My life in college was truly significant. Whereas young men’s lives were tied around their better halves: taking them to the salon, shopping, banks and different kinds of places that no rational man ought to be seen, I was caught up with doing extremely intriguing research on the skin-business and building my first massage parlour. This is the reason why I was driving by third-year while the vast majority of them were all the while strolling their better halves to the local market for clothing shopping.
I don’t have anything against sweethearts. What I’m against is a young lady believing that she is superior to any of my prostitutes in light of the fact that she fucks only her boyfriend(not necessarily) yet the gentleman takes her out, purchases her endowments, uses cash on her so as to fuck her. That sounds really like whoring to me. Why a man might use such a great amount of cash on a utilized pussy (on the off chance that you’ve lost your virginity your pussy is utilized) which has next to zero amusement in the couch or the couch or the rug or the divider is past my creative energy. Why a man might keep a sweetheart, who does not even, provide for him a slippery caress, and even wed her all for the sake of adoration is fairly insane. I’d rather use my well earned cash on a pretty prostitute who knows how to treat a dick.
Bitching aside, the point of this story is to let you know about my first encounter with a whore in Nairobi. An encounter that roused me to begin this business and which has offered nonstop inspiration to change how pussy is served to the dedicated Kenyan man.
I touched base in Nairobi, new from the town, gullible as heck and dumb enough to accept that this was the place where there is drain and nectar. I had quite recently been conceded into the school of processing Kenyatta University. I was going to turn into an Engineer, and a damn great one, and nothing was going to stop me. My guardians demanded following along to help me in the concession yet this was simply a weak reason for them to reach the city and use some of my HELB advance while they were busy.
Thus, I ended up in PREFABS with two flat mates, both from the coast, one a Kamba. I don’t generally need to let you know about the intimidation I felt from these guys. They spoke their familiar waterfront Swahili with such smooth stream that I could just trust that my shrubbing went unnoticed. They had swag, I mean genuine swag, yet some way or another the Kamba wound up with the ugliest young lady I had ever laid my eyes. She was from the school of building, which is no amazement.
On the third Friday of yard, as I was caught up with thinking about the first young lady I had fucked in the town, the Kamba (lets call him Muema) blast into the room with the terrible bitch in tow and educated me that I was exiled for a long time to come. For the individuals who don’t comprehend what exile means, it is the place a flat mate is tossed out of his room with the goal that Muema can practice mchezo ya kuingiza na kutoa on his monstrous bitch.
So I called Richard, my companion from the town. Richard was in second year and it worked out that he was enduring the same destiny as me. We chose to pool what was left of our HELB advance and hit the town hard. Our first stop was KBC.
At around eleven p.m. we discovered our tanked asses in Sabina Joy (S.j). For the individuals who don’t know S.j (which is practically unlawful not to know) it is this bar close Ambassadeur in Nairobi’s CBD where you can get laid at ten in the morning.
My early introduction of the premises was that it was fairly messy; the young ladies were overdressed for their business and it had a different waiting smell that left my tipsy mind a tad confounded. On my path to the urinal, I discovered the odd one out. She was all yellow, pretty and wearing miniskirt that finished a couple of inches over her superb gap. She snatched my groin.
“Unataka Choti?” (Do you need a shot?). She asked. I nodded like a confined creature attempting to take dump.
“Ni pesa ngapi?” (How much), my whisper was scarcely perceptible as she rubbed my cockerel.
“Ni soh moja.” (It’s a hundred shillings), she replied back. In any case I had five hundred shillings left from KBC so I consumed the offer.
She dragged me by my cock to a counter where I paid a hundred shillings for a room. I got two condoms wrapped in tissue paper and I held up outside the space for the buddy who was inside to dump his. My transform at long last came and I ventures into the room.
The room was littered with utilized condoms. A worn out couch on which lay a sleeping pad secured with so quite dried spunk you could manufacture a wall with it, remained at a corner. The young lady bounced onto the couch, climbed her skirt and peeled off her underwear.
“Unangoja nini?” (What are you waiting for?) She asked?
I required no further provoking. Rapidly, I tossed my jeans aside, the boxer took after and a condom soon slid into my erect penis. I stooped on the cot alongside the magnificence, she wet her pussy with some bit of salivation, got my dick and pushed it into the yawning gorge.
There is no saying to portray how wide that pussy was. It made me stop and take a glance at the little pretty body that claimed it in sheer amazement. It extended into obscurity scarcely sticking onto my hungry dick. Yet I pushed on like a frantic pooch. I gripped my interrupt sincere exertion to create any kind of grasp and the lady underneath me cried out as though she felt a thing. Endlessly she groaned, shouting fake sweet things into my ear and I kicked along like a cowpoke on a mission (no quip).
I saw her red lips, shimmering in the heavenliness of a lot of lipstick and I couldn’t fight the temptation to kiss her. My afforts to kiss her earned me a resonating slap.
“Umelipia Kuma, sio mdomo.” (You paid for the pussy, not the mouth). She sternly cautioned.
I chose to end this rapidly. I summoned all of quality in my being and focused on fucking her. At last with much frolic and pageantry: I shot my heap with such drive that I needed to stick to the cum-laden cot for backing.
She distracted me, rapidly put on her undies and tossed my attire onto the couch. I chose to spruce up and escape the soiled room to search for Richard. In the bar, the prostitute I had quite recently fucked was no place to be seen and Richard was still sipping his Tusker. We left for campus.