not in the rule book but which should be adhered to. The eleventh commandment though is not sacrilegious; it can be broken, but with heavy consequences. In our trade on the streets the eleventh commandment is never to fall in love with a client. When one falls in love with a customer so many things can be compromised, affecting the main reason for being in prostitution; making money. You can not for example steal from a man you love. Not that we are out to steal, no, but sometimes, like when dealing with a mean man, it maybe necessary. You can't also negotiate steadfastly with a man you love. You are most likely to take the lowest offer or, as impossible as it may seem, give yourself up for free; after all that's what people in love do.

People break the eleventh commandment in a moment of foolishness. But for us we might break the commandment not in a moment of folly but simply because we are human beings responding to a biological urge to be loved. When a man picks me from a group of girls, it means he appreciates me. Crudely you may call it lust, but the lust is generated by an appreciation of something I have. But it ends there. Only a rare man will love a prostitute. We are seen like public institutions; open to all, to be (mis) used until we run down. We know this and so we never go out with a man expecting him to love us.

However we may fall in love with a man. After seeing the best, worst and real of so many men, many of us believe we are experts in male psychology. Thus before a girl falls in love, much analysis has taken place in her head. Nevertheless like anyone else we make mistakes.

Sometime ago I met a man called Sylvester. It says a lot if I knew his name, for many men are hesitant to give prostitutes their name, and if they do, they pick a common place name like John or Peter. Anyway Sylvester picked me one night around 11pm. He looked in his early thirties. The first thing he asked when I got inside his Subaru was whether I was feeling cold so that he could heat the car. Then he asked whether I felt hungry. Simple obvious questions but they meant a lot. As we drove towards Westlands, where he lived in an apartment, he volunteered more information about himself. He worked as an engineer with a local mobile phone company, he had broken up with his girlfriend and he eventually planned to relocate from the country. Again obvious things, but how many men volunteer such information to us?

When we got to his house rather than hurry me to the bed with his hands all over me, he let me sit on the couch, brought some whisky, put some music and cracked jokes, about himself, his work and us. And when we made love it was sensual. Him concerned about how I felt.

And so Sylvester picked me several times and treated me the same way. Naturally I became very fond of me, like falling in love. We never negotiated the fee he was to pay me; he paid what he wanted which was always slightly above the market rates. Perhaps even if he had decided not to pay me, I would have been okay. I actually thought he was falling for me too. Occasionally he called me during the day or night just to know how I was doing.

One morning, two months or so after meeting him, we were in his house and he couldn't locate his wallet so as to pay me. He searched for it everywhere, but still couldn't get it. Then he grabbed me abruptly, his face with an expression I had never seen before. “You prostitute! Give me my wallet or I kill you." I was surprised. I didn't have the wallet. He then slapped and insulted me. He searched my small handbag, made me undress; put his fingers inside me but still no wallet. Eventually he kicked me out. I cried. Not because he had hit me or refused to pay, but because I was in love with him. I had thought him different only to discover he was like all the rest.

Episode 17: The Man In The Jalopy

There are those contradictory sayings about first impressions and judging people. For instance there is the saying first impressions are lasting impressions, and don't judge a book by its cover. Perhaps its the realization that there cant be a universal way to judge a person that we have all these sayings. The environment and particular circumstances are key in determining whether to judge a person by the cover or not. How will a prostitute on the streets for example know whether a man is loaded or not?

At the heart of it, it doesn't matter. As long as a man can pay my fee it matters not to me whether he is spending on me what he makes in an hour or a whole month. Sometimes its obvious a man is spending the last of his shilling on me, but well that's his choice. As some other people would say generosity is not a function of how much one has, but the enormity of the heart;or stupidity.

Wordily logic, however, has it that the more one has; the more one is likely to give. From an economic view point, I tend to think everyone spends a similar proportion of their income on leisure; something like 20%. Certainly a fifth of a hundred thousand is more than a fifth of ten thousand. So a girl will wish to go with a man with more money;hoping the man will pay him extra. Of course it doesn't always happen that way.

In the streets the way to judge how loaded a man is by what he drives. I  can't  tell apart many models of cars but I can know an expensive car. Well there are girls who are experts. A seemingly expensive car will drive past and a girl will say " That's Japan not showroom." Japan is cheaper. How they tell is beyond reason. But the car a man drives is not an absolute gauge of his well being. The car may not be his. This is somehow easy to know by the way the car is driven and the confidence of the driver.

