Fassara Zuwa Hausa

The Prostitute: A story of extreme love, fury and jealousy (Preview)

“Have we.”

“Yes, we have.’

“Have you completely convinced yourself?”

“Yes, I have.’ He said to himself and tried to shut the door to his thought.

Steve Davies remembered vividly how he had looked admiringly at one of the two night ladies his friend Bobby Tamor brought to his house. This other lady looked extremely radiant and beautiful and only accompanied her friend who had entered into a sex contract with bobby for the weekend. Steve’s stubborn mind and sub consciousness could not easily let go of this lady all through the weekend and for another seven days after he set his eyes on her and that was what impelled him to stamp her name on his brain for many days.

Am, Steve thought as he stood within a touching distance of one of the spots on this notorious street where these girls of the night carry out their businesses. I in love with this lady already? That must be silly of me. Am in love with a terrible lady of the night. Am in love with a prostitute. How do I explain this and how do I inform Bobby that I was actually a judgmental dictator who was not always ready to look at issues from the two sides of the coin. How do I convince Bobby and anyone that this is true love? I’m confused.

“Hey, “a sweet voice from behind him woke him up from his reverie. “Looking for a night deal?’ A tall, loud and rebellious lady tapped him on his right shoulder and held firmly to it.

“O o h h,” Steve stammered and stuttered. “Not really thanks.”

“Oh come on, I’ve spread fresh, clean sheets on my bed, colorful imported linens. My bed is aromatic with spices and exotic fragrances. I’ll give you a good love business all night.”

“Thank you, I’m okay.”