Hookers

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I once lived a floor above a hooker. She’d step out every night donning garish clothes, with painted lips and tottering on the highest of heels. Most nights, because we had perennial water problems, she would ask me to close the tap to her reservoir tank in the middle of the night when it was full. She never offered me sex. I never asked. But she offered me one vital thing one evening; a review of my writing.

I was a closeted writer back then, working in a medical lab, miserable, cornered by life and perpetually living in one dimension. I was unpublished, insecure about my writing and terrified that I didn’t have the chops for it. Then she saw something I had written as she stood at my door one night, smelling of cheap perfume, her lips red like a leopard’s kiss, and she marveled at what I had written. Her confidence in me, coupled with many other events, started a snowball effect that led me to where I am today, sharing an office with Fred’s rat-mauled stress ball.

I had a pal – Victor – who would sometimes visit me and see her hanging her clothes on the line in our common courtyard, her shuka clinging to her wet naked body underneath. He would look at me suspiciously and say, “Are you sure you haven’t nini-d her?” She was a light Kao chick with thick long legs and even a thicker kao accent. Straight outta Kitui. I never quite desired her. Hookers, as professionals, have never done it for me. Never been with one. This is not a proclamation of ethics, it’s just a statement of fact.

It’s not that I have avoided it because of my sound Christian upbringing, that I would feel shame and attract disrepute to the untarnished history of my great grandfathers who were recruited by  white Adventists who stumbled upon them in the fields herding cattle while wearing little else than staffs in their hands. This is not even about morality, or principle, it’s about interest. It has never intrigued me. Never appealed to me. Hookers appeal to me as much riding a horse with no underwear does. I’ve never looked at a hooker and thought, “Wow, I want to put my pecker in her hands.”

And I’ve had loads of opportunities. There are times that I have travelled, and I have found myself back in my hotel room after a whole day out with a feeling of overwhelming boredom or loneliness, and I have craved someone to talk to because I don’t believe in spending quality time with myself. Because honestly, if you left me alone with myself for an hour and I was bored I would end up shaving every hair off my body. I have gone down to the hotel bar to have a Chivas on the rocks and maybe start a conversation with someone more interesting than the mini-bar up in my room. In hotel bars you avoid the sunburnt odiero traveller who will bore you with mundane – and sometimes ignorant – questions, you avoid the salesmen who wipe their mouths with a napkin after taking a sip, and the mothers staring longingly at the pictures of their children on their phones. You speak to the hookers.

How the hell can you spot a hooker, you ask? I can spot a hooker six seats away when I’m at a hotel bar. As luck would have it, more often than not, I stay in pretty decent hotels when I travel, which means that they somehow manage to regulate the type of characters they allow through their doors. And hotel bars are the best place for hookers to get business, because where else will you find bored regional sales managers who dab their lips after taking a sip of second shelf whisky?

And so I can pick out even the most sophisticated hooker in a bar. They all have that predatory look. That forthrightness with their body language. When you approach a hooker seated in a bar, most of them will turn their bodies into you when they talk to you. There is never overt coyness with them and if it’s there, it’s lurking behind a very thin veil that you can blow off with a sneeze. Also, these girls can tell what will translate into a business transaction in the first five minutes, and once they realise that Chocolate Man here just wants to talk, they begin looking over my shoulder to pick someone who will translate into business, not someone who needs a hug.

And I love talking to hookers. I constantly do when I travel. I did at Sabina Joy. In Uganda, I killed a small snake in the house of a Congolese hooker who lived three houses away from mine. Hookers are multi-layered. They are complex and they have excellent people skills. Nobody can read you faster and more precisely than a hooker. They can quickly align need and value, which is something insurance salespeople can learn from them. In fact, I think these big insurance companies should elicit the services of a hooker during team building sessions; those people can do with lessons about people, negotiation and closing.

Also, the beauty of talking to hookers is that they don’t judge you. They have listened to much more macabre shit; yours won’t move their needle. Unsurprisingly, a good number I have engaged with are much smarter than the loudest people I follow on twitter. Or the people I meet at corporate cocktails.