High worth individuals, driving the fuel guzzlers, are able to make decision fast. They wont dilly dally picking a girl. Its as if their minds are already set. Such a man will stop a car, and as we crowd it, he moves his eyes from end to end then settles on a girl. A decisiveness which perhaps explains their wealth. Or perhaps they don't want to be seen on the streets talking to prostitutes.

Those in the average cars will take hours to pick the girl. They have some misplaced excitement or perhaps are confused. They will stop a car, let the girls gather around, and like a king, Swazi king,  take their time to make their choice . Some will be lost in laughter as the girls sell themselves. They are problematic men.

Some months ago a rickety old car, which no one could tell what make it was, drove slowly along the street. When it stopped the girls thought it was due to a mechanical problem and no one seemed bothered, until the man removed his hand and waved, beckoning  a girl. I went.The man just opened the door. I got in and we drove to some hotel along Ngong road. To be on the safe side he was the kind of man I had to insist he pays me upfront. He gave me a $50 note for a one hour session and paid for my taxi back to town. I have neither seen the rickety car  again, nor its owner; a man not to be judged by the cover.

Episode 16: Why I Became A Prostitute - An Attempt

Often I am asked by readers of this blog  why I chose to become a prostitute. And quite a number of times I have set out to write my reasons for choosing to engage in this particular kind of  pleasure business. In all the occasions I have stopped after the first few sentences; and this time too I might be in for another futile attempt. The question as to why I am a prostitute arises mainly from the fact that I have admitted to having a relatively good education, which according to many could be put to better use in  the loop; some formal 8 to 5 till 55 employment cycle, rather than in an illegal trade where the advantage of having read many books is hard to pin down. If like a number of my colleagues I had talked of having not more than seven years of education, a high school pregnancy or other such tale of woe and poverty no one would be asking why. However that is not the case.with me.

Many times when writing I am in a soul scratching state; and when writing about why I became a prostitute I find myself  not able to relate to tales of misfortune and a poor background. Its not surprising then, a few sentences later I realize I have no explanation that is  'acceptable' or 'good'. Yet society requires the choice of  prostitution as a way of earning a living to be justified, and not just by anything that comes out of the mouth, but by some very specific reasons. This is unlike in other careers, for instance accounting, where a generality like," This is something I always wanted to do" sounds rich enough to explain professional choice . In prostitution such would hold no water, what with sex work being a 'crazy' high risk and 'dehumanizing' career.

So what led me to prostitution? The easiest thing for me to say is that after college I couldn't get a job and with bills to pay I had no option but to sell my body. But that, to a large extent, is a lie. True, after college I didn't immediately get a job, but so did many of my classmates, yet they did not jump to prostitution instead opting to survive and persevere until they got  'proper' employment.  I also know I didn't look for decent work hard enough. I only made some few applications and didn't wait for all the responses from the employers before I hobnobbed to the SJ where I got hooked, literally. Courtesy of my ego and the reality of the work, I would be hesitant to say I was destined to be a prostitute or worse still admit that I choose prostitution because I was lazy, wanted freedom and having it easy. The same way I woulnt say, as some readers have suggested, I am in it because of a sex addiction; As interesting as it is, sex does not stimulate my mind enough to an extent of getting addicted.

Seeing that, for now, I don't have a simple,clear reason which can qualify as 'acceptable',  and  because for once I want to try conform and satisfy society a little bit, I will assume there is a complex reason somewhere which can explain my participating in the flesh trade. Complexity, in this case, being a virtue . And so I start the search for the complex reason by looking at my Sexuality; from the time I was around eight years and used to sexually harass the boy sitting next to me in class, to the now, when I am harassed by men in hotel rooms.

Episode 15: Things I Carry In My Handbag

The last few days I had been, anonymously, attending a workshop where all the women participants had this urban, suave and sophisticated talk as if they were all living the good times. Something about the way they carried themselves didn't look real or perhaps because I haven't socialized with their kind for long I felt that way.

Anyway on the first day of the workshop in what I took to be an ice breaking exercise the facilitator asked; " What is it you carry in your handbag and can't leave home without?" The women looked like they were trying to out do each other and the answers included credit cards, sunscreens, a photo of my family, organizer, gym card, yoga book, perfume, motivational book and such. When it came to my turn I hesitated a little, then in the spirit of the workshop which was sort of to strategize against men I said " My pepper spray. I dress in what makes me comfortable, but makes some men uncomfortable". I lied. I don't carry pepper spray, but then in the circumstances I couldn't mention the actual things that I always have in my handbag, unless I wanted to be thrown out.

