Last weekend, as I waited for my turn for a pedicure at the salon, I observed the young man I was in line for working on this, uh, plump woman.
She had leaned back on her seat, powerless to his touch. The pedicurist was a young Congolese man; you know these guys colonised by the French have some sort of edge in matters women. The guy poured a generous amount of oil on his hands and took the lady to heights she had obviously never been before.
His hands went steadily inch by inch higher up from her feet, nothing strange there but she had this look of anticipation
— like something great, an explosion if you may, was afoot.
His practiced hands went past her knees and into her inner thighs, her long skirt offering some kind of privacy so creepers don’t peek into the forbidden lands. I couldn’t see, but from her soft moans I could only assume that his hands were knocking on the doors of her Bermuda Triangle.
His eyes, meanwhile, were locked into hers as he steadily but gently worked on her, like they were connected in some medieval mating ritual. She appeared like she was under his spell and judging from her pace of breathing, she loved every minute of it.
It became rather uncomfortable to continue watching, and also because I dreaded being next on that hot sea, I gathered my things and slipped out. Later I asked my friend about it and she confessed that kinda erotic packed massage was the thing that took her and many women to that salon over again, which I understood was why his phone was ringing endlessly, with women calling to book appointments.
I had the impression he was very` capable of giving happy endings, only that it was a public place with many people around. Maybe some women called him privately for romps, I wouldn’t know. But that thing has left me thinking that Kenyans might be turning to all these sexualized activities to escape from the realities of their own homes.
Married people are the most sexually starved, no doubt about that. These people operating facilities like salons, gyms and barbershops have since learnt this. That’s why the fine women and men working in those facilities often prey on married individuals because even though they might wear power pant suits and all, their flesh is weak.
Don’t even know how to explain their obsession with the barbershop these days. How do you explain to your wife that you need to go for a shave when your head was scraped bare two days ago? How do you explain that it is the thin well-manicured fingers of that woman who smiles down at you in the mirror as she fiddles with your nipples is the only highlight of your week?
I mean after all, before you met her, those nipples had since gathered dust since your wife never cares to find out about those erogenous zones other than what the bible teaches her and you were too embarrassed to tell her because nipple play is supposedly only for women.
The girls at the barbershop don’t seem to mind about the protruding potbelly or the man boobs; they work on you with a smile even when you are an embarrassing blob of fatty mass. They don’t remind you about your insecurities or quarrel you because you forgot to buy baby formula again. You feel at home with them. So then you go home with a bounce in your step because of the happiness she supposedly gives you.
But you know it’s all a scam because their sole purpose is to get you aroused enough so you can tip well or turn her into a mistress.
And the women aren’t spared either. Sexualised pedicure sessions and gym sessions are the order of the day. Women can’t even explain the science behind how during gym sessions with the trainer with those rock hard abs, their legs can stretch all the way and even tie a knot behind their necks when at home during lovemaking, getting them an inch above the mattress is a chore.
And you wonder why they go there daily but don’t lose weight, they only thing they go for is the stretching session. The gym trainers, in their tights that leave nothing to the imagination manage to give women superpowers that they didn’t know they had. Now it gets to a point women can’t explain why they go to the gym with a full face of make-up or why you now dab perfume in their nether regions when they are supposed to be sweating it all out.
Look, go home and fix your marriage and stop wasting your money falling in love with the fitness instructor, pedicurist and masseuse.