Mr Wolf’s Tales
It began like a joke. Me and the boys, sipping vibes, trading banter. One whispered: “Those salon girls don’t just massage.” The worst comes when you ask for full body massage.
I laughed. “They are humble, just working.”
But curiosity is a dangerous drug. I walked into that salon like a gentleman, ready to prove him wrong.
Inside ,chaos disguised as beauty. Mini skirts. Killer curves, smiles that could cause traffic accidents on Jinja Road. Each girl moved like temptation in human form.
Rita pressed my neck. “Careful, your wife might hear about this,” she teased. Another leaned in with dangerous laughter. The third brushed past, perfume thick enough to rewrite commandments.
Numbers exchanged, innocent faces but the night had other plans.
Knock, knock. One girl arrived. Then another. Then the third. Surprise! They found each other at my place. Three queen, One Wolf. Laughter filled the room, innocence vanished.
Body-to-body massage turned into a marathon. Oops, oops. Oyaaaaaa. The night became a festival of forbidden fruit. Three against one, but I didn’t blink and service was above self.
By sunrise, the salon queens werewolf exhausted, whispering legends. Mr Wolf had rewritten Entebbe nightlife.
To be continued…
