The Gigolos Amongst Us

Gigolos are those lazy handsome men out there looking out for women who need their services. Always seen hanging out in hypermarkets, supermarkets, popular hot spots, show-biz events, recreation centers and beaches well dressed ‘soliciting’ amorous relationships or being solicited by these women for purposes of sexual bliss. Some gigolos do it for money, others for fun but they undergo special ‘lessons’ as it were on techniques for satisfying any woman sexually. Well-built and well-fed some of these men even use action drugs to enhance their prowess making any woman scream for joy and more in any occasion.

Some of the gigolos pose as tour guides or interpreters and others offer helping hand when a woman’s car breaks down or she falls victim to any sort of male chauvinism or banditry on account of gender. Gigolos are generally generous sexual predators; they employ sweet language and sophisticated accents to pin down a potential lady.

A good friend of mine, a compatriot who lived and worked in Italy for close to a decade before he was unceremoniously deported for drug-running offences once told me an interesting story of how they survived the cold winter without money, sound accommodation and good things of life as hustlers in different Italian cities before good fortune smiled their way. When he made it he turned gigolo hiring and firing girls and making and breaking hearts. He had to quit when one he maltreated intimidated him and used the police to run him out of town.

According to this dude who languished for four years prior to his deportation in a prison built in the middle of the high sea in Rome one particular Italian fairly old lady normally came in search of blacks in their neighbourhood with her car late in the night. As soon as she arrived she would hoot her car horns and hell was let loose in their shared apartment with black boys running over one another to be first in line for action.

Get the picture clearer: this old “Italo” lady, a divorcee, had heard and tasted the big strong long dicks and impressive performance of blacks, and she knew where those unemployed sexually-starved fellows were putting up in community accommodation. So whenever she desired the ‘big thing’ she visited the boys who were more than happy to give their quotas. She would drive to the “nigga” camp in the poor neighbourhood and the blacks would run out of their apartment informing one another that ‘tantie old-school’ was around.

The woman would take them downtown where one after another they would have a feel of her. If your performance made her to get lost to the fantasy world she would remark you and reward you with some Lira notes and next time out you would start the ecstasy game. As the boys took time and turn to service the woman she would only be crying for more, craving for more orgasm, sometimes screaming ‘n-e-x-t!’ if the person atop her at any point in time was found, in her wild estimation, to be a weakling.

After the blue-movie-like organized gang-raping with the ‘victim’ in active collaboration the woman would take the boys back to their abode and thanked them promising to return in a week. I was asking my friend who told me this story as a witness and participant if in Italy reputed as hosting the largest concentration of Nigerian ‘Bendel girls’ doing organized prostitution it was that difficult to hook up a babe as girlfriend and he told me that the majority of the girls went for Whites with the money to spend. They would argue that having left Nigeria for economic reasons it would amount to ‘future suicide’ if they courted Nigerian boys and besides having eaten the ‘pudding’ the Nigerian way back home it was normal for a change of ‘diet’ abroad. Sound argument of course!

An American socialite, a show-biz star, once reportedly encountered and took home a gigolo. And before they arrived the palatial home of the rich lady she took him to a boutique where she bought expensive clothes, shoes and wrist-watch for him. At home the gigolo was in his best element delivering the service for which he was sought out. And he got accolades for his high performance.

Before long the top model had an occupational appointment outside the US and had to travel out. She made the gigolo comfortable asking him to ‘possess’ the home temporarily in her absence. She left quality money in the wardrobe from which the gigolo could draw as much as he wanted. For the elegant stallion an emergency husband was at home waiting for her to go and return in peace. But for the gigolo other things and questions occupied his mind: does this scenario of becoming a home-keeper not suggest imprisonment or at best slavery? Am I now a glorified houseboy or a sexual robot purchasable?

Before the celebrity could return from her trip the gigolo had bolted away with the old suit he wore the very first day of their meeting. He dropped a written note informing the lady that “it’s pretty over so soon, sorry I’ve got to go!” He took nothing with him: the new clothes, shoes, wrist-watch, money; he abandoned everything and simply left the way he came much as human beings go upon death the same way they came into this world: ultimate return to dust!

When the ‘sugar mummy’ returned home she was dumb-founded to discover that the gigolo was gone and she was even the more astonished that he left with nothing that originally belonged not to him. As the French would say: “Il a claquer la porte!”. He unceremoniously called it quits: no problems, no quarrels, no ill feelings. Perhaps just fed up with ‘gigolo-ism’ in him. Or may be he had thought of other opportunities out there!

While in a restaurant wining and dining in Paris few years back with my French girlfriend it never occurred to me that a gigolo was observing us from very close quarters. Sitting comfortably behind us the gigolo took up my seat behind me as I excused my woman to ease myself. As I returned he left the scene as he saw the anger on my face. Seeing my seat taken over by a bleaching fair-complexioned hair-frying negro was not found funny.

Upon inquiry Prisca was telling me of how the gigolo introduced himself as a Congolese from Brazzaville and asked her if she needed his company to which she answered in the negative. He was pestering her before he noticed my presence and hurriedly bade her a friendly goodbye with a mischievous smile.

Attempt was made by the Brazza-born boy to ‘depose’ me; he gave out his phone number asking her to give him a call whenever she might consider necessary. On getting home that night I forced Prisca to call him up giving him appointment in the same restaurant we had met. And the gigolo was happy telling her that she would never ‘regret’ ever meeting him as the pleasure would be his and hers in the fullest of time.

On the appointed time the Congolese boy was there waiting and calling Prisca. She never had the intention of seeing him so she put off her phone. It was my idea for us to make a fool of him; make nonsense of whatever the gigolo had in mind. Poor chap, he must have waited till midnight nursing the ambition of ‘swimming’ in yet another river of sex. Alas he was denied that!