I find them intriguing, misunderstood and dismissed. I would kill to write a hooker’s memoir.

Like I’d meet her every Saturday for brunch and with a voice recorder running between us, and I’d ask her, who – not what – she did over the weekend and she would start by saying, “So this guy paid me 10K to have me tickle his feet with a feather.”

“Oh, did he bring his own feather or did you have to go out and look for the feather?”

“He came with his own feather.”

“Hmm, a man prepared. Was it a feather from a cock or a hen?”

“Uhm…how the hell would I know Biko, what does a feather from a cock look like?”

“I thought you said you grew up on a farm?”

“I did, but I’m sorry I wasn’t spending my days staring at feathers! If I knew I’d meet a man who would want his feet tickled with feathers I would have paid MORE attention to all the different varieties during my time on the farm! I’m sorry I have failed you Biko!”

“Jesus! You don’t have to be so snappy!”

“I had a long feathery night.”

“I understand, I’m just trying to get details here to give your story more texture.”

“Fine. Next time I will ask him if the feather came from a cock or a hen or a turkey or a goddamn crow!”

“Come on, calm your tits, Vero, why so cranky! Wait, you said crow, crows have black feathers, was this particular feather black?”

[She sighs and looks at me with empathy]

“OK, fine. It was a feather. So how long did you tickle his feet?”

“Well, it was -”

“Wait, did you start with the right foot or left foot?”

[Eye roll] “I think it was the left foot, Biko.”

“Great, left foot. You were saying…sorry…”

“Yes, so I tickled him half the night.”

“Wow. He didn’t ask for anything else?”

“Just water.”

“Was he laughing the whole time you were tickling him?”

“No, he was sort of telling me a story about his dad.”

“His dad? What about his dad?”

“That he abandoned them when he was a child, and he has been debating whether to look for him or to let him die and get buried in the cemetery that is his memory.”

“‘In the cemetery that is his memory’, how poetic. Did he use those exact words?”

“No, those are mine. I was reading books on the farm, you know, not distinguishing between cock and hen feathers.”

“Haha. Let it go. Did you advise him to look for his dad?”

“He wasn’t paying me for my counsel, he was paying me to tickle him.”

“Good point. Did he break down and cry at some point?”

“No, why?”

“I don’t know. This is the kind of story that sounds like it would end in tears – yours or his.”

“Haha. You are just as sick as all these strange men I meet.”

“Thanks. What tribe was he?”

“Biko, how is his tribe important?!”

“It just is. Please I told you that you have to furnish me with all these details, you need to focus and pick such details. I’m sorry if this sounds mundane to you but big stories are built from small details, Vero, I keep telling you that! Do you want us to write a memoir or a f-kn brochure?”

[Sighs and looks away] “A memoir”

“Good! Now what tribe was this farm boy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you pick an accent? Was he Kisii? He was Kisii, right?”

“Biko, I don’t remember really…wait, he picked a call and spoke in his mother tongue. He was Luhya.”

“I knew it! I just knew it! When you mentioned a feather, I just knew it!”

“Hahaha. Calm your tits.”

Look, I can do this the whole day. And then continue again tomorrow. But I have to finish this story.

I remember rather fondly one hooker I met in Zanzibar’s Stone Town, circa 2010? I was there for work and on my last night I roamed around, went to Forodhani and ate a shawarma and then took a cab to this place where I was told there was a nice bar I could review. The bar – a rooftop bar – was dead when I got there but then this hooker started chatting me up in that Swahili of theirs. It was just lyrical.

She had a lovely face and these big gorgeous eyes. I remember during that time I was in great physical shape, before it all went south around 2013. I was doing 200 pushups and 100 sit-ups daily. I had biceps you could grow beans on. I felt strong, I looked fit and I looked good, and the problem was that I knew it; and so did this hooker. She kept touching my biceps and calling them “misuli,” which wasn’t cool.  I think Swahili is the least seductive language, after Somali. And Kikuyu. No, actually Kikuyu is the least seductive language, followed by Somali.

