Creative writing
Massage Parlour – Silent Killer
April 2, 2019
0

“Last year, I spent millions on sex and pleasure.”
Dan moves and sits opposite me, orders himself a dawa and a frappe for me. He closes his eyes,gulps his dawa and shivers abit. “Why would someone who pays for pleasure pay for a not so sweet drink?” I ask myself. Maybe he just wanted that ublrblrblr feeling that comes with the dawa.
Dan is a 29 year old single guy with some loose millions at his disposal. He is tall, chocolate, has a goatee with grey-ish beards and is bald so he capitalized on a clean shave. He wears white shirts or t-shirts and a red string on his right wrist all year round. If he changed, it would still be white. His shoe size could safely store stolen hotel towels and wine glasses. He has a big foot. As big as his heart. He mostly wears loafers. Black or a deep brown hue. On these days, he drives his BMW 320i to work. The days he wears Brogues, a suit and happy socks, he drives in, in a BMW 720i. Generally organized and with a statement.
He at the time was a corporate guy. Those I.T go to guys . The office internet and networks depended on him. A god of cables but was transitioning to entreprenuership. He would soon choose to work in khaki pants or in a skirt and heels. The office would find it hard letting him go. He had been the face behind several projects that earned huge funding. A smart guy and upto speed with emerging technology. Spoke six languages and laughed only in English. He was living his dream. One of those people who studied I.T, worked in an I.T firm and was passionate about it. Dan was developing an application that would remind you what’s not in the fridge at home so you can easily buy on your way home.
Nairobi was not being fair to him. Well, it never is to young single guys battling the evenings and weekends away. Nairobi never gives you a girl and says ” use this for the weekend and return on Monday by 8.00a.m with a bag of strawberries.” Feeling lonely in Nairobi? Admit yourself to the nearest HDU. Nairobi speaks one language, money. Love is in your village, in a cowshed, ready to give you a litre of milk for your evening tea. His problem was not money but loneliness. He needed to find a way to belong. A way to pre-occupy his mind, and the barbershop seemed an answer.
He, like any other man, walked into a local barber shop for a hair cut. While washing his head for a clean look, the lady mentioned that there was a complimentary neck massage if he would like. Why not? Massage he is not paying for? Hell yes! He had his neck massage. It felt good. He wished he had four necks to feel as good four times. The lady, as if reading his mind, added that if he wanted a full body massage, they had an offer. For just that day, he could have it for Ksh.1500 . Holy guacamole! The universe had favoured him.He said yes and went in for an experience of sorts. This is how he became close to the wash girl; Diana.
Diana was curvy, had chubby cheeks, smiled a lot but barely said a word. She put on red lipstick always and her highlight could be seen in Timbuktu. It made her nose long and her cheeks more defined. She summoned guys to the sink for a wash by a smile, a wink and a tilt of head towards the sink. The only time she spoke was to tell you about the massage or when she led the client to the door and said “thank you, please come again.” Her boobs were massive. They could engulf a client’s head and give it support during the after shave massage. Those boobs were the reason the barbershop made money. Round, pointed nipples and a size DD. She wore no bra always and it left one to imagine.
Barbershops and boobs.
Do you sometimes go to your barbershop, notice your usual wash girl is absent, so you create an emergency and have to leave? The petite lady with guava sized boobs on duty that day is not who you want for your wash. Voices in your head tell you that her boobs will slit your throat and you will die. You walk away hoping that Ann and her cup 42DD will be present when you return. You go there for the massage between cup DD and your beards, not for the cut. A hair cut? Hell anyone can cut. She absent? No cut. Period. Diana’s boobs were a final. They had a voice. Soft and sexy. They whispered right to your arteries. You would want a hair cut daily just to see them. The barbershop seemed dead on her days off.
” The back massage went well. I then turned and she touched places that made me have a bonner. I was embarrased. I apologized but she smiled and said it was okay. It was normal. I needed not to worry…it was the first time I had cum by a hand job. I tipped her heavily.”
The messiah was here; the massage girl. She had magic. She had made his “little” man show potential unlike before. It was now time to explore.
Diana and Dan built a relationship. Dan, being friendly, he struck conversations with her often. They became open with each other and his shy self became bold. He would send Diana cash randomly via mpesa and say it was for her lunch, for a drink or just. He either was genuinely appreciating her good service or bribing in disguise for dry days. Days when he could not afford the money to pay but wanted pleasure. She would definately consider a blow job for free or blow him on credit because he was a good man. Their friendship would hold water for long. Definately.
Things escalated fast for Dan. He often had a hair cut once in three weeks. Moved to once a fortnight, once a week, twice weekly and finally daily. “Nimekuja kuosha tu.” The devil lived in the voice that asked him to try a full body massage. No. The devil was Diana, her big inviting boobs and her voice.
He could no longer do without the massage and since it was just about money, and he had it, he identified different parlous that he would visit. He became a master of everything sex from a little learning here and there. It excited him. It made him alive. He was no longer the lonely Nairobi young man.
