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Suicide Note.

By the time you are reading this letter, I'd be confirmed dead.

I love sex, and I don't hide it. Eighty percent of my income goes directly into satisfying my sexual appetites.

My friend, Sandra, not my girlfriend but my sex mate used to be there for me four years ago. I'd teach her Mathematics in exchange for sex, before she relocated out of town.

I lost my job late last year, so I moved to the bigger city in search for a greener pasture. I learned to abstain from sex, and focused on getting my bearing right.

I've lived without sex for months in my new city, and then I met Sandra again.
Sandra is now more beautiful than before. We met inside a commercial bus. She shouted my name, we hugged and kissed. Later, she gave me the address to her place.

I refused to visit her initially. My new principle; "you don't make love when you're broke," was my guide.
But upon her insistence for a visit, we agreed to meet on a public holiday.

I was horny and very excited that I'd make love to Sandra in her house. On getting to her place, we hugged and I sat to be entertained. She prepared my delicacy. Which I devoured ravenously like I wish to do to her later too. Yummy moment ahead, I thought.

Then the atmosphere became dark as a visitor came in, a man whom she introduced as her fiance. I felt deflated, and I wished that the earth would swallow me.

I'm back in my house now, I can't stand the humiliation I received from Sandra. I'm committing suicide by ingest a 5kg chocolate.
See you in the afterlife.

© FERT, 2016