Letter from a Bunna man: Letter # 4

To whom it may concern,

So I know you must have been wondering, where have I been, and didn't I say that I would abstain temporarily from the Bunna man thing.  Well, I have been recovering from a bruised ego and a broken nose. At this point, I am just grateful to still have my toes. In all fairness, the last incident was not intentional, it was more coincidental. Do you remember the young lady that I met at Emancipation Park? The long and short of that story is that she was an escort. 

The following morning when she woke up between my sheets with her perky breasts peeking out like sun-kissed peach, I was feeling so pleased. If I'm being honest, I was feeling extra delighted and even blessed. I thought she was so perfect from her dainty little toes straight back to her luscious breast. But little did I know she was a  crocus bag full of stress that would result in me having serious regrets.

 From our very brief conversation, before I secured a room at the Guest House, and a few alcoholic beverages, she told me that her name was Strawberry.  I insisted that she be real with me and, she told me that her name was Terry. At no point in our prior dialogue did she mentioned that whatever sexual intention that I might have would be monetary.  I thought that given how we met, and with all the flirting and seducing that our action was arbitrary.  But boy was I wrong! Today you could have been easily reading my obituary.

The morning when she woke up, I was still in my underpants, about to get dressed to get us some breakfast. This wasn't my normal mode of operation as either me or the women I serviced, usually leave at midnight or half-past. However, that thing that she did with her tongue and when she arched her back and then flipped it like she had a double joint or spring in her ass, made me wanted to make an exception. She was so deliberate the night before with her seduction and very thorough like she was conducting an inspection. 

I remember how she leaned over, searching the contents that were on the nightstand and I thought she was looking for her phone, so I told her it's on the other one. She then asked me "where is it?"  and I repeated that it should be on the other nightstand. By this time I was in my jeans pants and about to help her look for her phone. I saw that she was already on it, and when she asked once again, "where is it?"  I immediately sensed danger in her tone.

 I said, "Where is what?"  and I heard my voice cracked. She said, "Where is my money?" Do you think this shit is funny? I said "what money? I paid for the drinks and the room. Then I heard a loud bang then a boom! The door was kicked wide open by two mechanic looking fellas, who she called Stringy and Microwave. You don't even have to wonder if I was afraid.  I was beyond terrified, especially when the one she called Stringy who looked like a trailer truck and wore braids, was swinging a garden spade (shovel). Immediately I saw my grave. 

Terry was no strawberry, she was more like sour lime and bitter cerasee sweetened with vinegar. Stringy and Microwave insisted that I paid her for her service and a ten per cent (10%) bonus for all the trouble that I caused. You know me by now,  I am a lover, and a runner but definitely not a fighter, so you can imagine that I was at a total loss. 

I had no words, I was trembling and shaking and sweating and that was before I felt the piece of rubber lashed against my back. At that moment I thought about how I missed crazy Jackie and her crazy cat. They found my wallet and took what little cash was in there. When I gained back a little consciousness from a beating to my face, I was greeted by the crazy cousin with the red hair, while tied to a chair. Her breath almost knocked me out again while she counted from one to ten for me to fully open my eyes.

 From a bloody and sore lip, I asked Terry, "why the lies and the elaborate disguise". "Why not tell me that you are a prostitute". Satan assistant and treasurer had the audacity to tell me that she is not a whore, just a girl who is tired of being destitute. This liad (lying) wicked serpent whisperer who told Satan to tell Eve to pick the Apple, who shaved Satan beard, wipe down his horn,  clean his toenails with her teeth and cooked her dinner on Satan's head top, have the nerve to tell me that she is sorry.  She parted her lying lips to tell me that she thought I knew when she told me her name was Strawberry.

 I  am on the verge of writing a letter to tell Satan to dismiss her from the VIP section of hell and put her in permanent isolation in the pit.  I am getting heated just thinking about it. The long and short of it was that they took me to the ATM that was nearby the Guesthouse for me to withdrew one hundred thousand dollars ($100k). I am so thankful thank God answers prayers.  An off duty cop was in line to use the ATM, coming off his late-night shift and deducted that something was wrong. He texted a few of his colleagues who came and rescued me. They arrested the two meatheads, Stringy and Microwave, the bad breath rotten teeth wig chaser cousin and Satan Public Relations (PR) officer Terry. 

 All I can say, Is that I am happy to be alive and I am very lucky to have met Nurse Watson who took very good care of me while I was in the hospital. I am most appreciative that she still call to check on me from time to time  while I recover.

Until Next time

George.