Dear Sister,
Look, I know you don’t really care about saving African girls and women. I know that you know the letters we send are big lies, but they satisfy your ego.
I’m being honest.
If you pledge to triple your donation over the next six months, I will send detailed descriptions of all the sex I have with Kenyan men. With NGO workers and lawyers and rugby players and matatu touts and gardeners and messengers and restaurant waiters and cooks and marathon runners and half-naked tribesmen and fishermen and government clerks and carpenters and plumbers and fully naked tribesmen and circumcised men and uncircumcised men. All of it.
A sample of what I’m offering below.
Was at home one morning. Heard loud screams. Worried, I called my landlady. Said Ken the gardener’s wife was visiting him, a monthly visit. He fucked her so vigorously her screams woke up the whole neighbourhood.
Next morning, heard her screams again. Put on earphones. Slept. Had erotic dreams about Ken.
Early next morning, crept out of my house, hid in a large bush next to Ken’s residence, could see through the open window. Saw everything. No foreplay. No kissing. Deep, hard fucks. Deep like he was digging earth. She arched toward him. Pulling him in. He dug. She pulled. He dug. She pulled. Sweat dripping off his body onto her. She started with soft moans. They got louder. He dug more intensely. She arched more violently. A pulsating rhythm. Her moans got louder. He never got faster, but he got more intense. Screams broke out. Louder and louder. He stayed intense.
Sweat broke out over my entire body.
I crept away before they finished.
He looked up. Might have seen me. Never stopped his intense thrusting.
I want to be fucked like that. I want to be fucked until I ululate.
With all good wishes,
Your Sister
du