I love medium size clutch bags. When I have to carry clothes to work, then I use a larger bag, which after changing I leave with some watchman or other of the street gatekeepers, but I never put  my clutch bag down.  So here are the must have items in my small bag:

1. Pen Knife 

Its actually a cheap but very sharp blade which I can open with a single flick. Sure its a weapon, and I feel much better when I have it. I have never used the blade but since I never know in whose car I hop into , it does no harm to have  some defense tool stand by. If my instincts send alarm signals, I will  have my bag with me until we embark on the sex, and then it will  be within reach. I can only use the blade in the extreme of circumstances. A man not paying me is not extreme. A man verbally abusing me is not extreme. A man hitting twice me is extreme. Can I kill? I would hesitate before committing murder, but if thats the only option to save my life then I would do it without guilt.


2. Lubricant

As someone correctly pointed out there are many times when a client doesn't arouse me, hence make me wet. It doesn't matter the foreplay. And quite a number of men are hesitant to lick a prostitute down there. So I have the gel to ease the friction. But its not something I will apply in the presence of the client. That is unprofessional ; enough to turn off some men, though it might  stimulate others. If I need to use the lubricant I will , at the opportune time , excuse myself , pop into the toilet and come back 'wet'. But of course once in a while, I will meet a man who I 'feel' and who in turn makes me wet. Also, high risks, like the police station incident I mentioned in one of the episodes, excite me to the extent of making it unnecessary to use the lubricant.  When I used to work at SJ I never used lubricant, instead I just applied saliva. Even though using a lubricant would have been  for my own good, I didn't feel the men downtown were worth investing in KY.


3. Condoms

Yes, I carry a pack of Rough Rider condoms. You see there are men who will want to have unprotected sex on the pretense of having forgotten to buy condoms. But viola I always have a pack ready. Others will have genuinely forgotten to buy some, and will only remember when my clothes are on the floor. At such times the emancipation to go raw is at the highest, but then too bad or too good, I have pack ready. Then of course there are men who buy or get for free, cheap, thick , low quality condoms which feel so uncomfortable inside me. Its always a pleasure to introduce them to the world of premium, ultra thin condoms. This reminds me how at the SJ  some girls  used to insist on their clients  wearing  two of those free government condoms. Double protection at half the pleasure. Huh Pleasure is inversely proportional to Protection.

4.Sedative

The spiking agent, the mchele, that can black a man out giving me the opportunity to unload everything from his pockets or some valuables from his house.  I have it both in powder and gum form. As impossible as it may be there are men who will actually believe  that chewing a gum given by a prostitute will make them last forever.  I don't intend to steal from men, but the drugs add to my feeling of security, knowing if need be, I can knock off a man for hours easily. And then again as Cheupe, she of urinating in the city council van, told me in my first week on the streets "With men you never know when opportunity may strike" and "Whether you steal or not, everybody thinks you are a thief". I have to admit in my two years or so of practice on the street I have spiked only once, the victim being a drunk diplomat. That's another of the stories I am going to write about soon.

5. Book

I always have a light book in my handbag. At the moment I have Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, a small book which I bought for Ksh. 70 on the streets.  I am yet to start reading it. Before that I was carrying Tale of Kasaya by Eva Kasaya, and released by Kwani or some other Kenyan publisher. I picked the book from a client's house with his permission. Its a true, interesting story of adventures of a former house girl until she got 'emancipated'. Its a story I loved, and though I can not exactly relate with it, I know many of my colleagues can. There were times I used to have James Hadley Chase paper backs in the bag, Reading them a second tome after high school. Almost all had a prostitute or some prostitute kind of girl featured in  the story.  My favourite being ' But Just A Short Time To Live". I read on my way to work . Sometimes when bored at home I go to town early, and kill time reading at the Jeevanjee gardens or the seats outside Steers . I read the bigger, involving and more abstract books at home.

6.Lesso and extra pant

If I leave home with my uniform, then I will make sure I have a pant and lesso,  or kikoy tucked somewhere in the clutch bag. What would happen if I am busted by a client's wife or girlfriend when stark naked in action? Whatever would happen, including leaving my clothes behind, I wouldn't leave my handbag. At least then I will have something to cover my nakedness.

The other items are what every girl has; some Vaseline, perfume, lip bum, tissue, wipes and the rest. I also carry a lighter, cigarettes, my ID, 'job' and business cards.

