My name is Kayode Gabriel, or that’s the name my clients know me by. My real name is unimportant; I use the pseudonym to protect my personal privacy. I’m 26, with a master’s degree in Accounting from a big private university in the country. I’m well versed in all sorts of subjects, from art to politics (which I try to avoid in my work) to finance to music of all kinds.
The most important thing about me is I’m an excellent listener. My clients can talk to me about anything they like, and they know I will be as silent as a tomb. I’ll talk to them, but I’ll never betray their trust in me to anyone else. It’s an essential part of my job, but I’m not in any accountancy firm or bank.
For the last three years, I’ve been working as an escort to some of the wealthiest ladies in Lagos.
Let me give you some details about me besides what I’ve already told you. I’m 6’2. I’m muscular from spending four or five mornings in the gym, doing a mix of swimming and weight training. I’ve got wavy short hair, deep brown eyes and perfect white teeth with a strong jawline.
I did a little modelling back in university to pay the bills, modelling clothes for magazines. I had the looks (and still do), but it was barely enough to pay the bills.
One day, one of my fellow male models was in the changing area with me, and we got to talking, and he mentioned how he was working for this woman as an escort. The money was amazing, and the job comprised taking wealthy ladies, mostly older, mostly divorced or widowed, to dinners, musical performances, as well as parties for very upper-class society events.
He knew I had my undergraduate degree by then, and I was going for my master’s, so he knew I was well educated, and he could tell I could hold my own in conversation. I was just the type his boss was looking for.
I was not exactly comfortable with this suggestion. “Chike.” I asked with an unsure voice, “is this strictly socializing? Or is it a sexual thing as well?”
He smiled, his own winning grin. “Well, officially, if Mrs. Damilare (his employer) hires you, she’ll tell you sex is not permitted, especially for money. If she finds out that it happened, she’ll fire you. But that’s just her story in case you should get arrested for prostitution.
In fact, most of her clients expect or desire sex with a handsome young man and they pay extra…a LOT extra… for the service, as it were. And Damilare will expect her cut, 30%. She even sets up your appointments and knows which clients are expecting sex.”
I never saw myself doing such a thing, and the word “prostitution” really took me aback.
“Look Kayode, if you’re in any sort of situation with a woman, engaged or a serious relationship, it wouldn’t be for you, probably. She does have a few other clients who just want the companionship, but that doesn’t pay as well, and besides, I would think any sort of girlfriend would be pissed off if you even took the ‘straight’ path. But if you’re single, willing and up to the tasks, the money is incredible.”
“How incredible is it? Just so I have an idea.”
In fact, I couldn’t see myself doing this. Maybe the escort part. But sex for money? With strangers? I wasn’t exactly raised that way.
“At least three hundred thousand a week, if you can put in 3-4 nights a week. Possibly more.” My eyes must have popped open, and Chike half laughed at my expression.
“You should really talk to Mrs. Damilare. She needs to interview you, of course. And,” he said conspiratorially, “she needs to make sure you’re built for, and able to do the job.”
He chuckled, and that was the last he said about it, aside from telling me he would tell her about me and that I should call her in two days if I were interested.
He gave me her card, just a name and a phone number, and Chike left as I sat dumbfounded on the chair, half-dressed.
*
I didn’t call her two days later. In fact, it took almost a week before I decided to make the call. I wasn’t seeing anyone seriously at that time, so that didn’t hold me back. Money was the deciding factor. My parents were very middle-class people, and I was lucky to have most of my university expenses paid by a scholarship.
But getting a master’s degree was going to cost serious money, and I dreaded the thought of borrowing as much as five million. So, shaking like a leaf, a week later, I made the call.
A woman answered, and she sounded like she was in her 40s or 50s, very cultured, if a little ‘cool’. Mrs. Damilare (she didn’t use her first name then, and I didn’t know if Damilare was her actual last name) asked me some questions about my background, my health and my personal habits.
Did I eat well? Did I practice good hygiene?… Those kinds of things. Passing that initial test, she had me come to her office in a small building on the island.
