The Life of a Show Boy By Chelsea Maya Victory Johnson

Chapter Three

The hotel was tucked away along a dimly lit street in Hausa Quarters, just a short distance past Enerhe Junction. It wasn’t a luxury lounge, but it was the standard spot for this kind of quick business - tight hallways, a heavy scent of air freshener masking old smoke, and a receptionist who didn’t ask questions as long as the room fee was paid upfront.

He settled the lodging fee at the counter while I stood slightly behind him, popping my bubble gum and keeping my eyes on the corridor. Once the receptionist tossed the key onto the counter, the dark-skinned man grabbed it, and I followed him up the narrow concrete stairs to Room 104.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the atmosphere shifted. The muffled bass from the street outside felt miles away. The room was basic: a plastic chair in the corner, a small television bolted to the wall, and a bed covered in plain white sheets.

Before he could even take off his shirt, I moved to the edge of the bed and sat down. Business is business, and the first rule of the junction is ensuring everything is secure before clothing comes off.

"Let me confirm the cash properly under the light," I said, my voice steady from the high that was now fully washing over me.

He didn't argue. He pulled the stack of five thousand naira notes from his pocket and laid them on the mattress. I picked up the bills, counting them deliberately under the harsh fluorescent bulb, checking the texture to ensure there were no counterfeit notes mixed in. Once the full amount was verified, I slid the money safely into my small waist pouch.

Next came the safety protocol. I unzipped the side pocket of my pouch and pulled out the roll of condoms Sheba had slipped me at the junction. I placed them right on the bedside table where they were clearly visible.

"Protection is a must. No raw, no adjustments," I stated firmly, looking him straight in the eyes.

He nodded, his breath already coming a bit faster. The mix of Action Bitters and energy drinks he had consumed at the club was clearly working through his system, making his veins stand out against his dark, athletic arms. He pulled his fitted shirt over his head, revealing a heavily muscled chest and broad shoulders that practically filled the small room.

"I don't have problem with that," he rumbled, his voice thick as he stepped closer to the bed. "Just know say I pay for full service. I need my money value."

The substance I took was humming beautifully in my system now, completely numbing the exhaustion from standing hours at the junction and giving me that detached, hyper-confident energy needed to perform. I stood up from the bed, unbuttoning my outfit with a slow, practiced ease that kept his eyes locked entirely on me. In the quiet room of Hausa Quarters, the transaction was fully set, and the work was about to begin.

To be continued...