“I paid for sex, role play, pleasure, threesomes, orgies…any sexual sin you can imagine. I just didn’t kiss or do a guy.”
Diana moved parlours and he had to up his game to keep up with his current addiction. He tried several parlours and soon enough he was in it. He knew the good and the best. In one night, he would juggle between Westlands, Thika road and Kilimani. He even booked high-end hotels and have girls go to pleasure him. In his world, the economy was not a problem and whether it was 21B or 7B lost in the dam scandal, who cared?
“So I now knew what pleasure I wanted and I would demand it because I was paying for it. There is a certain thrill that comes with anus licking or slight fingering. Then the bridge between the balls and the anus. It is just a thing I love if done well. I am not gay.”
Not everyone bought his rimming idea and when money could not buy it here, he moved to the next parlour and the next until he got satisfied.
“Mimi, nikulambe mkundu? Kwa mavi? Aaaiii kaa na pesa yako. Ni ukubali nikumalizie na mkono haraka ama uende. Si umeshaa lipa?” He would get pissed sometimes but he wanted it so he would let the girl take charge. It’s better than leaving without service already paid for. How do you claim for money because you didn’t get rimmed? He would get it elsewhere.
“Most women would disgust at rimming. They haven’t tried. They just link it to poop yet there lies the pleasure. Ask your girl for it or even just to lick your toes or you lick theirs and they cringe. Look at their reaction. If I can buy pleasure, why not? Why haggle with a woman who won’t even try?”
He had hinted a couple of times to her ex girlfriend about eating his anus. He probably thought she would go to google and type “how to eat ass” and voila he would have her try. She was a member of the church choir. How was this mouth going to eat anus and sing to God? How was she even going to eat a berry on his bottom or lick of yoghurt from his shaft when they were abstaining until marriage? That was far fetched. Another ex girlfriend had said “kifo ni cha mende tu.” Sex was not sex if it was not missionary and he would spit and make her wet then dig it. She would never buy into the idea of fore play. He wrote off the idea of experimenting with girlfriends and focussed on buying what girlfriends could not offer.
The time to transition was ripe, so he quit his job and partnered with some previous colleagues. They opened a business in one of those scappers in Westlands and as the gods would crown anyone who planted in the rains with good yields, he is crowned with a massage parlour a floor below his office.
Money is not the problem. He can fuel his pleasure. Neither is location and accessibility. He can have his lunch and tea break at the parlour. Better news? His colleagues are in it. What else would a man want? Just a roster maybe, to know who goes in at what time and who works while the rest are away. Ooh and an alarm. Every second counts!
The transition from an office guy to an entreprenuer came with additional dollars in the account. He had then won funding for a tech project worth 100,000USD which was to be disbursed on a monthly at 10,000 USD. One million kenya shillings per month. Single guy with access to massage parlours. The world was in his palms. He would spin it like he deemed fit.
Tacts changed. He had contacts of massage parlours. He would call and say he was on his way and he wanted ten girls paraded. He would give a description like, thick, with dimples on the butt, has eaten avocado in the last 12 hours and swings like a pregnant duck. When he arrived, he would pick them like you select cows going to a slaughter. 1, 2 or 4 girls depending on the mood.
“I got served what I ordered. Kenyan, Ugandan, Ethiopian, Spanish, Caucasian…name it. If anyone refused to do what I wanted, I would replace them. I watched girls make out and make love. It aroused me. Then they would come to me. I would instruct on where to touch, lick, suck then set them free to do anything. We used yoghurt, fruits, chocolates…anything they asked for. Money speaks. They would never say no when I put more money on the table.”
Man is not an island. You go to Rome, you find people living there already. They have been there before you and probably speak Italian. You are just another one.
“I saw many people that I know in person and some public figures. We read them on papers or watch them. They, like me, are sensible out there. Some married. Others with kids but we don’t judge. A thief can’t call the other thief a thief. They are just associates. To each their own. We all want to be happy and if here is where their happiness is, then why not?”
What do men do for pleasure and happiness? When whiskey is not their thing and the boys won’t give an orgasm? When all else kills the fizz in their soda, they pack a few packs of condoms and put them in the spare wheel in their trunk and find hapiness.
“I used protection. Once, twice then stopped. It’s what happens when you spin the same wheel often.”
He sips his dawa again. Groans and puts down the mug with a bang.
“I went to pee one day and felt this sharp pain.”
Peeing should be relieving. Should make you feel like you do when you eat an avocado bred in Moshi, Tanzanzania. It has this ulala feel. But you walk to the washroom and you are dead before you are actually dead. You want to pee but you don’t.
“I had a U.T.I “
He shivers again. ” I then lost a lot of money in business and I could no longer fuel my addiction so I moved to a cheaper addiction. Masturbation. I had enough content to watch for this but I missed the parlours. They explored. Not the Bdsm stuff. Just a touch here, a lick there and other things ‘decent’ girls shunned off.”
