nowhere to hide

nowhere to hide

If I were to be the president of a country, the first billi would sign into law would be the bill legalising prostitution.it still baffles me why prostitution is illegal. Selling is legal. Sex Is legal but selling sex is illegal. The only possible excuse I can give is that the best things in life like water sex and air were given by GOD FREELY. Morally speaking, a bricklayer sells his skills, a wheelbarrow pusher sells his strength, a lawyer sells his brain so why shouldn’t one sell his body? . This is one question I have been itching to ask my senior pastors. I have been lacking to do so for fear of being sacked as their youth pastor.
Anyway, I still visit brothels ones awhile tohave a taste of the forbidden fruit. I disguise myself and go far from the city so I wont be recognised by church members. One faithful day, I put on a black wig and poured baby powder on my hair to make it look grey. I drew some winkles on my face using a brown eyeliner pencil . I drove to their joint. I could see them displaying their merchandise. I pulled over and they all came running towards me.i came out of my car slowly and walked towards them with the aid of my walking stick. You would mistake me for an elderly man in sixties.
“ fair, fleshy, fresh and succulent big ass big boobs ” I said specifying my desires as I tried to sort them out. Those who didn’t fit the category left.three of them remained behind. I avoided looking at their eyes . I gazed at their chest.
“I go feel am oo, make I no wettin I dey buy. I no like padding”
“no problem”
they chorused. I took turn to touch their chest. I took my hands to their nipples, I pressed it against my fingers before squeezing it hard.
“Small small oga, when we talk price,you fit do am like that“ she said, trying to stop me

I went to the next person and repeated the same procedure. She didn’t try to stop me. Instead, she pulled her entire top granting me more access. I pressed harder. She lifted her short skirt , grabbed my hands and placed it in between her legs. At this point, my head was no longer thinking. I had made my choice. I took her to my car without negotiating price. I was certain she would make it worthwhile.

I took her to the hotel I had booked earlier. She instantly went to the bathroom to take her bath.i began to take off all my costumes. I removed the fake mouthache and the oversize caftan and the cushion I had used to pad my belly to make it look big.and the eyeglass.

She came back from the bathroom while I was undressing

“Nduka, ”
A sound of my real name made my blood run cold. I froze not sure I wanted to look behind her.I was surprised. It was like electric current flowing through my veins.i had chosen a joint far from home in an attempt not to get recognised. Worse the voice sounds so familiar . my church memmbers call me pastor desmond. Only one person calls me by my native name.for the first time I looked up. Yes I recognisedher. Her name is Angela, my own blood sister who happens to be the choir leader of the church.. We gazed at each other for few minutes there was silence.What on earth was she doing here? . She wasn’t here for money. Many things on my mind.

“what are you doing here”I asked trying to deflect the shame I felt towards her
“I should be asking you that “ she reinstated.
“were you the old man “ she inquired. She threw her eyes at the bed and found my fake mustache lying there.
It became clear to her.
We had caught each other so its best to speak the truth.I had to be honest with her. I told her how I had been disguising myself for pleasure. She also told me sexual pleasure was all she sought .i couldn’t sleep with my sister. we are partners in crime leaving a hypocritical life ; appearing holy in the eyes of our church members.one thing remained though . she had lost every respect she had for me since that day.



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