Girl, when I thought of you getting married to some other man, I nearly went out of my mind. As you know from the many voicemails I left on your machine, I did little during this time but cry out in anguish while lying on my circular bed. But when I heard this fiancé of yours was arrested for tax evasion shortly before your wedding, my heart skipped a beat. While I knew that your heart was breaking, which made my heart break as well, it also showed that there was another chance for us. I knew this arrest meant that the stars themselves were telling us that we were destined to be together. We two, who freak like two sides of the same coin, could soon be getting it on in every room in my penthouse apartment.
But then, girl, instead of returning to my strong but unintimidating arms to enjoy heights of pleasure that few women will ever experience, you chose to start running around with another man. That this man was not Smoove hurt me more than you'll ever know.
I will not dwell on the extremely painful and bewildering fact that this man of yours is a white boy, and not even a wannabe player or a record company executive. To add insult to Smoove's injury, he looks like a straight-up chump, the kind that would work at the most undignified gas station in town, one that I would never stop at if a lady such as you were riding in my car. Even from all the way across the Circuit City parking lot, I could tell he was not right for you.
At this point, I would like you to imagine me down on both knees with my hands folded together in front of my full and very satisfying lips. I am begging you, girl. Leave this man before it is too late. Even if you were to date Antoine, whom you know I cannot stand anymore, it would hurt me less than to see you with this man. I do not mean to be petty, for you know that is beneath me, but I must point out that he was wearing a winter hat in the middle of the summer. What kind of man does this? The summer is a time to dress in light silk finery. It is not a time to bundle up. Everyone knows this.
Please, girl, come back to the sexy side before it is too late. If you would only come back to me, I would take care of you. I would give you multiple baths to cleanse all the white boy off of you. Afterward, we would lie on my luxurious bearskin rug and watch black erotic cinema until late in the night. When you were hungry I would hand-feed you a meal, starting off with spring rolls and other finger foods, and working our way up to exotic fruits and other things that are covered in chocolate.
When you are ready, I would hit you doggy-style—but only for half of the night. I am most sorry to say you will not be ready for an all-night encounter with Smoove for quite some time. It pains me to say it, but this other man has damaged you.
Excuse me. Smoove has to take a deep breath. He is very upset.
You may wonder why I want you back so badly if I believe you are tainted by this new man's foul touch? It is because I remember how fine you were back in the day. I know from experience that there was no woman in the city finer. And I know that all that fineness is waiting to spring forth once again.
You just need some time with Smoove to get you back on track. If you are willing to go through my sexy 12-step program, I know that we can once again take lovemaking to the next level. When you are ready, we will be like lustful warriors riding two black steeds, traveling from kingdom to kingdom, conquering with our love until we control a vast empire that we will rule with a fair hand and smoldering sensuality. We will also have a pair of black panthers that will lay at our feet and won't attack anyone unless we command them to.
I am once again on my knees and I am begging you to realize that this man will will not bring you the overwhelming ecstasy that I can. Please go to my website and look at the pictures of my apartment and some of the dishes I have created recently. It is my hope that this will remind you of the times we shared and the bliss you experienced over and over again in my bed and on my chaise lounge. Do you remember how that early morning sunlight seemed to say, "Damn, you two are doing it correct?" It can be like that again. I guarantee it.
Hit me up on my cell, girl. The number is the same.