DISCLAIMER: The following words have adult subject matter. Reader discretion is advised.
Hi. My name is John Pepper. I am from Kansas. I do not live there anymore and I am sure you know why. If you do not, it is because the entire state is a wasteland. The inconspicuous nothing is more than just something you do not notice. It is overly obvious and I would even say it is overwhelmingly consistent of less than nothing. I am here to tell you about a portion of what has happened to me the day before yesterday. I figured writing this letter would be placed in the appropriate hands for this story to be heard. I am also aware that your newspaper sometimes publishes articles like these from time to time. It is rather unusual so I feel this may be a good fit for publication. Before I engage in relating this story I wanted to take this opportunity to thank yo for, at least, taking the time to read this. Okay, so without further explanation here is the story.
It all started when I was on a bus, public transportation, in Atlanta, Georgia. It was 4:45 PM EDT when a commotion on the bus I was riding was stirred up. A man was talking rather loudly about his recent sexual escapades, somewhere in the city limits of Kansas City. I was taken back by how freely the man was speaking about such intimate occasions. He mentioned many scenarios, however I will only mention a couple. The very first story he spoke of, he introduced a woman, from what it seemed no one of the bus knew who she was. I could feel the man getting perturbed by this fact. He looked around the bus at all the passengers faces, which by this time he was standing up mid center of the bus. He mostly saw blank expressions riddled with faces made up of annoyances. He kept on. “She was dirty.” he said. He mentioned how he met her in a bar. He mentioned how they started talking. He mentioned how forward he was with her and how welcoming her responses were. He also mentioned how he started talking filthy to her. Like, “I don’t care if anyone’s around. I want to bend you over that pool table and fuck you from behind. I want to fuck you while I have my thumb in your ass. I want to spit on your asshole while I’m ramming you from behind.” He mentioned how he fingered her sitting at the bar and how easy it was because she was so wet and how her skirt was short enough he could fit his hand perfectly in between her legs. He also said after she came, right there at the bar, he took her to a shitty hotel room. “After we walked through the door and I locked it behind me and I turned to her and slapped her across the face. She liked it.” he said. “I torn her clothes off and she didn’t know whether to smile or to be worried. I could pick this up by the look on her face. After she was naked I took off my belt and started to slap her body with it.” He said how he hit her so many times most if her appendages, along with her back and stomach, was bright pinkish red. “Eventually she was unconscientious.” he stated like he was talking about receiving the Sunday newspaper or something. “While she was just lying there I fucked her over and over again until I was disgusted by the site of her.” By this time most of the heads on the bus were turned his way with frightened expressions. The last story he told was about another woman he met in that same city. “It was a quaint bar.” he said, “On the smaller side. Typically it was a restaurant, during the evening, although, it turned into a cocktail lounge. There were many tool bags walking around, who most likely drove large trucks. Sexy women were clasping onto them like they had the key to their pussies. I knew they didn’t. I did. Now, there was this one bitch whose legs just didn’t quit.” He said as he shook his right hand up and down, gesturing like his hand had just been burnt. “She was tall as well. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Her tits were perfect. And her ass was another story. I walked up to her and said she was such a cunt. After saying that I walked away. No more than four minutes passed and she tapped me on my shoulder.” His smile was clearly evident he was happy with himself. She asked him with no reservations, “What gives you the right to talk to me like that?!” “Because you’re a whore and you love it.” he said to her with a cocky smirk smeared all over his face. She didn’t know what to say. “In ten minutes we’re leaving to go back to your place.” he said to her as if they had been seeing each other for years. Again speechless, she just stood there. Twenty-five minutes later they were back at her place. As soon as they walked through the door he mentioned he started kissing her and rubbing her perfect tits. He mentioned how he unzipped her black dress and bent her over her kitchen table and pulled his dick out and moved her panties over from covering her pussy and fucked her until she asked him to stop, only because he was hurting her, as she laying across her table. He mentioned how he did not stop. After almost an hour he grabbed her by the hair and put her on the ground on her back. He removed his belt and wrapped it around her ankles. “Once the belt was in place I grabbed her wrist, binding them together with my left hand. My other hand, my right hand, was around get neck. At first I was not applying so much pressure. After awhile she was barely breathing. After more than awhile I realized she was unconscious. I untied her feet from my belt. I noticed she had a bag from target by her front door so I emptied the items inside the bag onto the floor and proceeded to put the bag around her head. Spanking her face with my belt was a turn on. I did so until the entire bag was bright red. Target shipping bags are a translucent white. After that I cut her body up and bagged her up in two of her large black plastic bags. I think she was still alive when I started to cut into her. I emptied her bathroom and kitchen trashes in with her. I walked out to where I saw the dumpsters and put her in the metal garbage container for refuse. I went back into her place and cleaned her house. Made a frozen pizza I found in her freezer. Put on a pair of her panties, a bra, a dress of hers, and a pair of her heels, ones that fit me, as I then danced around her place listening to Jamiroquai. The rape and murder was not nearly as good as the latter.” By this time I realized everyone on the bus was looking at me. The driver had pulled over and was talking to his dispatch asking for police support. Realizing I was the man who was telling these stories, I didn’t waste anytime on the bus any longer. I got out of the bus as fast as I could have and found myself here in your city.
I hope this letter finds you well. And I hope this will help your newspaper with the distribution you are looking for.
That Smooth Guy At The Bar
P.S. I never got her name. Keep an eye out for me, I will be the guy you want to take home at your local bars.
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