Regardless, I didn’t want her to stop talking. Hehe. She said things in Swahili that I suppose meant that she wanted me to carry her and take her away to a land where ducks float in water and lovers feed each other mvinyo under the palm trees. Hookers play on your vanity. They smell it. If you have a pot belly they will probably say, “You know, when I first saw you walk into the bar I loved how you carried this belly. There is something so debonair and self-assured, something so sexy about how you disrobed your pot belly of its power, how your confidence made you look so light with this bad boy here.” You would think you were the shit and you’d not renew your gym membership.

Anyway, so this hooker asks me to go back to my hotel, and I lie that I can’t because I have travelled with the wife, who’s tired and asleep in the room. She makes a pouty face and suggests that maybe we should go back to her place and I laugh and say no, maybe next time. She then says that she will not charge me a dime, that it’s free. On the house. Of course, because I would like to save some money. But I ask her why? And she says, because “nimekupenda, umenifurahisha, na ningependa unipe mbegu zako.”

I.Died.

Listen, if I ever fail as a writer, if things never work out for me as a man and I end up sitting on a big stinky manure-pile of wasted opportunities in my sunset years, I will take solace that at least one hooker with too much eye shadow had craved my mbegu!

Where is this story going?

It’s actually going back to last Friday. So I leave Explorer Tavern at about 11pm. At that small roundabout on Ole Odume road I see those chaps who sit holding these the banners written “Spa, Massage.” I always see them and chuckle at how inconspicuous they are, because everybody needs a spa and massage at midnight, right? That’s what people who come from bars at 1 am really need. In fact, the guys holding up those banners look like they haven’t got the faintest whiff of what a hot-stone massage is.

I said, screw it, there could be a story here, so I swung the car back around and went to that massage and spa place to see what kinda guys these are who give massages at midnight. The place is just there on Ole Odume road. (“It’s just there” hehe, so Kenyan eh?)

In the parking lot is a red plate 4×4 (well, hello), a snazzy sports car and some random cars. I’m led by a kabuti-clad security guard up a gaudy flight of stairs with blinking blue neon lights. Upstairs he presses a buzzer and someone peeps through a hole and the heavy grey metallic door is opened by a hot chick with big hips wearing a short skirt and black stockings. Yes, spa and massage indeed.

To my right is a big, dimly lit lounge with seats running against the wall. Music thuds. Several girls in uniforms and long weaves sit there, smoking and drinking and laughing. They look at me like fresh produce. I feel like coriander. Before me is a notice board with lots of city council permits and a massage menu; they offer a Swedish massage, a deep tissue massage (you get to choose the tissue, I guess), there is sijui a four-hand massage, a body on body massage (I wonder what that is) and various other types.

“Hii four-hand massage ndio gani?” I ask the hostess.

“Hiyo ni ya ma-dame wawili,” she says with no humour.

Inside there is a guy in a leather jacket; decent chap, spectacles. Maybe the red plate guy. She asks me what massage I want and I tell her that I’m actually looking for my pal; tall guy, brown sweater, white shoes. She says, there is a tall guy in one of the rooms but he doesn’t have white shoes. Oh, maybe he changed his shoes in the car, I want to tell her but she won’t get the joke. She urges me to go inside and have a drink but I say, “Naah, how about I come back later? But if my pal shows up here, because he said would, I will come back and have a massage. In fact, how much is that Swedish massage?”

“Three thousand,” she said and she asked me for my number, and for a moment I was tempted to give her the number to this CEO whom I have been trying to interview for months and who’s just playing hard to get; he isn’t telling me no, or yes, just toying with my feelings.

I almost did actually, I think it would be hilarious if he constantly got spammed with messages telling him that there are new girls from Mombasa and there is also happy hour (but only for the girls from Sagana) and he is welcomed as one of their esteemed and dedicated clients. Haha.

Hopefully his wife would find that message then he would try and convince her that he is still dedicated to the work of the church.

 

Image Credit: This Is Africa

***

Ps: Registration of the 6th Writing Masterclass is now open. Please email [email protected] to secure a slot. We will have it from 9th to 11th March. We sit in a room and we tear into your work. And you can’t cry.

