Me, not so much.” She paused and looked up into my eyes. “Kayode, I hate to talk about this like it’s a business transaction, but let’s face it, it is. This is a little uncomfortable to say… I agreed with Dami to have you for one, um, encounter tonight.
But if you’re not in a rush to leave, and you’re able, I would really like for us to have another go. I’m still kind of horny. You really got my juices flowing, and I’m feeling a little greedy. Of course, I’ll pay you for your service.”
“Ugo, I had a great time with you as well. I will love to be with you again. I know you’ll do the right thing with Dami. Could you just give me a couple of minutes to use your bathroom first?”
“Of course. Better than going in my bed” she said with a chuckle. But could you use the one in the next room? I need to do the same, and my bathroom is kind of my personal space.” I understood how she felt, and I did what I had to in the guest bathroom, and then we met back in bed, where we had a bawdier time.
We were more familiar with each other that time, and the sex was a little more aggressive on both our parts, the language between us was saltier, and it felt like it was more about pure release sex as opposed to making love together.
When I finally left at 3:30 in the morning (Ugo paid for a car service for me), she transferred an extra hundred thousand naira to my account as a tip. “Don’t you tell Dami about that, Kayode. It’s for you alone.
You were just amazing all night long. We kissed briefly as I finished getting dressed, not putting on the bow tie. She booked a bolt for me, paid for on her account, and she asked me before I left if she could call on me again.
“I would like that, Ugo. I enjoyed this evening in every way. I will be glad to be your escort any time you need one.”
“And what if I just want you to come here for an evening or afternoon of just sex? Would that be acceptable?” She acted like my answer was no big deal to her, but I knew it was. I could see it in her eyes, where her smile didn’t quite reach.
“Ugo,” I said, bringing her hand to my lips, “I would be glad to spend the time with you doing whatever you desire. We could go to a show or lunch or dinner. another gala, or, we could just stay in and have a very, very good time together.” I kissed her hand before her lips and then I was on my way home.
I was pretty tired by the time I got to my apartment. I got undressed and carefully hung up my tux, then after brushing and washing up a bit I kind of fell onto my bed. I was tired enough to fall right asleep, but instead, I was thinking. Thinking hard.
This was my first experience as a ‘pro’, selling my sexual favours for money. The escort part, being Ugo’s ‘date’ for the evening at the party, was the relatively easy part for me. It just required me to be a gentleman and kind and charming as well as knowledgeable.
That part came easy to me. The other part, the gigolo part, was my moral dilemma. For almost an hour I tossed it over in my mind. Should I keep doing this? There was a lot more money involved, but there was the old moral judgment regarding selling one’s sexual services. In the end, I decided I would keep doing this. Not all the women would be as attractive and as easy to be with as Ugo was. She was charming and gracious, and we had a good chemistry. They wouldn’t all be like that.
That’s my story of my first time working as an escort and a sex worker. Ugo Chiwendu was my first client, and for a while, she was requesting my services every week. Sometimes we went to parties and other social events, other times to dark, discreet restaurants before we ended up back at her mansion. Other times, she would request me just to come to her place for sex, often in the afternoon.
I enjoyed spending time with her, but I had to be careful, as Dami warned me, about emotional attachment to a client. This was a work relationship, after all.
That first week, I saw three clients, and all went very well. One other just wanted sex, relatively straight sex, oral and intercourse. She was a nice lady of about 40, married, and she needed what her husband didn’t or couldn’t give her.
The other, Habiba, wanted something different, something kinky. She was one of the women who had a fantasy about having sex with her ‘son’. She wouldn’t actually do that (her son was 22 and in a university out in the country), but she did have a need to explore her fantasy. That didn’t bother me at all. I knew people had all sorts of fantasies and most would never act on them in real life. So they needed someone to role-play with them.
It was something many men and women kept hidden from their spouses and even their friends, especially something that was so taboo. Dami had asked me in advance if I could go along with this kind of thing, and I told her I could. As long as I wasn’t being hurt, I was capable of working with almost anyone.
