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    I am a quick study, that is the reason I am a first- class material. It is too bad though that my ability to learn quickly, learn new things, was put to bad use. Lizzy was my mentor and she took me out on most evenings, showing the town and teaching me basic etiquettes of classy women. Abuja was full of men that had money and power, but they were also men that were lonely. Some had marriages that were falling apart, some had pursued money and power for too long they had lost the ability to connect with a woman. Their wives did not care for their husbands’ attention anymore, and the husbands were worried that they had become nothing more than money making machines.

    These lonely men became my customers, they needed love and according to Lizzy, we were there to give them love, the quantity though depended on how much they were willing to pay. Remember, I told you I had class, I was not like the usual hookers, standing on the road selling ‘pay as you go’. Sometimes, I had real relationships with these men, or rather they thought they had real relationships. Some became possessive and clingy, this would have been a bad thing to a normal girl, but to me, it was a good thing because, the clingier they became, the more money they vomited.

    As promised, the FIRS man taught me the rudiments of bedmatics. He taught me how to pleasure him, and I learned quickly. Before long, I was a vixen in bed, I could make a man climax to the high heavens without penetration. Lizzy on the other hand taught me things to eat, and use, to increase my libido. In this industry (you scoffed right, it is actually an industry because somehow, we contribute to the economic development of the country, lmfao), you must have a high libido, or else you would be no different from the sex workers lurking in dark corners of Abuja, waiting for their next customers. When you meet a man, you got to be in the mood, have the desire for sex, be wet, be woman. These money bags needed women that were really into sex and could become really wet in bed, not automatic dry sex engines, that would be screaming like goats in labour.

    When I met the FIRS man, I was just a tool to him, to satisfy his urges, but when I came into my new image, he became a toy in my hands, to play with, as I deemed fit. He could not go a day without seeing me. He would do anything I asked, and of course he gave me a job at FIRS. My first week there, my supervisor began to run after me. He would call me into his office, and scold me for no reason. All through, his eyes would be on my breast. I never wear bra anymore, and by this time, I had gotten a boob job. My boobs were erect and pointing to the sky, while my nipples were pink from the mixture I applied on it every night before bed. So, his eyes being on my breast was not his fault, I was intentionally trying to seduce him, without being obvious.

    “Sir, why do you hate me so much, have I done something to offend you?” I asked, with the most vulnerable face I could afford, and my hands on my chest, making sure his eyes stayed on my breast. Just the thought of having him take me on his desk, amid the clutter of office work made my nipples taut and he could see them from the silky blouse I had on.

    “Come over here” he ordered. I walked over to him behind the desk, and then he looked at me, not knowing how best to broach the issue of wanting me.

    “I do not hate you, I just want you to be more… more” he couldn’t finish the words because my hands were already on his crotch. I worked him until he wet his trousers and I left his office without looking back.

    I taunted him for a week, until he could no longer concentrate on his work. He began to make many slip ups because I was the thought that filled his heart and his head morning and night. He could not let go of the one experience he had in his office and he wanted more, but I was not ready to give more. I was ready to leave the job, and to leave him high and dry, just because I could. It was ironic that the job I had always wanted, was given to me, but it became boring as I had gotten used to the fun that came with my mistress lifestyle. Also, the job did not allow for free time to tend to the men who needed me to stay sane and not jump into the lagoon like that Doctor on the news. One day, my supervisor called me into his office and attempted to force himself on me. He took hold of my satin wrap skirt and ripped it.

    “Sir, you cannot do this” I said, whimpering. I was scared, I gave sex freely, to whom I wish, but I have never had sex forced on me. It was a terrible experience.

    “I will have you today, whether you want it or not” he said, his eyes were enraged and bloodshot, it was like a drug addict on withdrawal. He hooked his finger on the g-string I had on, and ripped it. He had bent me over his desk, when I screamed out fear of being raped.

    My scream attracted other staff and they rushed into his office, to see him trying to force open his fly while pinning me to the desk with my butt in the air.

    “Jesus” some screamed in shock.

    It was a humiliating experience. I stood before the inquiry panel and told them that he had been making advances at me, and when I did not entertain them, he became exceptionally cruel to me. Then he ended up trying to rape me in his office. My supervisor was sacked, while I resigned, unable to look my colleagues in the face.

    I also stopped seeing the FIRS man, I cut ties with Lizzy, and moved out of her apartment into my own apartment, so that the FIRS man would not be able to find me because, he was so addicted to me and running away was the only option. I was tired of him and needed to test out my newly gotten power. I went solo after all, I had everything I needed. I had saved up a lot of cash, so I travelled to Lagos, to get a butt job. I was on the chubby side, so the fat deposits in the place I didn’t need them were transferred to my butt, and they became full and round. I became the hottest big babe in Abuja.

    The first man I decided to date after cutting ties with Lizzy and the FIRS man, was one I met on a cool Saturday afternoon in Barcelona hotel. I had gone there to swim, and was in the water donning a cut-out one piece swimsuit, when the man walked into the bar opposite the pool. I had developed the act of profiling people to know their worth. I could tell if you were a wealthy man from your body language and the way you carried yourself. Most Abuja men are classy, but some are ‘money miss road’ and you can tell these ones from the way they carry themselves.

    This man was classy in every sense of the word, he was approaching his sixties, but he was aging well, like fine wine. The little v-shaped patch of beard that curved his chin was white but it added exotic to his demeanour. I wanted not just his money, but him also. I guess if I was one of those who got married to old men, he would be my choice.

    His name was Haliru, and he would be the one that turn my life around, for good or for bad is what you got to find out in Part 4 of my diary.

    I am Ene, and I want to get 50 plus comments on this Part 3 before I continue letting you in on my diary, there is so much I want to share with you, but I need to know you are following me. 50 plus comments before I give you part 4. Can you do it?

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