He is treated and you would imagine him swear by his U.T.I that he is not going to a barbershop to cut his beard. He’d rather grow a dread beard than catch another U.T.I. He wants to pee peacefully. But you do not about being broke until you have an addiction to fuel.
“I slipped. If I got 2k, that was enough for a handjob at 200 and a rim job at 500 in some dingy place. I had now resorted to ladies of the night. I befriended some and got free service some days.There is no one way to kill a rat. When lucky, the days I woke up with my right foot first, I would call Diana and she could offer me the services for free. The friendship was paying off.”

From a guy respected by his peers, to a guy sinking into depression. He lost business, money, got into huge debt fueling his addiction and was now losing himself; his identity as a man…
At this time, he was in a relationship with Tina. Tina wanted him to commit but he brushed it off many times saying they were young and needed a few more years. A woman who wants to get married is unstopable. She will head there either with you or with the next guy. He often hinted his addiction to Tina but in form of riddles. When he went broke and in debt, he told Tina that it was all business related. Tina, with surface value information, thought giving him money would help him revive his business. He re-invested in his massage parlours and had no accountability at the end of it all. Tina got tired. Tired of lies and of a broke man. She opted out oblivious of the problems Dan was facing. But he was tired as well because his girl was rigid. She was not open to trying new things. He was not getting the pleasure.
He would soon be broke again and hopeless. He was losing himself. He told the boys about his addiction but they praised him. They applauded his high libido and encouraged him to eat enough vagina before he got married. None of them saw the depth of his woes. Some even joked about sending him a through pass of the newest vagina in the hood.
“I didn’t leave the house for almost a week. I was smelling sweat, I had pooped and not flushed all those days. My house smelled. I was shit. I got lost often when driving. I forgot my house many times. I had to write down to remember things-even calling my mom.”
So a friend, no, aspiring girlfriend popped by to check on him because he wasn’t picking calls then finds this mess. She cleans up abit and showers him. For the first time, he opened up to a woman. Dan let it all out. It was a make or break moment. If she wanted in, she would do something to help him. She speaks to someone who knows someone and ends up at a psychiatrist. Three hours later, he is out and about to take another road-to recovery. The therapy though is dependent on the fact that he has accepted he has a problem and he is ready to change. He is frail. He wants change so badly. He needs his business back. He needs to speak to his mother again after 9 months. He needs to be the Dan who had structure. He wants to find himself…but he lost this girl too. She re-thought things and settled on just being friends.
I ask about the last time he made love and not bought pleasure. Not bought sex.
” Diana. We got used to each other. She got tired of me and my weird demands. She dissappeared. She even blocked me. One day, she called me and asked to see me. I was home. She was concerned that I was into a serious addictio. She was not happy that because of her job, I had sunk into pleasure as much. She sat opposite me and asked me to unmask her. She wanted me to see her as Diana and not the massage parlour girl.
She pulled me close and kissed me. It was the first time we kissed in almost a year. She pushed me on the sit and I lay flat. She kissed me slowly, undressing me. She whispered something in my ears and kissed me down. She pulled me up and undressed. Slowly, she rubbed her thighs up and down mine. She pulled me close. Her breathe and mine are all that spoke. Our hearts beat loud. She asked me to lay on the carpet. She teased my nipples and stroked the little human…we woke up hours later. It was epic. It had a type of pleasure in itself. I did not understand her though.
She later messaged him “you can find pleasure in the simplest ways you can imagine and without spending a dime. Just put your mind to it.’ She had a point. But she re-blocked me. I guess it was a way to show me the way and let me decide my fate. I can only hope that she doesn’t blame herself for my addiction.”
Dan is hopeful to recover fully. He slips but is taking a day at a time. He is however worried about men whose wives or girlfriends assume they know them very well. They assume that providing, paying bills and keeping a smile makes them perfect. Some battles are not put out there. Not every dead person is in the graves. Some walk in the streets awaiting their actual death. People need to be accommodating. To listen and to offer support. Then again,do not be the reason a partner can not sit at home and be in peace. Some of those men in those parlours started by passing time to avoid their nagging and yelling partners and today, sex and pleasure at the parlours is an addiction.
“Tell me about the guy who bought your last car, “I say.
“He is a good guy. I bought the car from him. I needed money so I sold it to him again. He paid me in cash so I could fix myself.”
What happens when you sell your car, have disposable income, are on a street full of massage parlours and have an addiction to fight?
We stand, ready to leave. He pays the bill because he is a man and men pay bills because women look at them as if to ask why they should pay bills. They are helpers. They help when you are stuck. They “borrow chama money” from their purses and lend you then you return with interest. Women are good people. Have one.
We walk out and he sees this sign board for a Spa and Massage Parlour. A man who has just sold his car and has money, standing on a street with hundreds of those. He looks. I look. I look at him. He looks at me. I take an uber and leave.

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