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224 Comments
  1. My stupid friends started calling me Magunga wa Massage because of this:
    http://www.magunga.com/a-nairobi-bachelor-walks-into-a-massage-spa/

    1. hehe…that’s my sole read of your literally work, every time I see your kacomment here I recall the Masseuse discovery of your roots …*hides*

    1. me too. this habit has become a bad addiction, reading his posts in class now I have two classes to catch up on all involving the design of bridges. it makes me sad but I just can’t stop

  2. Huyu Magunga hata hasomi, he just wants to selfishly promote his blog, which is an achievement to him, btw I like how you write

    1. I bet Magunga opens two tabs so that immediately he publishes the Biko post he runs and comments on the other tab 🙂 I like some of his stuff though, he’s becoming a terrific writer.

    2. Magunga is good. We (I) read. But this whole post first comment is nauseating . So low of him. If he is good, we (I) will refresh his website every 5-10 mins on Tuesdays and Thursdays ( if his posts coincide with Biko’s) though I will have subscribed but I just cant trust my mail for the alert . Biko please deliver us from Magunga’s annoying first comments (post) !!!!!

  3. “nimekupenda, umenifurahisha, na ningependa unipe mbegu zako.” Team Mafisi likes this lol.
    Nice read as usual. Funny af! That feather man had to be Omwami.

  4. he had a lovely face and these big gorgeous eyes. I remember during that time I was in great physical shape, before it all went south around 2013. I was doing 200 pushups and 100 sit-ups daily. I had biceps you could grow beans on. I felt strong, I looked fit and I looked good, and the problem was that I knew it; and so did this hooker. She kept touching my biceps and calling them “misuli,” which wasn’t cool. I think Swahili is the least seductive language, after Somali. And Kikuyu. No, actually Kikuyu is the least seductive language, followed by Somali.
    Man, this paragraph just killed me! Now lemme just recollect myself and get back to office work

  5. Midnight massage -I always see those guys on Ngong road and wonder which drunkard really needs a massage at that hour
    http://www.treatsonabudget.co.ke/

  6. You know Biko, as a self-proclaimed voracious reader, I read your blog not because you write about interesting things, well a little maybe, but because you write things in an interesting way. Had a long laugh at this part; “You know, when I first saw you walk into the bar I loved how you carried this belly. There is something so debonair and self-assured, something so sexy about how you disrobed your pot belly of its power, how your confidence made you look so light with this bad boy here” part. Methinks if a hooker retires they should get a job in sales or PR because they have enough experience :). And hey, to not sleeping with hooker *high five*.

  7. …and for a moment I was tempted to give her the number to this CEO whom I have been trying to interview for months and who’s just playing hard to get; he isn’t telling me no, or yes, just toying with my feelings.
    lol, think this would work so well on some mean humans. www.shesatomboy.com

  8. When your man walks in ……at
    midnight and says he’s been to those massage parlours who only advertise at night..chasing a story…

  9. Haha biceps to grow beans ni zipi hizo and mvinyo is alcohol so you can’t feed each other mvinyo per se,you seem to have a knack for these pole huh;’killing their snakes’ 3 blocks away…nice piece but it somehow feels unfinished, kindly do a part 2 like the Java one cheers!

  10. “I once lived a floor above a hooker”-You mean you used to sleep on top of a hooker? Lucky guy!1
    But why is it that hookers are following you everywhere? I have only met a hooker on K-street and in church-True story

  11. I have worked for many years with sex workers a as health service provider and in that time I have come to realize that they are very interesting people you see beyond the sex worker tag.Excellent company as long as you make it clear you are not buying what they are selling and that they can leave at any time if they get a paying client. Loved the piece. Great writing as always.

  12. Ha ha ha Tuesday made!!!This killed it!!

    “Biko, I don’t remember really…wait, he picked a call and spoke in his mother tongue. He was Luhya.”
    “I knew it! I just knew it! When you mentioned a feather, I just knew it!”

  13. Biko, i couldn’t agree more on ” . . Kikuyu is the least seductive language. .”
    Some words just come out with so much vulgarity and not music to the hears. Nice article.

