Nowadays there are the independent women; those who will wave their index finger, shake the head and say they don't give a damn about what society says or thinks about them. "It's my life, you know" they will say. That is usually a lie. Think about it; Isn't society's approval and disapproval that adds flavor to life? There is no one who doesn't totally give a damn about society, even men. Few women, if any, can honestly say they care not about what men think of them. The claim to be indifferent seems an escapist, masturbatory exercise.
Some time ago, before I started trading in pleasure on the streets, I used to spend hours wondering what pants to wear. Yet those were the days when I could go for weeks without being laid.(Yes, there were such days). I would say, I am taking time to pick a pant because I want to choose one that will make me feel good about myself. But the reality is, I was timid in my thinking. I hadn't developed a capacity for fearless thought. Honestly I was worried about what people might think if by whatever chance they got a glimpse of the pants. I had a feeling that they were looking through, judging me by what I wore outside and inside. There is a thin line between doing things to feel good about yourself and doing things to make society feel good about you.
Alot has come to pass since then. I am now brave enough to admit I dress, and do many other things with men in my mind. I see the modern woman sneer; because I am one of those pulling the women cause behind & should open my eyes: Independence from men is a mark of a progressiveness. I believe I am progressive, so I qualify my statement by saying I do it, because I earn a living from men. In the streets there is no room for lukewarm behavior ; you are either out please a man or not. And girls do many things to please and win men.
Sometimes us on the streets tend to think we have men figured out; But men are complicated, their actions unpredictable and not always very rational . For example take their idea of beauty. It's said beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. But this is one of those feel-good society moral statements. Everyone knows there is what is considered a standard definition of beauty. Every girl knows whether she is beautiful or not despite what parents, teachers or motivational speakers say. The beautiful girls on the street expect to have an upper hand over the beauty challenged. But men pull surprises. Like with Pretty, a girl who reminds me of a woman in one of those cheesy Eddie Murphy films, I can't remember which, where a husband calls his beauty and character deficient wife 'my drop of chocolate'. Anyway Pretty, for a mysterious reason, is very popular with five or so men, the kind of men who, by the way they drive and talk, ooze of character; the kind of men girls here love to go out with.
Of course us the 'beautiful' ones don't accept Pretty's 'luck' lying down. We say Pretty 'anatumia dawa'; an euphemism for witchcraft. That is debatable. But no girl sits around and hopes she will be as lucky as Pretty. And there are opportunists who know this very well. There are women and men who come here at night peddling all kinds of concoctions supposed to improve a girl's image. Cheupe, who has a problem with the size of her ass, bought one supposedly to make it balloon. A few days later ,in her flamboyant way of narrating, she told a group of us " Those tablets almost killed me. I filled a bucket with diarrhea, and my buttocks are still the same, they even seem to have grown smaller. " Nimo too had a story. She bought tablets to erase her love handles and tires . " I became very very wet and ended up using pads, it was worse than having periods". The tires were still visible.
And so a few days ago, in what in retrospect was a moment of foolishness, I bought some cream supposed to make my P tighter. I have never had any problem with my elasticity, but now when I think of it, the woman was super in selling; with words she took me to a fantasy world , where every man in the city would be looking for me. I still can't explain my folly.
So, according to instructions, I applied the cream an hour or so before I came to town. By the time I got to the street I was feeling some itchiness and dryness. Must be the medicine working, I told myself. An hour later, I couldn't or imagined not to feel the pulsate down there. I touched myself, and felt some weird dryness around the whole area. A little later a vehicle came, we rushed and the man picked me. Though a little anxious , I thought I was out to get my first return on the Ksh. 200 investment in the medicine.
We went to a hotel. He was one of those who get straight to the business. He tried to penetrate me, but he couldn't. Every time he tried, it felt so painful. It was as if I had super glued my lips.
" Are you a virgin?" he asked.
In normal circumstances it would have sounded sarcastic and funny. But now it hurt.
"Just forget it" I said and left.
I am back to normal elasticity.
....................................................................................................................................................................
PS: Thank you all for all manner of comments and emails.
0 comments:
Post a Comment