This Story Will Change Your View of Prostitution

The society has a particular view of prostitution. When the ‘p’ word is mentioned, almost everybody’s mind goes toward one direction, a unison of thought of some sort. But not of that view is correct. And this view is an all-negative, all-condemning one. Most people in most parts of the world see it as a vice, something that should be criminalized.

Prostitution should not be viewed in a dogmatic way. A considerate, circumspect view of the act is necessary.

Prostitution should not be viewed in a dogmatic way. A considerate, circumspect view of the act is necessary.

But that’s just being overly simplistic. When you consider some scenarios, you will have a full grasp of the matter at hand. You need to hear some stories that will change your mind a little about this. I don’t encourage prostitution but I personally don’t see it as a crime neither do I think we should shame those who engage in it. If it’s not your story, you sure can’t know how it feels.

The following story was shared by a Facebook friend who goes by the name Darren Idongesit Aquaisua. It’s his personal true-life story which he shared on his Facebook wall and I’ve chosen not to tamper with it except that I corrected the typos and the punctuations. Happy reading!

I’ve been a prostitute. I’ve paid a prostitute. Here is my story and why we as a society need to embrace a change in perspective on prostitution.

Definitions, definitions, and definitions. What’s prostitution?

“The practice or occupation of engaging in sexual activity with someone for payment.” ~(OED, 2016)

I picked this Oxford English Dictionary definition because of its brevity and unambiguity.

This is the part I have to put in a quote. It has to be from a famous person:

“So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” ~ (Jesus in John 8:7, KJV)

So Jesus was tackling the hypocrisy of his time while defending human right for everyone including prostitutes!

How many people have had sex in their lives?

Did you find it pleasurable?

If sex is pleasurable and desired, why wouldn’t you wish for another to benefit from that which you find pleasurable?

The issue comes down to morality and ethics. Sex is good but how do we as humans obtain it in a moral and responsible manner that doesn’t endanger the lives and health of others?

Hopefully this question will be answered through the ensuing paragraphs.

I have been moderately blessed with looks and intellect that the only award I had in my undergrad was “most handsome award”. I still don’t understand how they left me out on the most serious student award. When I tell people I once paid a prostitute, they would be shocked as to why I can’t just pull any woman off the street and wow her into sex.

It all comes down to moral values I hold. I am a very honest and truthful person and I keep telling myself that every morning so that the temptation of lies and dishonesty doesn’t creep back to ruin a state of perfection I’ve reached so far.

I could pull any woman off the street and have sex but that would involve a lot of deception and heartbreak afterwards.  This I cannot do.

I am very introverted and I love my personal space. A relationship encroaches on that and I’ve managed to avoid them. I want sex but I can’t obtain it by deception. It would take hardwork and a relationship to get that, two ideas I am not even remotely interested in. Relationships encroach on personal space and the last one I had, I was forced to go to church (which I don’t like to do). Relationships make us lose any meaning we’ve made out of life and the most annoying part is the restrictions it places on personal liberty — the joys of sprawling and farting while naked is so alluring that a relationship or any close-quarter association with another human being restricts those freedoms due to the necessary yet frustrating demands of etiquette and self-respect.

I have been happiest when single but then one day my mother asked me, “Can you deliver a parcel to Aunty X? Her daughter is back btw.”

She didn’t have to say that.

I was at the house, big and impressive. So I rang the doorbell and it wasn’t the gateman that answered but this stunningly beautiful lady that took the wrapped gift while ushering me in. The mother was all smiles and before she left two of us, she gave me another clue:

“Oh! I’ll leave two of you to enjoy a conversation, greet mummy for me.”

She didn’t have to say that. It seemed these old people were trying to set us up.

She was everything one would want from a wife —intelligent, submissive, and homely. She too was every bit the Christian with a record in choir. These are good qualities but her constant references to god was irritating and I am so crazy that I’ve never liked god people. I don’t like perfect churchie people and definitely not submissive folks. I love tigresses and bad girls. So for me the attempted imprisonment by marriage wasn’t going to work at all. I thanked her for the hospitality and drove off forever into oblivion.

This encounter brought me into deep contemplation. If two old women tried to set you up, then it’s time to get married or at least start a relationship, two things that scare me the most. That night I sat in B line of the AKSG housing estate drinking and thinking hard about a relationship. This road is called the Maitama of Akwa Ibom because that’s where the holy politicians and others come on Saturday to pick up girls then drive through to church the next morning singing hymns.