  14. hahhahaha.Biko its been a minute since you threw shades at Kikuyu’s.But surely I think we come third after somali’s.

  15. “Hookers appeal to me as
    much riding a horse with no underwear does”
    Ian: Since when do horse wear underwear Biko? And if they did would it not be bad to discriminate them?
    Biko: Wee grow up!
    Ian: Am just asking old man, …so these horse that you wouldn’t ride, what sort of underwear would they wear? Males female horses?

    1. Let me decipher for you..it’s not the horse that has no underwear, it’s the rider, and being male I’m guessing those nuts will get a whooping. Ergo no guy wants to put themselves thru that kinda torture…gerrit?

  16. Biko, your thoughts are misguided who told you somali language is least seductive after kikuyu. Do your research well?

  17. hey Biko be nice… forward the message to the elusive CEO and hope the wife finds the message…… God is seeing you… hookers are intelligent though

  18. i’ve always wondered how hookers view themselves…i guess it will take a little one on one interaction to know.
    nice piece as always!!

  19. The next best thing to a hooker is a hooker that doubles up as a stripper, drinks wine from the bottle with a straw with a lap dance so unsexy it feels like you’re in the back seat of a Kayole matatu on a bumpy Manyanja road. So all you have left is to talk to them. Nicely. So you don’t bruise their egos like they bruised your nini

  20. Forget the fact that Biko says he can see hookers was it six kilometers away?

    What caught my eye was ‘Vero’ hahaha I see what you did there but I won’t tell. Anyway, as for me and my clueless gang, we can hardly spot hookers unless they introduce themselves…

    http://dennispetersblog.com/2015/05/31/are-we-drinking-tonight/

    See…

    1. boss stop pushing your blog here, we get it, you can write too hehehehe
      ***goes a head to check it out anyway, but don’t expect much***

  21. The conversation with the hooker was a bit boring.
    I like the sequel by magunga…and its okay to
    promote his blog. Take opportunities wherever you
    find them.

  22. This is where the story lies: I think Swahili is the least seductive language, after Somali. And Kikuyu. No, actually Kikuyu is the least seductive language, followed by Somali.hahahahaha

  23. I still want to know what happened to the kao neighbor lady who motivated you…read to the end waiting to hear you mention her…this one today wasn’t all that.my opinion just saying…

  24. One time missus should just drop a comment here!…we would appreciate some icing on this cake!☺ (i am just being cheeky here!)

    1. So what pseudonym should she use? Missus or biko’s wife or wambui. I think it would be impossible to know whether it is her. He should do a post about her.

      1. missus can’t, I suspect, no scratch that I know she’s an intelligent creature and knows that dropping a comment here means Biko has won and she cant let him win, it wd mean she’s endorsed him and she wont and cant have that hehe
        plus am sure she has spies reading and breaking it down for her as well as adding their own opinion.
        women always know women who know women who will know the shit we do behind their backs, in Biko’s case, to her face!

  25. Reminds me of Wambo, a pro from Florida nightclub.That woman had ratings for every tribe and race and how to pick a repeat customer who would pay well and not damage the merchandise. The most hilarious one was a kyuk guy who would pay the least amount of money he could get away with but ride you until the last dime was spent as if there was a meter running…

  26. Thank you Biko for letting us know that kikuyu is the least seductive language because we will no longer try because it cannot get worse than that haha

  27. Hahahaaa! I’ve also had opportunities of chatting with hookers and boy, dont they have lessons you can learn from! Hard life lessons. You just need a strong will to beat their temptations because more often than not, the body is weak. Great read though, Biko! And thumbs up to not ‘sleeping’ into temptations.

  28. the ingenuity with which you right chocolate man is beyond comprehension.the punchline for me was “mbegu”.That shit sounded worse than misuli.But how,pray tell,did you on first instinct decide that the feather footed man was a kisii? Then upon further imploring thought he was a lunje.(makes me think he pruned his chicken,or turkey,that one)hehe lakini you guy..
    ,

  29. My shit went cold on that “Mbegu yako” part,I’ve had that vibe too though that was in Murang’a..good stuff Bikozulu

    1. it was an introduction to those who follow this blog religiously.
      PS: yes you did except u read it like all form 3 kids, who read literature work to pass exams.

