MALAYA WANGU WA KWANZA

My life in campus was quite eventful. Where most campus boys’ lives were tied around their girlfriends: taking them to the salon, shopping, banks and all sorts of places that no sane man should be seen, I was busy doing very interesting research on the skin-business and building my first brothel. This is the reason why I was driving by third-year while most of them were still walking their girlfriends to Gikomba for underwear shopping.

I have nothing against girlfriends. What I’m against is a girl thinking that she is better than any one of my whores because she fucks only one guy yet the guy takes her out, buys her gifts, spends money on her in order to fuck her. That sounds very much like whoring to me. Why a man would spend so much money on a used pussy (if you’ve lost your virginity your pussy is used) which has little or no game in the bed or the sofa or the carpet or the wall is beyond my imagination. Why a man would keep a girlfriend, who does not even give him a blow-job, and even marry her all in the name of love is rather crazy. I’d rather spend my hard-earned money on a pretty whore who knows how to treat a dick.

Bitching aside, the aim of this story is to tell you about my first experience with a prostitute in Nairobi. An experience that inspired me to start this business and which has offered continuous motivation to change how pussy is served to the hard-working Kenyan man.

I arrived in Nairobi, fresh from the village, naïve as hell and stupid enough to believe that this was the land of milk and honey. I had just been admitted into the school of computing at The University of Nairobi. I was going to become a software engineer, and a damn good one, and nothing was going to stop me. My parents insisted on tagging along to help me in the admission but this was just a lame excuse for them to come to the city and spend some of my HELB loan while they were at it