Of A Bucket, A Brand & A Kid

On Valentine's day I wanted to sleep with a married man. I was sure one would pick me on his way home to deliver roses and gifts to his beloved wife. I fantasized  of the moment when  having sex I would imagine the flowers and wine on the backseat were meant for me. That, for me, would have been the perfect welcome back to the street after an absence of about a week. I had been out due to a cold and a bruise I suffered after a silly fight the other weekend. Well, it happened, but the man was one of those who don't believe in the hullabaloo about Valentine so he didn't have any flowers for the wife. He actually thought he was doing me a favor by sleeping with me on Valentine's day, and wanted to enjoy my services free of charge.

Enough of him. Now I wish to say a thing or two about some of the comments on the blog. I know this is not the way to do it, but they have accumulated and I don't spend enough time online to respond to them as they come. A persistent theme in quite a number of  comments has been about my identity and genuineness. There is nothing much to say about that. But truth, by its nature cannot, be contained for long; it always has a way of getting out .

And perhaps other than  inviting someone to enjoy my sex services; there is no foolproof way to prove I am Sue. That's possible. I have actually received countless offers from readers of this blog who wish to buy my services. But one of the ironies of this blog is that I am somehow afraid of sleeping with my readers. Seeing that they know so much  about me, and my personal philosophy, I always imagine it would be an awkward nasty experience. I met one man who contacted me through the blog and we had a rather uncomfortable time.Then again it makes nonsense of my aim to build a brand. What use is a brand if it does not translate to economic gain? The street is becoming more and more competitive each and every day. The reason I had to go back to the streets on Valentine's day, though I was not fully recovered. The more I stayed away, the more I lost touch with men, girls & trends.Hence the  less competitive I became. A brand is supposed to give me an edge, to at least bring in more customers. The customers are coming but I am turning them down. The brand, if any,  as of now is of no value; at least in terms of my core business. Maybe I diversify to something else of which I have no idea at the moment. ( Selling my customers t-shirts reading ; I went to Sue and all I got was this lousy t-shirt, pleasure & no disease). Perhaps when hit hard by competition I will have no option but to pitch myself to those who read this. Well I almost digress but I meant to say there might be no way to prove myself in the present circumstance.  And am I obliged to do so?

I have learned to acknowledge the diversity of human beings. No human being really surprises me anymore. Not even this comment on Episode 1:I can't Feel Your Thing where there was this man I told “That your thing disappears inside me, I can’t feel it at all.”

Anonymous said...

I would have told you to get your overused bucket out of my house with punches and slaps yu whore,at 2.00am,and unleashed watchmen to you who wudda torn your punany apart. January 26, 2011 4:43 PM 

Why would one treat us in such a dismissive manner? It boils down to the view that prostitutes have lost dignity of themselves. So why treat them with dignity? The truth, as impossible as it seems, is we still value ourselves. What we have done is define dignity in our own ways. We view and value sex differently. Sex is deemed to be a sacred special act. But we are seen as cheapening sex, doing away with its sanctity. I'd say almost everybody who has casual sex does it. We might be better of because we actually attach a monetary value to the act.

In the same vein verbal abuse has no effect on us or particularly me. When in practice I am rather sure of myself and ego, so even if someone told me I had a  bucket, I would smile and wave goodbye, shaking my small finger.

And don't be fooled by girls; we dont forget or accept such acts. Personally you may humiliate me, if thats the word, at that particular time of the night, but I will make sure I get back on you; however long it takes ; you will have to pay for it.

Then there was this other interesting chap;

Anonymous on January 27,2011 6:53 AM ,

What business has a whore got to do not pleasuring me yet i wil pay her....Kwanza me,i never pay them..I just pick you,munch you like 15 raos and throw you out,like the tissue you are.I dont even let you shower,i make you go with a stinky punany all the way home...There is one i met at f2,imagine she asked me 4 7k a night..by the way i bought viagra and staffed her 20 raos,then i chapaad her the next morning she left with a swollen face!!!Why charge for a punany that God gave you for free????*puts on an evil smile*


Well let me ignore the obvious untruths like "staffed her 20 raos" and look at "Why charge for a punany that God gave you for free????"  . I charge, because the punany belongs to me. Nature gives us things to help us survive, nature does not charge us, but that does not mean we should not charge. People charge for their good brains and talent which is natural. All-the-way sex is also a talent; just like painting . Not every woman can do it. I have a right to charge

In response to the above comment someone said:

Anonymous January 31, 2011 2:19 PM ..

