Exotic African Kunjasa

.. I gave myself... to a man because he could give me a life. He said he could. He would. He had money. He was attractive, he was powerful, he was nice to me. And if my sister Evelyn could build an easy life for herself that way, then surely I could. And there... there were... others. A few. A couple of them. Hon, I'm not talking about sin. I'm not talking about... taking, not sharing. Not loving. God knows they knew so much about wealth but so little about pleasure. And nothing about love. Nothing." She sighed, looking down the promenade away from me. "I was... I mean... I mean, I gave up. I hit bottom. I didn't just lie, I opened my legs to lies. I am pretty, I am desirable, but I gave it to that phony crowd. I gave something that a truly loving person would have thought of as not only desirable, but precious. For security. I wanted acceptance, I wanted a place. I wanted warmth and clean sheets. Children. A father. But I was so, so, so angry. I was enraged. Why should I have to act. I decided to leave the house and head for the drug store to see if there was any OTC medicine that would top the DayQuil/NyQuil and the cough drops. On my way there, I decided to stop and have something to eat – maybe that would make me feel better. Yes, it did insofar as my energy level, but I still had the body aches, I was congested, and my throat was sore. The Diet Coke felt good going down and so did the cup full of ice. As I was sitting in the restaurant, I looked across the parking lot and saw a walk-in “Urgent Care” center. Why not? Stop screwing around and go in there to see if they can help. I walked across the parking lot, soda-cup-with-ice in hand, and went into the place. Nobody there except a young man sitting at the walk-up window. I approached the window and noticed that he was dressed in scrubs and had a name tag on that said, “Shawn Blake, CMA”. He looked up at me and asked if he could help me. I told him why I was there and he looked over his shoulder and then.
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