An Experience at a Hidden Brothel in Nairobi
Originally Published – Feb.12, 2013
“The thing about working girls is that you always know EXACTLY where her mouth has been
and EXACTLY where it’s going…”
There are things happening in this country everyday which everyone already knows about but we all pretend are secret. We do so for two reasons. The first being that uncovering and exposing them would work against us and the second being that their continued clandestine nature works FOR us.
For example, there are houses in some of the flashiest areas in Nairobi which are not ACTUAL homes. Dennis Onkari already exposed a Lavington house (while being careful not to disclose the ACTUAL location) in which young, “attractive”, girls go to survive. I use the term “survive” because whenever Kenyans hear the word “brothel” they only think about the fun bit and forget that the woman is not there because she finds sex endlessly interesting. She is there to survive.
Case study, a stag party I was invited to over the weekend which involved a midnight road trip to Loresho.
After making a bunch of complicated turns, our four cars arrived at a big green iron gate. The lead car honked twice and an askari opened the gate and let us in. We parked our cars in clearly marked parking spaces (clearly it is a professional outfit) and proceeded into the house.
The words “sexual buffet” could be used to explain what was waiting in the house. Women of all shapes and sizes, wearing skimpy outfits were lined up and cooing like aroused pigeons. The “lady” of the house, who was clearly the Madame seeing as she was actually wearing clothes, escorted our party to a living room where we got to sit in comfy sofas and enjoy a “parade”.
Then after the parade we were asked to “choose which one” we wanted to be our “company” for the evening. The rest of my comrades, including the groom to be, dove right in. But I was hesitant. This was no place for the likes of my shyness. So the ladies took it upon themselves to choose for me.
I ended up with an eager young lady who attempted to do everything within her power to “excite me” including rubbing, grinding and, my least favorite, licking my neck and face. All the other guys in the room found this to be great sport. But I was not amused.
Not only did I already have the flu but I was mortified by the thought of whatever bi-organisms might be swimming around in this woman’s spit. She wasn’t having a good time either. Not only was she catching the flu but her “client” was being difficult. The client was being difficult because of the very strong awareness of what this woman was and what she does for a living.
The thing about “working girls” is that you always know EXACTLY where her mouth has been and EXACTLY where it is going. So you could understand my reluctance towards physical contact of a fluid nature.
The grand total for my little lap dance? One thousand shillings! Good, she’ll need it to get flu medicine. For me it was a “good time” but something tells me the flu is not something she wants in her line of work.
Welcome to the only place in Kenya more fun than your bedroom.
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