  30. my kikuyu buddy has been making faces all afternoon after me sending her a link to your work!
    hehehe she’s calling you a Nazi narcissistic, hedonistic, self gratification seeking clown and hopes your wife ties you down on the bed and uses cigarette butts with firey ends to draw a pic of jomo Kenyatta’s beard around ur butthole!
    hehehehe her words not mine.

  31. Tell the missus this evening she is “kihiki understanding” and see if you wont earn yourself some bonga points….kikuyu can be romantic.. 🙂

  32. There is something so debonair and self-assured, something so sexy about how you disrobed your pot belly of its power, how your confidence made you look so light with this bad boy here.” dream on.

  33. Haha that fake convo about the hookers memoir had me wishing I lived in your brain so I could here conversations you would have with Jack Black lol as always Good job with this post

  34. A pal of mine lived in Dar he told me that if you agree to follow a hooker at her place you are grounded a whole weekend. they wake up so early and wash your clothes. by the time you’re waking up at kindu 7.30 she’ll be out hanging your clothes in the e clothe line. When you ask where your clads are , she’ll say she’s washed them in that swahili of theirs. There goes your weekend. There’s a catch to ‘twend kwangu basi sitalipisha’

  35. That place on Ole Odume Rd is owned by a couple I know, decent chaps as you would say. By the way there are in Court with a certain media house for making similar claims as you. So don’t be surprised if you receive a letter from a ka lawyer with things like ‘your article in its entirety is loaded with innuendo which meant and was understood to mean our clients are merchants of licentiousness’ and demanding ‘unequivocal admission of liability’.

  36. Your history with hookers yawa! Anyway, almost every Man has a story to tell about them. Let me go back to work nikose unga, mimi ni wale wa kusoma, alafu kurudia alafu unarudia tena ni kama exam.
    www.ogetoevans.wordpress.com

  37. …”.. Because honestly, if you left me alone with myself for an hour and I was bored I would end up shaving every hair off my body..”.
    hahaa Biko u not the kind who forsakes such opportunities… comic piece, kudos!

  38. He he he, Biko you made my day, nice read right there. I don’t entirely agree with Kyuk being the least seductive language but ni sawa tu… That bit for mbegu was a killer! Keep writing Biko, keep writing.

  39. Biko, first, this was super hilarious! hahaha, i could quote so many parts and copy paste them here but what do they say about herds….
    It seems you travel a lot and have conversations with hookers quite often, don’t ‘sleep’ into doing it even once.
    Once you do there will be no turning back until one day you find yourself with a group of weird strangers saying “My name is Biko, and i am a sex addict…”

  40. Lol! Thank God someone actually proved my suspicion. I’ll sleep better knowing or the “spa” services being offered! Hehehe.

  41. Reading , and as you explained your disinterest with cookers ,and a thought runs through my mind of all this public figures introducing their wives , and what goes through their side dishes mind as they watch them I ask.
    The mbegu one got to me , haha , this seeds though.
    and how the guys we perceive most insignificant leave the biggest marks in our lives. I wonder where is my hooker. I need someone to believe in me 🙂

  42. Reading , and as you explained your disinterest with hookers ,and a thought runs through my mind of all this public figures introducing their wives , and what goes through their side dishes mind as they watch them I ask.
    The mbegu one got to me , haha , this seeds though.
    and how the guys we perceive most insignificant leave the biggest marks in our lives. I wonder where is ,my hooker. I need someone to believe in me 🙂

  43. Met one who told me she had to wander & roam, cause she never met nobody who got what it takes to keep her home. Don’t know what she meant

  44. Listen, if I ever fail as a writer, if things never work out for me as a man and I end up sitting on a big stinky manure-pile of wasted opportunities in my sunset years, I will take solace that at least one hooker with too much eye shadow had craved my mbegu!
    Hahahahaha My ribs am sending you the hospital bill Biko.

