18/08/2025
It was a cozy Saturday night at our usual Sakasaka base. The guys and I were talking about women and s*x — you know, the typical bravado-filled conversations. Everyone was boasting about how they had “handled” women, flipping them into countless positions in a single night. I joined in, contributing my fair share of stories, even though deep inside I knew it had been a long time since I had truly been intimate with a woman — even my own wife.
My marriage had lost its spark. My wife and I had become more like roommates raising kids together than lovers. Intimacy between us had been dead for over a year. I missed closeness, I missed touch, I missed feeling wanted. But every attempt I made was met with rejection. Cheating never felt like an option either; I wasn’t cut out for it. Guilt always stopped me before I even tried. So, I buried my feelings — or at least tried to.
But that night, after talking with the guys, an urge hit me hard. I was h***y and restless. On my way home, I passed through my usual route — the King David Nightclub road in Jisonaayili, Tamale. The “ashawos” stood by the roadside as they always did, but for the first time, I truly noticed them. One caught my eye — slim, fair, and completely different from my wife, who is dark and thick.
I slowed down, hesitated, then turned back. A storm of guilt and desire battled inside me. Finally, I asked her price. She started with GHC1000. I shook my head and began to walk away until she called me back, lowering it to GHC500. We haggled and eventually agreed on GHC300, plus GHC80 for the guest house.
It felt like I had just unlocked some hidden door: with a small amount of money, I could choose what I wanted — body type, style, experience. In that moment, it looked like freedom.
Inside the room, she undressed quickly, clearly used to the routine. I tried to look confident, but my nerves betrayed me. Sweat rolled down my back as I undressed. She had a beautiful body — moderate breasts, a slim waist, skin smooth under the dim light. She lay there and said in a Nigerian accent, “Com and do.”
But my body failed me. My “guy” wouldn’t wake up. No matter how I touched, no matter how I tried to hype myself, nothing. I asked her to help, but she reminded me that I hadn’t paid for a bl***ob. I begged anyway. She stroked my "guy" for a few minutes, but still nothing.
Embarrassment sank deep into my chest. I told her maybe we should sleep for a while. Lying there, I couldn’t stop questioning myself: Was it guilt? Stress? Was I sick? Did my wife do something to me? My mind was racing.
Later in the night, I tried again. I stoked my "guy" with her hairy "lady-v". Same result. Frustration turned to anger and shame. At last, I just paid her the GHC380 and left.
On my motorbike ride home, my head was heavy. I had spent money, risked my integrity, and still hadn’t “performed.” When I got home, my wife and kids were sound asleep, undisturbed. I crawled into bed and before long, I dozed off.
Then, around 5:45 a.m., I woke up with the strongest er****on I had felt in years — the kind I used to have as a young man seeing a naked woman for the first time. I almost laughed and cried at the same time.
I had no one to talk to about it, but one thought sat firmly in my head: I wasted GHC380 for nothing. Next time, I must go back and try again. Maybe she’ll even give me a discount for last night.
To be continued…