I decided there and then to experiment on close-quarter living with someone I’d pretend was my wife. I brought out a pen and paper, wrote down the attributes I would love in a woman, and I tried matching these with the numerous call girls on that affluent Maitama road. I finally narrowed down to a petite dark beauty — eyes wide and lovely and most importantly she was open and honest. She was not a church person and she was vulgar. I asked in the most awkward yet polite manner, 

“You must be a prostitute, right?”

She said in the most casual demeanor, 

“Before nko! I come Akwa Ibom come play?”

Hhhhm, she wasn’t from Akwa Ibom and definitely wouldn’t turn up on my wedding day screaming, 

“I know him and this one shouldn’t be happily married!”

She was from Imo state and that was perfect. I asked how much it would cost for a night of heated passion and unforgivable sins. 

“Oga na N5,000.”

I asked for a discount to which she got angry. 

“You never even buy me drink. I just dey tell you the truth but una no dey like truth. I dey comot for here o!”

I begged her to stay and did the proper thing by introducing myself and offering a drink. She got a Guinness stout and my heart leaped for joy: this one drinks too! While I was happy she took alcohol, a cigarette flew into a lightly glossed lips and a belch, “you get lighter?”

I didn’t have one as I don’t smoke but I love to watch people especially women do that thing. There’s something about the defiance against lung cancer and societal expectations of a woman. I had found an angel, maybe Victoria’s but certainly I was going to give this girl a contract. So I asked her to calculate how much I’d have to pay her for a week. I didn’t finish when she said in between puffs of oaky silver strings, 

“Na 35K now but if we agree 4K like you talk, e go be 28K.”

Her calculations were spot on. This was an intelligent person because she worked out figures so fast that it took me an extra 5 seconds to come to the same figures.

I would try living with a woman in my studio apartment, go to work and come home to meet a woman, and wake up to meet a woman you’d call wife everyday for a week. I was going to pay N28,000 to this stranger and hopefully I’d overcome my phobia of closeness to other human beings.

We agreed on almost everything but I had to be sure I wasn’t selling my hard-earned freedom. So I said,  “We are not in love. We are not in a relationship. I am making this payment for sex too. Agreed?”

She laughed and gave a witty rhetorical, “No be ashawo work I dey do before?”

As we were about leaving, she stood up and then I realized just how pretty she was — sensual curves and graceful strides that were in sharp contrast to her particular vulgar mannerisms.

She took the money and ran away saying, 

“I dey come. Make I go give my sister the money.”

I couldn’t run after her, not in Maitama with all the people of Akwa Ibom staring.  So I maintained a gentlemanly calmness and pretended I wasn’t troubled by such an erratic behavior. I stood for 5 minutes, 10 minutes and felt dejected. I just lost about 25% of my salary, not that I really had much to do with my wages at the time.

I sat on the hood of my car contemplating and suddenly a gentle touch and a hug from behind, the inviting fragrance all too familiar. I turned around and there was the most beautiful woman I’d hugged in a long while. Something about her that changed was that she was now speaking perfect grammar (I wouldn’t miss that), and her attitude changed to a more polite and reserved person smacked with a dash of shyness that made her lovable.

The idea of spending one week with this girl was now something I looked up to and it was wonderful. I found in her a ready therapist to tell all my problems and childhood trauma and yet she never judged me. She didn’t put me under any pressure to be someone I wasn’t. I lived with the friendliest person and she told me how hawking for her mother wasn’t sufficient to handle tuition for her brothers in school — one in IMSU and the other at the polytechnic at Nekede. So a mother knew her daughter was in the business and I couldn’t understand how a brilliant girl and her mother would work for the education of two males.

In the last day of our contract, I realized I had come to love this woman but there is this weird thing I do when I love someone: I push them away. I just sabotage the relationship and for her,  I did just that. I deleted her number and blocked any attempt to rekindle the emotions that we shared for 7 days.

I discovered that living with someone as a wife was possible but to what degree would I loose my personal freedom and ideology by marrying a religious or demanding person?

The second part of this story is about how I paid a semester’s tuition in a private university through a liaison with an older woman in Port Harcourt.

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