Prostitution Pays by Isioma Osaigbovo

“Hmm”. “Ahh”. These were the sounds of pleasure made in tandem with the rhythmic creaking of the bed springs. With a shudder and a groan, the male on top of me achieved orgasm. He collapses on me, breathing heavily into my ear. He then rolls of me, body glistening with sweat. He grins at me, revealing straight, brown stained tobacco teeth. He gives my nipple one last pinch and proceeds to put on his clothes all the time keeping up a steady chatter of how good and sweet I was and how he’s going to return at a later date. As he finishes putting on his shoes, he opens his wallet and presses some bills into my palm and then walks out. I glance at the clock. There is still time for two or three more customers. I rise from the bed to dispose of the condom used, clean my body off with a wet towel (no time for a bath and moreover, men like the scent of sex), put on a short, sexy gown with nothing underneath, reapply my makeup and then, out I go. This is my life. Welcome to the world of a Commercial Sex Worker a.k.a Prostitute, Harlot, Slut, Ashewo, Okpo etc.

It wasn’t always this way. I was raised in a comfortable household in an upper middle class neighbourhood. While growing up, I’ve always held the attention of men folk starting from junior secondary. I have incredible hips which are a perfect platform for the perfect bum to be developed, perky breasts, a smooth flawless skin that has never seen a pimple and a face that wouldn’t make the cover of Vogue but it’s refreshingly appealing to men. My sojourn into the body hawking business started when I was at a “joint” with my erstwhile boyfriend and I arose to get to the bathroom. As I did, I felt the eye of every male on me and suddenly, there was this really intense feeling of power. Call it an epiphany and you wouldn’t be far from the truth. Anyway, as I got outside, I was accosted by a guy who simply said “how much?” in a coarse voice. I instantly felt disgust but incredibly I was really turned on. I really love sex and my boyfriend wasn’t giving me plenty of it. Then I thought, “why not?” Why not get paid for doing something you actually enjoy doing? Sounds familiar, right? I told him #3,000 and he took me to the toilet I was headed towards. That marked the beginning.

Over the years, I’ve met a lot of people; guys who brag a lot and are dead in bed, average, good ones, downright ugly, incredibly handsome, tall, short, fat , thin, kinky, all sorts. I’ve even had pastors come in my bed. Received so many offers from men. Some are borderline stupid in my opinion (like telling me you want to marry me), some reasonable but I value my independence too much to be stuck with one bloke. For me, it’s primarily about the power I feel from seeing men fumble over themselves just for me. I actually pity the married dudes who work their socks off and return home to stiff-necked boring wives who know next to nothing about pleasing a man. Some do have some knowledge but refrain from giving their all. All they are interested in is obtaining the latest clothing and jewelry which are being paid for by the hussy’s cash. Only when they get these things do they put on a show for about two days (if the guy gets lucky). Yet, these women open their mouths to call us harlots! I have clients who just stay and talk with me for about two-thirds of the time paid for (usually marital problems, though). As far as I see it, these women should commend us for taking the stress of their men’s necks. After all, we are providing a service they cannot perform. Anyway, I’ve got no regrets and if I should reincarnate, I’ll still come back this way. It’s just too much fun! See ya.

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