I dressed in my best suit, went to my barber to get a fresh cut and shave, and I admit, I did look damn good. I have always been a good-looking male, even since I was a boy and then a teen.
Starting when I was about 13, I always had girls interested in me, and I had been involved with girls/women since I was about 15, losing my virginity when I was 16. Since then, I have rarely been without female companionship when I wanted it. I know that sounds incredibly arrogant. But I never mistreated a woman.
Some turned into monogamous, longer-term relationships, and some were casual. Sometimes they got hurt, and sometimes I got hurt. God knows I’m not perfect. I know it as well. But I did have certain things going for me: a sharp mind, an easy-going nature, and very good looks.
When I got to the office, a 20-something, very pretty woman let me in and called into the inner office to let Mrs. Damilare know I was there. While I waited to be called in, I made small talk with the receptionist, Nneka, flirty but polite. I reminded myself I was on a job interview. After ten minutes, I was summoned, and I went into the inner office.
Mrs. Damilare was pretty much what I expected. A very well-maintained lady somewhere in her late 40s to early 50s. Extremely attractive, with an elegant bearing, and at the same time, a very businesslike way about her.
She wore a blue jacket, a black business-length skirt, and black heels. She looked every bit the upscale professional woman.
We shook hands, and I could easily sense her giving me a sharp look, taking mental notes about my own bearing, appearance and social and intellectual skills. When she offered a drink, I said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, always aware that manners are important.
“Mr. Kayode, may I ask, why would you want to do this kind of work? You’re obviously intelligent, and you could almost certainly get a good job in the business community with your education. Besides the money, why this?”
“Honestly, Mrs Damilare, I hadn’t thought about it until Chike spoke to me last week. I admit, that money is a very strong motivator. I’ll be getting a master’s degree and I don’t love the idea of starting off my professional life with six figures of debt.
When I was young, I had a close relationship with my grandmother and she took me to museums and concerts, art galleries, and I really enjoyed it. I also enjoyed being with her, a real old woman (she was born in the East) with a strong cultural background.
While my parents were working, and when they weren’t working, they were fighting, my grandmother took great care of me and opened the world to me. So I enjoy those cultural activities, but I don’t have the money to go more than occasionally.”
She took that in, making some mental calculations. “You know,” she said, lowering her voice as if others were nearby, “just so we understand each other, officially I’ll tell you that you shouldn’t have sex with any clients, especially if they offer you money. That would be illegal.
Unofficially, most of my clients are seeking sex and they’ll let me know, even what they want, so I can tell them what your time will cost them. Most of them even have an account with me and I bill them accordingly. Many haven’t had sex in a long time, or, if they have, it’s been a while since it was satisfying. Are you willing to have sex with these women, mostly older, some not your idea of attractive?
Please be honest. I can still use you; some women just want a companion to escort them to functions. And you really shouldn’t worry about being arrested. This is all very discreet, I know these women and they’re from prominent families, so they’re not looking for any legal problems. They’re not going to call the police.”
“Well, I tend to think almost all women are attractive in their way. Unless they are unpleasant in their personalities, I can find something in just about any woman to motivate me.”
“Some of them want to fulfil fantasies they’ve long had that never were explored. They may want you to play certain roles. You can refuse anything you find truly uncomfortable, but I hope you are very open-minded when it comes to playing along. The only thing I would recommend you refuse is any situation where a woman would want to bind you with ropes or scarves, or cuffs.
You couldn’t protect yourself if she got out of hand, and, rarely, some women do have their dark sides like some men do. Otherwise, you can do as you please, and we’ll discuss whatever fees you should charge if it’s not arranged in advance. Beyond the basic fee for your time, which I determine and usually get paid for before your date. I’m very fair, I think.
I keep 30%, and you get the rest.
“Now, one more thing, and it’s important. I need you to undress down to your underwear. From the outside, you are a very attractive man. But I need to see the rest.” I figured this would be a part of the interview, so I got up and disrobed, folding my clothes carefully as they came off, down to my boxers. Mrs. Damilare got up and walked around me slowly, taking in my physique and my definition. She suggested a few weight exercises to bring out certain muscles, but overall, she was very pleased.
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