This is the most shameless man alive. Who in 2011 talks like this???: "Kwanza me,i never pay them" take your broke ass to shags "There is one i met at f2,imagine she asked me 4 7k a night." yeah 7k. It's her biashara if you can't afford it go to Luthuli u shady ass..."Why charge for a punany that God gave you for free?" dude ur buying sex.. oops your stealing sex.. no chick out of the 17 million in Kenya can give u ass?? then your the sorriest asshole alive nkt!! get some manners.


Need I say more?  I would have loved to, but it doesn't stop there. In the same thread the interesting Anonymous continues..

Anonymous said...

 I am the anon @ 9.32am, and in my life i have bedded well over 2000 chicas...Thing is ,all pussies are the same, there is no sweeter one.I usually decieve campus gals with my flossy lifestyle, then when they follow me i chapa them like 15 raos(whole night)...then i wake them up after the last one and tell them,my wife is coming you gotta go.And i dont give them a shilling...Then go to this upcoming career women,esp bankers..esp the ones in sales.I pretend i want a loan,show them my payslip and its a key to my house where the inevitable happens..So by the time i am reaching a ho who wants 10k a night, its usually an afrodisiac coz WHY,WHY are you chargin me for what God gave you 4 free.As i am writing now, am from throwing one out 2nite @ 3.00 for refusing me an oral.Why are you peddling yourself if you cannot give me something as easy as 1,2,3.

Just a minute is there any difference between me and that man who has slept with more girls than men I have had sex with?  Feminists would say its because we are women. I am tempted to say so, but that would make me a feminist of sorts; and I am not. Let's play who is the prostitute now?

In Episode 2: Why Should I Not Open My Legs?  I talked of my wish to have a kid. A thing which, from some of the comments didn't make sense to quite a number of people.

Anonymous said...

    Why do you want a kid? January 21, 2011 12:12 AM

Anonymous said...

Interesting ...you want to nurture an empire of prostitutes or what?Dont bother getting a kid.


No, I don't want to nurture an empire of prostitutes. My kid, will have the freedom to determine his or her destiny. I dot believe its entirely impossible for me to become a good mother. I think I would even become a better mother than most in decent jobs, after all mothers get three months, or less, maternity leave, spend the days in the office and only see their children at 7pm, if there is no traffic jam. I would be spending the whole day with my kid. My work doesn't begin until around 10pm or 11pm, and then most of the days I am home by 6am.  And aren't there mothers who work night shift?  Perhaps those who doubt, think by being a prostitute I am a less caring human being. That's not true. Having seen what human beings are capable of, I would be more than caring to my kid.

Well, not to sound impolite but partially I agree with this comment; only partially;

Enigma said...
Hey Sue,go ahead and get that kid. Don't let some hypocrites dissuade you. After all,do they know for sure what their mothers were doing before they were born?? January 22, 2011 9:55 AM


But if I get the kid, there might be some awkward moments for me as suggested by Eazy;

Eazy said...
 
 "So mom, how did you and dad meet?"  January 24, 2011 12:11 AM 

We met at work.

Other concerns had to do with my ability to support the kid

Anonymous said...

Dont you think your child will be affected by your "career" you r also not going to remain forever young so this prostitution wont sustain you for long unless u have some sorta Retirement Benefits going on.. January 25, 2011 5:37 PM

True, I wont remain a prostitute forever. Actually at the rate things are going I might fade out sooner than later. I have no pension scheme, but I am already working on a plan B. Perhaps when I become uncompetitive on the streets, I should look for some sort of formal job, but how to phrase my experience on the street as a plus to the employer would be quite a deal; I have experience selling fast moving consumer goods to men?

In Episode 3: Anything At The Right Price I said I declined to have anal sex with some man. And someone commented:


Icon said...

 putting principles and prostitute together? seriously? you better consult a dictionary, the two can never go together .February 14, 2011 8:05 PM
As unimaginable as it may seem, prostitution is also based on some principles; both personal and industry principles. Prostitution does not delete the human part of us, that which makes us beings with a choice; to do A or B. That's why I declined, even if the price was right. The same way some people would decline to kill even if they were paid their twenty's salary in advance. Just remembered some other anecdote related to prostitution and principles. Will write about it soon.

To Episode 4: Survival of The Species, where I wrote about the risks of us or me getting infected with HIV. And there was this question:

Anonymous said...

