I don’t receive calls while driving but this person kept calling and calling until I decided to stop by the roadside and answer the call. It was an old friend who had come to town and wanted to see me.
As I sat parked, engrossed in the conversation, a soft tap on my window startled me. A woman stood outside, her face shadowed in the dim streetlight. I rolled down the window just enough to hear her.
"Are you looking for someone?"
I held up a finger, signaling I was on a call. She nodded and walked away.
Before I could resume my conversation, another knock. A different woman this time, her tone polite but insistent. "Do you need something? Maybe I can help?"
Confusion flickered. Was I parked illegally?
"No, I’m just on a call," I explained.
She gave a knowing smile and retreated. That’s when I noticed them—a small group of women lingering nearby, their postures relaxed but alert. Another car pulled up ahead. One of them approached, exchanged a few words, then climbed in. The car drove off.
Oh.
I wasn’t just parked on the side of the road. I was in their territory.
A third woman approached before I could process it fully. This time, I shook my head before she even spoke. She smirked and walked away.
I should have left. But curiosity pinned me there.
Cars came and went. The women worked like clockwork—a brief exchange, a nod, then one would disappear into a vehicle.
One of them stood out.
Tall, fair-skinned, wrapped in a short skirt and a white crop top that hugged her curves. Even in the dim light, her confidence was magnetic.
Why is someone like her doing this?
The thought lingered until she sauntered toward my car.
I don’t know why I did it—maybe impulse, maybe something darker—but before she reached me, I slipped off my wedding ring and tucked it into my pocket.
She leaned in, elbows resting on the window frame, lips curved in a slow, knowing smile.
"You’ve been here a while. Not sure who to pick?" Her voice was smooth, teasing. "Well, here I am. Tell me something."
Up close, she was stunning—sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes that held a challenge. My pulse kicked up.
"I just pulled over to take a call," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
She laughed, low and throaty. "It’s a beautiful night. I can make it better."
"How?"
"Take me somewhere private. You’ll see."
My mind raced. My body betrayed me.
"How much?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
She quoted prices—short time, all night. I chose the former.
The hotel was her pick. The moment the door closed, she shed her clothes without ceremony, lying back on the bed like a transaction waiting to be completed.
I hesitated. "No foreplay?"
She arched a brow. "You want foreplay from an ashawo? Touch yourself. I’m here for one thing."
Reality crashed in. This wasn’t seduction. It was a business deal—cold, mechanical.
I tried. I wanted to want it. But my thing refused to rise to the occasion.
She grew impatient. "You’re wasting my time."
"It’s my first time doing this," I admitted.
She scoffed. "Then you should’ve paid for premium service."
When I was still struggling to get it to rise to the occasion, she got up and started dressing. She said, "You’re impotent. Or ******. Either way, pay me."
"For what? We didn’t do anything."
Her eyes hardened. She pulled out her phone. "I’m calling my guys. You’ll pay before they get here."
Fear coiled in my gut. I handed over double what we’d agreed.
She snatched the money, smirked, and left without looking back.
I sat in my car, hands shaking, guilt and relief warring inside me.
Then I remembered the ring in my pocket.
Had I taken it off to hide my marriage? Or because some part of me knew I shouldn’t be here at all?
Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the shame was the point.
I started the engine and drove home—slowly, carefully, like a man who’d just dodged a bullet.
I don’t receive calls while driving but this person kept calling and calling until I decided to stop by the roadside and answer the call. It was an old friend who had come to town and wanted to see me.
As I sat parked, engrossed in the conversation, a soft tap on my window startled me. A woman stood outside, her face shadowed in the dim streetlight. I rolled down the window just enough to hear her.
"Are you looking for someone?"
I held up a finger, signaling I was on a call. She nodded and walked away.
Before I could resume my conversation, another knock. A different woman this time, her tone polite but insistent. "Do you need something? Maybe I can help?"
Confusion flickered. Was I parked illegally?
"No, I’m just on a call," I explained.
She gave a knowing smile and retreated. That’s when I noticed them—a small group of women lingering nearby, their postures relaxed but alert. Another car pulled up ahead. One of them approached, exchanged a few words, then climbed in. The car drove off.
Oh.
I wasn’t just parked on the side of the road. I was in their territory.
A third woman approached before I could process it fully. This time, I shook my head before she even spoke. She smirked and walked away.
I should have left. But curiosity pinned me there.
Cars came and went. The women worked like clockwork—a brief exchange, a nod, then one would disappear into a vehicle.
One of them stood out.
Tall, fair-skinned, wrapped in a short skirt and a white crop top that hugged her curves. Even in the dim light, her confidence was magnetic.
Why is someone like her doing this?
The thought lingered until she sauntered toward my car.
I don’t know why I did it—maybe impulse, maybe something darker—but before she reached me, I slipped off my wedding ring and tucked it into my pocket.
She leaned in, elbows resting on the window frame, lips curved in a slow, knowing smile.
"You’ve been here a while. Not sure who to pick?" Her voice was smooth, teasing. "Well, here I am. Tell me something."
Up close, she was stunning—sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes that held a challenge. My pulse kicked up.
"I just pulled over to take a call," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
She laughed, low and throaty. "It’s a beautiful night. I can make it better."
"How?"
"Take me somewhere private. You’ll see."
My mind raced. My body betrayed me.
"How much?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
She quoted prices—short time, all night. I chose the former.
The hotel was her pick. The moment the door closed, she shed her clothes without ceremony, lying back on the bed like a transaction waiting to be completed.
I hesitated. "No foreplay?"
She arched a brow. "You want foreplay from an ashawo? Touch yourself. I’m here for one thing."
Reality crashed in. This wasn’t seduction. It was a business deal—cold, mechanical.
I tried. I wanted to want it. But my thing refused to rise to the occasion.
She grew impatient. "You’re wasting my time."
"It’s my first time doing this," I admitted.
She scoffed. "Then you should’ve paid for premium service."
When I was still struggling to get it to rise to the occasion, she got up and started dressing. She said, "You’re impotent. Or stupid. Either way, pay me."
"For what? We didn’t do anything."
Her eyes hardened. She pulled out her phone. "I’m calling my guys. You’ll pay before they get here."
Fear coiled in my gut. I handed over double what we’d agreed.
She snatched the money, smirked, and left without looking back.
I sat in my car, hands shaking, guilt and relief warring inside me.
Then I remembered the ring in my pocket.
Had I taken it off to hide my marriage? Or because some part of me knew I shouldn’t be here at all?
Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the shame was the point.
I started the engine and drove home—slowly, carefully, like a man who’d just dodged a bullet.
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