I bet you all know how easily available the drugs to ‘enhance’ the ‘sexual experience’ are these days. You know the ones that help a man last longer, get his thing up, and maintain it up there. And the others that are supposed to increase ‘sensitivity’ and make a man taste the love in lovemaking. An article or two I have read in the newspapers have implied that the increased use of drugs is a result of the present lifestyle which takes a toll on sex hormones, organs, and emotions. The lifestyle here is taken to mean drinking, smoking, junk food and certainly chewing miraa and mogawks. But then one of the larger signposts of the present times; the pressure to achieve and the pain of failures must be contributing to making the drugs a favorite of many men. Anxiety has always been a classical cause of impotence. As to why a man would be anxious while with a prostitute, as many presently are, is another discussion altogether.
The increase in the use of the drugs has corresponded with a decrease in the shame of using them. They have become more like condoms. Many men pop the drugs in my presence. I usually don’t ask questions and the men don’t provide answers. But I always wonder do they openly use drugs while with their girls? Or is it easier to do it with me because there is no sexual shame when with a prostitute? The most discreet of the men will want to give me the impression that they are swallowing painkillers and not performance boosters. Thus when driving to a hotel, a man will say something like “I am having a headache” and then proceed to swallow the tablets which look nothing like Panadol or Hedex. Sometimes when I want to sound cheeky, I will say “Which head? “ And seeing the client’s expression change to disturbed, I say “Just kidding”
About ten days ago a man picked me up around 2 am. He looked in his mid-thirties, was shorter than me, and wore a broken suit. He was slightly drunk and as we drove to a hotel in the Parklands area he kept cracking the kind of jokes that many men tell prostitutes; simple, dirty, and predictable. Somehow at that hour, the jokes sound funny; the haha funny and not “that is a smart one” funny. At the hotel reception, he bought himself a Redbull and a liter of water for me before we climbed to the third floor.
Inside the room, the man sat on the bed and opened his Redbull. I sat on a chair and waited. With time I have known not to undress before a man gives me a hint to do so, for there are men who find so much pleasure in removing my clothes and it would be to my disadvantage if I denied them the joy. From his trouser pocket, he removed two tablets which were wrapped in a yellow receipt. “A little Viagra,” he said laughing. Of course, Viagra is what lots of men call all those boosters. I didn’t catch a proper glimpse of the tabs but I prayed they were not a herbal brand of boosters girls here have nicknamed rocket because they make men fly. I think rocket makes a man produce so much testosterone because as stories go a man who has swallowed the pills becomes some sort of animal; high and wild. It’s almost impossible for a girl to satisfy such a man. The saddest thing is that some men don’t remember the sexual experience very well after the effects have worn out.
The man didn’t go high but lay in bed with his feet still on the floor; it’s the position many men lay when they want a girl to start working on them. All these took about ten minutes. I stood up and wore my sexy look. But as I was going for the man, I noticed his eyes were closed and he was breathing in an unusually heavy manner. I shook him, but he didn’t respond. His breathing got worse, and some sort of foam started oozing from his mouth. Sometimes when a man has been given a slightly excessive dose of sedatives reacts in the same way, and that’s the point a girl frisks a his pocket and walks out. At least with sedatives, one is sure a man will wake up, no matter how long it takes. The smart thing at that moment would have been to look for the man’s wallet, pick up some or all the cash, and then leave. But what if the man died? I would be blamed for it. The policemen are most likely to come looking for clues on the Street like they always do. Some girls are even rumored to be police informers. Though many girls will swear they can take a bullet for each other, I know when push comes to shove it’s everybody for herself. And of course, some girls don’t like me and would be the first to say I went with that particular man. Girls and watchmen remember very well who goes with whom or in what car.
I took a bath towel soaked it in water and placed it on the man’s forehead, but nothing about him changed. He then started throwing fits and I thought for sure he was going to die. I decided to go inform the hotel staff. I can give an impression of calmness even when my inside is burning. I stood in front of the mirror, and decided not to look so calm; that might make one think that I was okay with what was happening; panicking on the other hand would make me look guilty. I settled for something in between. I walked out of the room and took the stairs to the reception. The receptionist was a girl in his early twenties very sleepy. She brightened up when I explained what had happened. I didn’t mention the tablets to her. She called the manager of the hotel. I don’t know what instructions the manager gave, but the girl excused herself and walked outside. The next thing I saw was a watchman coming to the hotel lobby behind the receptionist. She came back to her desk where I was still standing and told me to wait for the manager. Rather than wait for the manager, I opted to go back to the room and check on my would-be client. “The manager said you should not go back to the room until he comes”. The receptionist said. “Why?” I asked. “He just said that”. The girl replied. The watchman approached. I was already a suspect.
The manager came after about ten minutes accompanied by two other men who I guessed were waiters. The latter looked very excited. The manager didn’t even bother to say a greeting to me. “What happened?” he asked trying to sound tough. Calmly I explained what had happened; omitting the tablets and the fact that the man had picked me up from the Street. Saying I was a prostitute would make things worse. “Who are you to him?” he asked. I grunted and started climbing the stairs. All of them followed me.
I opened the door of the room, and the man was still lying in the same position but in a worse condition. His mouth and face were covered with the foam-like substance. His breathing was now in gasps similar to hiccups. “What happened? “The manager asked a second time. “Get a doctor,” I said, going to where the man was. “How did it start?” the manager persisted. “Get a doctor” I shouted “The man took some tablets”. The manager looked at me then lowered his voice cop in a movie style “What did you give him?”. Huh, tablets are only associated with drugging prostitutes.
“Lock her up,” the manager said. I was not entirely surprised. And quite enthusiastically the watchman and two waiters grabbed me. “I am not running away,” I said, trying to free my hands. “We can never know,” the watchman said, pushing me with his rungu to the second floor. I was thrown inside a small dark room, filled with detergents. “You will never drug another man again,” One of the waiters said as he switched off the lights.
I sat on the floor. For a moment I thought of escape but banished the idea after deciding I didn’t want to live on the run. I then pictured myself in a police cell, then in court charged with murder, and then my life in prison. I was scared. I was sure the man would die because the manager looked so indecisive and slow to action. Would a postmortem establish that the man had swallowed the tablets voluntarily? If at all they were the cause of his condition.
The door was opened some minutes past six in the morning. And there was the manager, the waiters, the watchman, and the man who was to be my client staring at me. He had lost his shine and looked confused.
“You are lucky, “said the manager. I walked out without saying a word to anyone.
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I have been missing in action for reasons unrelated to the above. Oops! I know I still have lots of emails and messages to reply to, questions to answer, and also books to deliver. I am working on that overtime.
Please note my new address above.