What would u do if you ever get HIV? anuary 21, 2011 12:21 AM 

Well, I wouldn't want to get infected with HIV, but in the worst of circumstances I will just live positively.Many people do.Its an open secret  that some girls here on the street still practice when positive. But like I previously said I would stop working if I became positive. Not for fear of being locked up, as the minister proposed, but one of those principle things. I know how 'foolish' it is to have unprotected sex, but the few times I have done so, my instincts have served me right. There are some people, from some VCT, who make the rounds here at least once a week, and those of us willing get tested. I test every week, and so far so good,  I am not losing my guard though. Its been ages since I had raw sex.

Then there was this piece of  advice;

Anonymous said...

Start using the women CD... February 4, 2011 9:51 AM

I once tried and the female condoms are rather clumsy and uncomfortable. And they wont make me more appealing to my clients.


( Will reply to comments in other episodes a little later..)

Episode 14 (Part 1) : Why I Chose The Street

At some point, early in my career, I was naive enough to think a good education would give one an edge in the trade. I was partly thinking of myself and of a lady I had met at the Sabina Joy; where I practiced for a short time (no pun intended). For those not in the know the Sabina, also known as Karumaindo, is perhaps the oldest and well known bar cum brothel in the country; It is a rough, amorous  place; something vividly captured by a writer.

 ....To those not accustomed the SJ is  a source of mental, and to men even physical shock, what with the casual display of flesh, inner wear, lewd signs and vulgar language .There might be a lady with big lips, bleached face, thick fingers, smoking a cigarette, a beer on the table in front of her, and a man caressing her wide thighs exposed by her short skirt. There might be another one, looking not more than twenty, dark skinned, slender, smiling showing her dimples and playing with a young man’s zip, pretending as if to open it while asking him to buy her a drink. This scenario is enough to make men of a weaker will fall into the temptation of venturing inside pulling a seat and ordering for a beer so as “to absorb the shock”. And as they sop up the initial bolt of shock, they see and hear more, and they become even more stunned to an extent one beer is not enough to help suck up the shock, thus they ask for another beer, and another and another till that point, late in the night or day when the shock is gone, the pleasure in and they resign themselves to the fate of the SJ. To others the sight, which is like that of the first few seconds of a low budget blue movie, is just pleasure, fodder for fantasy: for that is what the SJ offers to those with shallow pockets, enough material to make their erotic fantasies as close to the reality as possible.

...Unlike in clubs to the east and north of Moi Avenue, where to achieve the right feel for some cosy naughty behavior, the disc jockey pumps fast music supposedly to charge the patrons, then dims the light to create a dreamy air, before playing a soft song say Lionel Ritchie’s Endless Love, at the SJ the mood is always appropriate for love making. Whether nine in the morning, three in the afternoon or eleven at night, the mood is right. Whether playing Awilo Longomba or turbulent Turbulence the mood is always right. There in the air you sense it, but  not the gentle, smooth love making that happens after watching a cheesy movie say Titanic; but something rough, with a touch of urgency, where panties may torn and nail marks left all over the body.

 It was at the SJ where I first went after shedding all the pretense of becoming a prostitute. When I decided to do away with camouflage prostitution; where I would sit at a bar sipping a drink, looking decent and hoping a man would pick me. The Sabina had the advantage of having few barriers to entry. The watchman was the only gatekeeper. The other girls would try to intimidate you but if you were stern it was easy to brush them away.

For a girl getting getting into prostitution proper,the SJ offers a relatively soft orientation ; one which wears off inhibitions slowly.  Though exposing your body is a plus at the SJ, its not as a competitive  edge as on the streets. You can still be in that long kinky skirt and jeans and get lots of clients. Then there is no experimentation in sex; mostly because of the socialization of the men who go there, and also due to the fact most of the sex sessions at the SJ are short times. Time and the aura of the short time rooms dissuade most people from doing anything other than the traditional. The rooms have dirty tattered mattresses, with used condoms and toilet paper lying all over the floor. It always amazed me how men could get it up in such circumstances.

The SJ was a risky place for me, it being very popular with college students spending their fees, pocket money and loans. There was a likelihood I could meet someone I knew. For this reason I chose a Tuesday mid morning for my first foray . I thought the chances of meeting someone who knew me on a Tuesday were minimal.

At that hour of the day there was no big deal at the Sabina . I just walked in and sat down . Of course there were the weird glances from other girls. One of them being this girl who could recite Yeat's The Second Coming, a poem I came to love and find relevant to the circumstances:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
 Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
 The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
 The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
 The best lack all conviction, while the worst
 Are full of passionate intensity......

To be continued....