By Evans Aboagye Tawiah
The Major general was so satisfied with my services that the hotel did not hesitate in paying me my balance. The general even took my phone number
and promised to keep in touch with me
because of the sweetness of my wet region. The amount of money these rich men are willing to pay for a pussy baffles me at times and I wonder what it is in a pussy that entices them that much.
I was becoming a millionaire little by little and I felt so satisfied with myself. My contacts and connection had grown and I
was becoming more popular and comfortable. My room was excellently furnished and I was contemplating buying my first car.
The Major general was still sleeping when I woke up the next morning. I quietly tiptoed into the bathroom to avoid interrupting his sleep and had my bath.
By the time I came out, he was awake but still lying in bed.
“Goodmorning sir,” I greeted.
“Goodmorning dear,” he replied. “You’re
already awake?”
“Yes I am,” I replied. “I have two important lectures this morning.” I lied.
“Walayi you’re very sweet and I would love to have your number. The receptionist will
transfer your balance to your account,” he informed.
“050…,” I called out to him. “3399450. I’m very grateful sir. Thank you so much sir.”
By then I had fully dressed up so I bade him goodbye and left. I had barely gotten to my hostel when my phone began to ring and the caller was my mum.
“Hello, mummy goodmorning,” I greeted on answering.
“What is this I’m hearing about you sleeping around in different hotels with different men?”
My mum asked shocking me deep to my marrow. It took me about 10 seconds to regain myself and answer the question.
“Mummy I don’t understand what you’re
talking about,” I replied buying time to think up a better reply.
“What don’t you understand!” My mum
barked.
“I have never slept outside my room since I came here,” I lied squeezing my face. “Where did you get such information from?”
“It doesn’t matter where I got the information from,” my mum replied back. “Better use your tongue to count your teeth and know what you’re doing to yourself. I’ve told you my own. Whether you agree or deny is your business. The grasshopper burning up in flames foolishly believes that it is producing oil. A grasshopper which allows itself to be killed by the fowl , Don’t say I didn’t tell you.” She hung up.
I sat back on my bed going over what my mum just said. “How on earth did she
come across such information? I’ve never
met any familiar face since I entered this
business. Who then fed her all the
information?” I couldn’t tell. But then my mum didn’t have any evidence or proof to support her claims and who knows, she could just be whining me to know whether
I was involved in the business or not.
I had to tighten my game nonetheless to avoid further scandal on my track and also keep an open eye and ear to know who was leaking information to my mum behind my back.
My phone started ringing again for the second time in five minutes. This time around, the caller was no other person than Hon. Clifford. I allowed the phone to ring for sometime before answering to avoid appearing desperate.
“Hello,” I answered on answering. “Goodmorning my honourable MP.” I greeted.
“Goodmorning,” the MP replied. “How are
you?”
“I’m fine sir and you?”
“I’m fine too.” “I called to inform you that tomorrow is my birthday and that I would be celebrating it in a big way and would be needing your company. Hope you will be available?”
“Yes I will,” I replied feeling elated.
“Ok see you tomorrow. My driver will come
and get you by 4pm.”
“Ok sir. Thank you sir,” I replied.
“You’re welcome,” he responded and dropped the call.
I lay on my bed feeling like a top business
mogul. It was the first time I was attending the birthday of a MP and I felt like a queen. Just then, another call came into my phone. This time it was from Bazuka hotel and the client was a returnee from America who needed an extra legs for the night. I instantly accepted the job and was at Bazuka
hotel at exactly 7pm. The receptionist was already familiar with me and all he did was tell me the room number and I went ahead to locate it.
I knocked on the door and went in. The client in question was Ray – the guy who
drugged me and raped me sometime ago and ran away with my money – but I pretended like I didn’t recognise him.
I had this little kitchen knife which I always carried in my bag for protection incase of unexpected violence from a client. I drew it out and faced him.
“Before the count of three give me my money or I will stab you to death!” I bawled advancing towards him.
“Sorry sorry wh-wh-what are you talking
about?” He stammered with brows raised.
“You drugged me, raped me and ran away
thinking that I won’t find you right?”
“Please please don’t do this to me,” he
begged shaking with fear. “It was the devil’s handwork.”
An uncontrollable fit of rage swept through me as he gave that excuse and as the memories of the events of that night flashed through my mind. I lost control and stabbed him three times in the abdomen with the kitchen knife. Blood spurted out from the wound as he clutched his stomach tightly writhing in pain. I stopped briefly as the reality of what I just did hit me but a bit of annoyance engulfed me one more time and I stabbed him two more times till he lay still and could move no more.
The entire bed-sheet was red with blood.
With trembling hands I dropped the kitchen knife back into my bag, went into the bathroom to clean up and hurriedly left the hotel before the management discovers Ray’s lifeless body in his own pool of blood on the bed in room 119…
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