  45. Totally hilarious! I worked with hookers on an HIV program and i agree…they are very misunderstood…demand just meets supply…just saying…

  46. Kyuk is a sexy language Biko Cummon….hahaha try listening to Harry Kimani’s ‘haiya’ and tell me those lyrics ain’t sexy. Great read as usual, like fitty said ‘there’s no business like ho business’….lol

    abantugirl.wordpress.com

  47. “Are you sure you haven’t nini-d her?” this just made my thought and how u describe the KAO lady…. nyc read for sure, n the feather tickling just gave up an idea

  48. Read through the comments wondering/hoping the Kao chic would come out and
    say haiya! Biko it was me who inspired you…same script different cast 🙂

  49. Hahaha…hilarious as always btw even me i often wonder hii ni massage parlour gani ni the middle of the night and that guy holds that kibao the whole night!

  50. vero sounds really familiar,really familiar..’ningependa unipe mbegu zako’ungempa tu aziplant kwa biceps hahahahhaa,evening made

  51. Biko, I don’t remember really…wait, he picked a call and spoke in his mother tongue. He was Luhya.”
    “I knew it! I just knew it! When you mentioned a feather, I just knew it!”
    “Hahaha. Calm your tits.”

  52. Unsurprisingly, a good number I have engaged with are much smarter than the loudest people I follow on twitter

    *applause*

  53. Lived in Amsterdam for four years..tried hardest to get an interview with sex-workers in the Red Light district, to no avail..so I just would walk past and observe: https://africanahgirl.com/2015/01/15/the-red-light-district-of-amsterdam/

  54. ‘…..No, actually Kikuyu is the least seductive language, followed by Somali…..!” Hahaha…spot on.. wooi kee ngwire ….Thie ukiumaga…

  55. Awesome as always.I also know several high profile people whose numbers i would gladly give to this guys. Why is it so hard to say yes or no????

  56. One thing, don’t waste hookers’ time if you are not going to pay. You are there for fun while they are at work. A bit callous of you I must say.

  57. Biko…Where have you not lived on this world? on top of the landlady…. below a hooker…. catch my drift? Muguga…. why cant you just start being the first to comment on your own own post?… Well we never did see Biko sending comments on Sat magazine after OP posts and putting his Links…. You have to earn it Mugaga… That sounds like Mufasa .

  58. I think Swahili is the least seductive language, after Somali. And Kikuyu. No, actually Kikuyu is the least seductive language, followed by Somali.
    Killer line right there.

  59. Biko, Gìkùyù is one of the most romantic tongues on the face of the earth, you just need to find someone who knows it well. On the Swahili hooker, you don’t let such a chance go

  60. C’mon Biko you really can’t leave me hanging like this……So Vero was paid 10k to tickle this old geezers foot. In my head men who solicit services of a hooker are old, fat, probably smell of sweat, with sweaty sticky palms and wear suspenders. I mean why would a young hot thing pay a hooker while he can get the services for free.
    Anyway Biko so ehe….Vero is tickling dear old geezers left foot with a feather (nobody cares from which bird), he is a tea and chicken lover so maybe the feather is from a cow….Will she ever get to his right foot?

    1. Hehehehehehehehe…men and there fantasies…..depends on the
      young man cash flow……u have to beg for freebies……….

  61. Biko, you always make my day. subscribed recently,and i love your work,the satire in your writing keeps me coming back.awesome read

  62. Nice piece of narration, it’s interesting to relate to that hooker experience. That’s CEO was in for a shocker 🙂

  63. Oh how I love this work. Haha Biko you guy… Im totally following this blog. I guess I’m not the only one who thinks hookers are very interesting people. https://colloflow.wordpress.com/2016/03/10/lady-perfect/

  64. Never been with one, but this kind of searching and bumping onto has a big alama ya dukuduku sprayed all over… but again people only believe what they are told (catch me if you can)

  65. And I love talking to hookers. … Hookers are multi-layered. They are complex and they have excellent people skills. Nobody can read you faster and more precisely than a hooker.

    So do I, once at Boulevard one looked at me and said ‘You are just a butterfly!’
    Of course had to buy her a drink!