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I can’t remember who told me this story but I’m glad they did, because now I get to tell you why visiting fine establishments like Sabina Joy, henceforth referred to as SJ, can either be a really good thing i.e if you’re an adventurous fellow, or a really bad one, that’s for the prudes that exist among us normal folk. First off, SJ, is an establishment for the baser gentlemen in Nairobi society (read: poor), located on Tom Mboya St, where blow jobs go for as little as 50 bob. It’s a home for the cautious sex worker that would rather not risk hypothermia prowling the famed Koinange St for customers. Here customers get their pick of brown toothed vixens to spend a few minutes with and get whatever services their pockets allow. I must commend these ladies for offering their services cheaply enough that even the most antisocial brute would not be left so lonely and blue balled that he preyed upon the women of Nairobi. It is a great service they do and it was one of these services this guy G needed on that fateful freezing Nairobi night. He was drunk as a skunk and had only 150 left in his wallet. He was hornier than a bunny on Viagra but knew there was no way in hell he could chipo anyone even if it was desperation hour (3 – 4 am), these town girls were expensive AF! On a normal night the standard cab, chips and chicken required wouldn’t have been an issue. Tonight though… So he trekked from Odeon, his D at half mast as he stared at the scantily dressed females calling out to potential customers, none even spared him a glance, he had poverty written all over him. That is until he got to Eureka. A lady in red saw him and clung to his arm. “Sweery, si nikupatie kandem kakusaidie na hiyo mzolombo imejitoklezea hapo?” “Niko na so pekee.” “Hakuna shinda.” So he followed. It was a dingy room, she was even dingier. He opened his trouser, stroked the snake inside a little bit and put on the condom he found on the chest of drawers next to the bed. She told him ” Loundi mmonja tu. Ukimwaga unatoka” He nodded. In and out he went, 5 minutes…10. 20 minutes…30. People started knocking on the door. She was a busy girl and he was taking up precious time… He wasn’t a one minute man and the booze made sure he’d last a lifetime… She started squeezing him with her p muscles, trying to milk the cum out of him. He chuckled, he was determined to make it an hour. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Scarlet Johansson in this smelly bug infested room… He heard something rip, he didn’t care, Scarlet was moaning his name! The girl under him grabbed his bottom! Yeah! He was going to make this whore cum!!! He pounded harder, nearing his climax but still wanting to make that hour. Suddenly he felt her latex clad finger where it shouldn’t be! What the hell!!! He tried jerking upwards to dislodge it! Too late! That finger penetrated his behind and explored his inner depths with zero apologies. In one second he felt all the happiness, all the pain, all the glory of this world and beyond. He saw colours he’d never imagined existed, spoke in tongues and swears to this day that he saw God! Ah, what joy these lovely ladies bring to the hearts of many a dreadful Kenyan heart!

Sex must be the creation that God is most proud of. For Him, it must be like when you pour wax on ants and watch to see how they will react. Then He laughs, and laughs, and laughs at the contortions of not only our loins, but our hearts and the very depths of our souls. We ache and arch to experience it.  An insatiable hunger that consumes us whole. It is this thing that most drives us. Wars have been fought and won in the pursuit of the not so elusive, pussy. This was one sadistic creation. American Pie, the movie (if you haven’t watched it go back to your homework kid or we’ll tell your mother). The scene where Stifler breaks into a sorority house and gets busted by two girls and they have to pretend they are lesbians, that is the scene I first ever jerked off to. At some point in the scene I heard the word “wank”, and it was as goon an instruction as any other to unzip my pants, take it out and proceed move my cock around like a baby’s shaker (my idiocy knows no bounds). So there i was, shaking away at my penis, wondering how on earth this was supposed to be erotic, hen it hit me! I’d just mimic the motions made when having sex only this time the vagina would be my hand. Et voila! Magic! The friction felt like it was awakening a beast from its slumber. I could feel something bubbling under, and when that Sorority sister touched her friend’s breasts, off my seed shot into the air! Houston, we have lift off. There are reasons for pleasuring yourself.  Sometimes its a means of relieving sexual tension, it’s also a good way tolearn how to pace and control yourself during sex. Most people though, do it just because it feels too damn good! I did it then because I was a young impressionable boy with an erection. Simple really. I find it very peculiar that masturbation remains an awkward subject. If someone found you having sex for instance, they would tell you later to make sure you locked the door next time (unless it was your mother that walked in on your naked ass). If they found you jerking off however, they would never look you in the eye again! They’d avoid shaking hands too…for some reason. Nothing screams self adoration more than getting yourself off.  You are a beautiful being, worthy to be made love to and if no one is willing to lay their genitals at your altar, then just hop into the shower and rub one out! You do it! I do it! Hell, I bet even the Pope does it! (I know hell is calling, no need to remind me) Jerking off has been accredited to reducing the risk of prostate cancer, creating a general feeling of well being and improving ones mood and is thus a great stress reliever. Stress being attributed to being the world’s number one killer, how is this wrong again? The scripture asks us to love thy neighbor as you love yourself, all I am asking you to do is,to love the hell out of yourself. After all, would God have created hands just long enough to cradle the totem if he didn’t want us to…ahem…plunder it?

It’s Monday morning, you woke up at 3:30 am, showered with that expensive new perfumed soap, applied lavender scented Esteé Lauder lotion, some lacy white undie and bra set, wore you new tight, short, red dress bila stockings, meticulously applied the barest minimum of make up you could manage – he preferred the natural look. You looked good. Too good. You were in fact irresistible today. He’d have no choice but to say yes… You get to the office at 6am. The door is locked. You’re disappointed as you let yourself in. He always get in by 5:30 am! The askari had told you, while joking about your late coming habits. Was he lying? You’re locking the door behind you when you notice a light coming from your left! it’s your office light. Who the hell would be snooping around your office at this time? You walk in, 10kg monster handbag ready to beat to a pulp the intruder! You walk in and there he is, by your desk, reading through some contracts. He turns quickly! “Who the hell is…?” His eyes widen when he sees you, looks you up and down. You can see the lust cloud his eyes. Victory! He wants you. He’ll have you. Right there on your desk. Early on a Monday morning. Shoes fly, panties drop, your dress is ripped. He’s brutal and you love it! 7a.m, you drive back home to get into you sensible pantsuit. 9a.m, you get to the office flushed in your hurry mumbling about the jam on Mombasa road. Everyone wonders why they haven’t fired you yet, for your late coming habit.