Before COVID, I considered myself a normal girl leading an everyday life with an 8 to “whenever the boss fancies” kind of job. I could pay my bills and spare some for a Sunday evening drink. When COVID came, my boss’ husband was laid off, which meant my job at a beauty parlor came to a grinding halt after he took up the nail polishing business I was hired for. So I went home and decided to be a writer.
The reviews online said I could earn as much as 2,000$ a month after a 40$ training course. After my training, which was nothing to write home about and which was conducted online and took for under a week, I was given the power to be, and I hit the market looking for clients.
I got one from Pakistan, and the guy was paying me 10$ per 2500 words. I slaved for hours, but all I got at the end of the month was not even enough to pay my rent, let alone make me a millionaire. To say I was demotivated, and in poverty, panic would be an understatement.
Suppose you are a regular on Facebook or any other social site. In that case, You must have come across a pop-up ad for massage parlors and spas in private residential homes either in Kilimani, Karen, Muthaiga, Kitusuru, or any other residential area.
Unless you are a horny, lonely man, most of us do not pay any attention to these ads, nor do we even give them a second thought. I was one of those who swipe the ads off my timeline and block them for an indefinite amount of time. Being jobless and prospectless had changed all that. So am going through my Facebook feed, and there pops an ad. “Looking for beautiful and sensual companions. Trained masseuse preferred.”
I wasn’t outgoing by nature, I didn’t seem overtly sexual, and I certainly didn’t ever aspire to be a hooker before I saw this ad. I mean, I have been called pretty albeit in the dark, and I have been considered sensual by most. My hips to waist ratio are desirable, and when I swing my backside, men practically drool. With those attributes and my supple and smooth hands, I was sure I could hack the massage business.
So I took up the number and made a call. The voice on the other side said, ” The place Spa, how may I help you?” I told the lady I would like to apply for the massage job, and she invited me to her office, which doubled as a massage parlor in Kilimani. Since I had never visited the town, I took an uber, and I arrived at the office at precisely ten o’clock.
The place had an unassuming air around it with classy well-picked décor that would fit perfectly in a home. There was a classy lady with well-made makeup and spectacular fingernails behind the desk. She introduced herself as “Dasha,” the owner of the establishment. She welcomed me in and started the interview.
Her “Have you ever worked in a massage parlor?”
Me, “No, but I am a quick learner, and I am sure I can pick it up pretty quick.
Her, “are you a virgin?”
Her, giving me a look that said, “are you for real!” “The massage business is twofold; there are those clients who come for a massage purely to take the edge off and those who come for a massage to get off. Get what I mean? ” the double entendre is not lost on me, and I shake my head in righteous indignation.
Her, ” if you insist on pure massage work, the pay is $50 a session, but if you decide to give a happy ending, the pay is $150 an hour for outcalls and 200 dollars for inhouse business. The house takes a cut of 50 dollars for whatever service. The rule here is to ensure you are always paid first before any business starts and always warm the oil.”
My jaw dropped. I pictured my tiny room in Githurai with two months’ rent arrears, my -25$ Mpesa balance, and two days intermittent fast not to lose weight but because I could not afford a cup of githeri from mama Njeris Kibanda. Fifty dollars seemed so tempting, but I was sure my mom in heaven would send lightning bolts to strike my ass if I tried that business.
I was jolted awake by Danashas voice saying, “of course, you can start with the regular and decide which side to go after you have found your footing. To start with, you need to buy some beautiful lingerie and start tomorrow. But to get a feeling of what happens here, you can watch one of our girls in action.”
Just like that, I had a job. Through it all and even before I signed up for it, it had never occurred to me that someone would be watching the sessions. I asked why our sessions would be monitored, and she told me it’s to ensure no one went beyond what was expected and for the security of those offering the service. A bout of shyness hit me, but it truly made sense.
I was invited into a spacious room where two girls and a guy were seated chatting. There was a big picture on the picture screen highlighting various rooms and girls with their clients. Dasha was with a client in a room with soft lighting and a very inviting bed. The guy on the bed was under a white sheet. She put some oil on her hand and started rubbing his back.
The whispering continued, then I heard her over the mike say maybe Sasha would like to join us? Immediately a girl sashayed into the room, and Dasha came over to disrobe her. By this time, the guy was on his back and seemed to be getting off on the exchange. The girls leaned over, and now the massage took on a new meaning. Before I knew it, the whole thing was over, and the guy was dressing with a big grin on his face.
The entire thing took less than 30 minutes, and both girls made 200 dollars each. I was hooked. I became a regular connoisseur of pop-up ads and discovered Penzi Tamu, where I could advertise my services and bypass the “House,” which took up 25% of my earnings. I’m no longer the arrogant young woman with her nose in the air. I am a well-paid escort with services ranging from anal, girl on girl, party entertainment, massages, and hand jobs to the girlfriend’s experience.
Would I trade my career for an 8 to 5 job? Hell No. I get paid to do something I enjoy, and holding the secret of my position under my chest makes my days quite interesting. I always warm the oil and I always GET PAID FIRST.
Always do that which makes you happy 🙂