Ivan Musoke

Just like a tattoo

He waits in the corridor. Nervous. After promising himself and to a larger extent the world, he is finally going to go through with it. The excitement coursing through his veins is no match for the adrenaline flowing beside it. His heartbeat quickens with each passing second as he looks around for a distraction.

A bulb. Bulbs are good. They produce light. This one has not been switched on so its just there. Unassuming. Useless. He looks around for something else. Anything.

The chair in front of him couldn’t sustain any ounce of attention even if it tried. The girl sitting on it on the other hand. leaning over, showing flesh. He laughs, remembering something he read somewhere, “crack is wack!” The laugh is not convincing. Barely a whisper, failing to mask the nervousness within.

He glances at the door down the corridor, wondering whether he made a mistake coming here. The voice of reason had told him not to, that it would be a mistake, something he would regret. But it was too late for that. In any case, he didn’t want to have to deal with the look of contempt and derision that would follow if he failed to go through with it.

What is taking her so long. . .

He looks down again. observing some movement on the other side of the door. Well, he may have imagined it. He hopes he did. Movement means progress, progress means that he is.

“Next”. The voice calls out.

It comes from a pretty brown thing. She can’t possibly be a day out of campus. She certainly looks ‘campus’. He tries to pay attention to her body. Hoping that he can muster some other emotion that is not panic. Heck, he would sooner deal with feeling ‘horny’ at this point. Maybe if he gets it up,she too will feel as nervous dealing with him as he feels now.

He looks down.

There’s a message from his man in the south, “Not today mate, you’re on your own.”


He looks back at the door. The “fresh-out-of-campus” looks at him with a smile. A knowing look playing on her face.

She walks over.

Dear Lord,this is going to be embarassing, she is not going to.

She does, she holds his hand and pulls him to the door, “Customer, let’s go”

The other clients in the establishment look at him, amused.

She shuts the door behind him as he sits.

Is this your first time?” She asks, half concerned, half not really giving a shit.

He nods. A lump in his throat.

“Don’t worry, I’ve worked with people like you. First timers are always nervous. I will be easy on you”.

He feels reassured. He doesn’t know why. Its certainly not from the way she says. She sounds highly ‘indigenous’. There is certainly nothing to arouse any ‘interest’ there. However, there is the body.

She leans over and strokes him, “This is where you want it?”

He can smell the cheap perfume, but the proximity inhibits his taste. He knows no standards. He nods his head.

“Okay, take off your shirt”.

He is, it would appear, too slow. So she does it for him.

Then she lays her tools on the table. . .




  1. bwahahahahahahahaha..when you read the first few paragraphs you’d imagine it as a trip to the dentist..

    @ashy..nyabo oyinamu meka?

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