Habiba had me come to her estate around Lekki by 2PM on that Saturday when her husband was out for the day. She was a stunning woman, early 50s, petite but very curvy with a slender waist and great breasts. A real looker.
We sat and she offered me a drink. I asked for tonic wayer while she mixed herself vodka and coke, then we got down to getting to know each other a little. She had a great personality, vivacious with a great sense of humour, and we had a nice chat for about an hour, which put us both at ease. Then we got down to the reason I was there.
“So, Kayode, I assume Dami gave you some idea why I hired you for the afternoon? Besides the obvious.”
“Yes, she did. It’s not a problem for me. I understand people have various fantasies for various reasons. Sometimes it has to do with something they saw or experienced in the past.
Whatever it is, most of us have them. I have my own, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here for your fantasy. You want to have sex with your son, so to speak.”
She said “Well, yes, kind of. I would never do such a thing, but the idea of it really gets me thinking. Do you want to know why, and what I want you to do?”
“Of course. I want to make this the best experience possible for you. So tell me what you want.”
She gave me the details of where her fantasy came from and how she wanted to play it out. I nodded and told her that was fine. She smiled with relief, finally able to share her deepest secret with someone.
(Dami knew the basics, but she didn’t know any of the details).
“Your ‘props’ are already in my son’s old room. Give me about 20 minutes to change and be ready then. I won’t come in earlier than that, but I’m not going to knock. I’ll just enter as soon as I’m ready after that, so you should be ready then.”
Habiba then showed me into her son’s room, typical for a male of about 22. A full-size bed, a computer desk and chair set (no computer though), some sports and music memorabilia on the walls and the bookcase along with various textbooks and casual reading. It was familiar and different from my own old room back home.
I used the bathroom attached and then sat and made myself as comfortable as I could sitting in the desk chair. The ‘props’ for me were a xxx-rated magazine, not softcore, and a pair of her panties, black satin and very small. Very sexy.
And I could tell they were worn recently and had her feminine odour. Habiba was really committed to doing this just as she wanted.
About 5 minutes before she was expected, I got out of my clothes except for my boxers, which I left around my knees. I picked up the magazine and checked out a few pages with a young man fucking a beautiful older woman, then I took my cock in my hand and stroked myself until I was fully hard, then I lightened up my stroke so I was going just hard enough to maintain my erection, rubbing it with her panties.
Less than 10 minutes later, I was still jerking my cock, nice and slow, reading the magazine, when ‘Mom’ just let herself into ‘my’ room. She was now wearing a medium-length red silk robe, carrying some clothes in her arms.
She quickly looked my way and acted like she was shocked to see me jerking off with the magazine and my ‘mom’s panties.
“Oh my, Kayode! Wh-what are you doing? Are those MY panties?” She pretended to be both surprised and angry.
“MOM! Don’t you knock? Can’t a guy get a little privacy in his own room?”
I was playing my part the way she described it. I hope I was getting it right.
“How can you talk to me about privacy when you’re doing… that, with my panties! Those are the ones I wore yesterday! You had to go into my hamper to get your hands on those!” She looked even hotter. “Talk about invading privacy!”
I then started to act sheepishly, like I was caught red-handed, which was what I was supposed to be. “Mom, I… um… dammit, you’re right. I never should have done this, not with your underwear. I’m really sorry.”
Under normal circumstances, a young man busted like that would almost certainly have gone soft and covered himself up as soon as possible. But that wasn’t part of the game. The game had me, as Habiba’s son, staying hard and not trying to hide it at all. “I just couldn’t help myself.”
“What do you mean, Kayode?” She was also not trying to avert her eyes; instead, she was eyeing my hard cock closely, and her voice was trembling. She was really into this, so I kept playing my part.
“Mom, you’re so beautiful, and I was very horny. And I have a thing for women’s panties. I wanted to know what kinds you wear.” I was smiling as my character took more and more control of the situation. Just like she told me she wanted.
“But-but those are my DIRTY panties! You could have taken clean ones, at least!”
“But these smell like you, Mom. I wanted to know what you smell like. What your vagina smells like. It’s a very sweet scent.”
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