Tales of a Kenyan prostitute…


It’s almost 1:30 am and this is my first client. It’s one of them slow days. Is the economy tough or this isn’t just my night? We went back and forth on price. Almost made me feel like I’m begging him. I had to accept the amount he offered, slightly below my minimum. Yes I have a minimum, I’m 22, light-skinned, with an ok figure.. I know my worth.

So I lay there, on the squeaky bed facing up with my legs wide open, like a true prostitute. My face heavy with makeup, I’m almost out of lipstick so I won’t wash my lips. I need to get back on the street after this, I keep thinking.

My boobs are cold and my bangles feel heavy. Goose bumps all over my body. I haven’t washed my wig in a while, I hope he won’t notice. Or how dirty my DEPENDABLE push up bra is, or the holes in my stocking.

We need to get done with this; and why is he undressing for 12 hours 🤷🏽‍♀️? “Kwani unaniogopa?” I try to tease to him, to get him to pick up the pace. He needs to realise that he’s paying for a shot, not dowry.

Finally, he’s naked. Ooohh God, not another bushy one 🤦🏽‍♀️. I hate bushes. Why don’t people just shave? But he’s paying the piper, so I’ll sing him the tune. And so I moan.

As he continues to pound and I moan, fake moans, I can’t help but wonder how different my life would’ve turned out if my dad were still alive. Maybe I wouldn’t be having another mouth to feed while still in school.

I turn my attention to the room, my go to when I’m trying to convince myself that something is not happening. Escape reality. Of course, I’m still moaning. I look at the walls, paint peeling off with cracks all over. Who even gets horny in such an environment? Men! Men! Men! You never cease to amaze me. And did he even take a shower? Pew!! He stinks. The pounding continues. He tries to kiss me, I turn away and moan even louder, I need him to get the idea that my mouth is busy and he should continue focussing on the right lips. Again, it’s supposed to be a shot, not a honeymoon.

And who even maintains this room, couldn’t you just fix the flickering bulb? Or maybe it’s a tender/supplier kind of thing.

My periods will be here in two days and I have exams next week; this nigga needs to hurry up. I haven’t saved enough for rent yet and it’s mid-month. If only I could squeeze in two more clients… please finish up already, I keep cursing in my head.

Aaaahhhh.. Finally. He’s done. I push him to the side, bed is small so he almost falls over, but he catches a grip and holds on. I pick up the towel and head to the bathroom to wipe myself. As I wet the towel, I feel something warm in my inner thigh trickling down. Wait, wait, wait, wait.. I get back to the bed and turn him over… Jesuuuss, this fool didn’t put on a condom, uuuwwiiii ghai fafa… and the way he looks thin 🙆🏽‍♀️🙆🏽‍♀️🙆🏽‍♀️ I mean Fuuuuck.. Ooh Lord, I’m too young for this. This one must know I’m from Nyeri..

This is a trial (creative) piece, if you think it’s good and we should do more of such please comment below. If not, we move on to other people’s tales.

About the author

Ken Juma

Thinker of thoughts, lover of life.. and death too.


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By Ken Juma

Ken Juma

Thinker of thoughts, lover of life.. and death too.

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