Hello, my name is…

I guess I can talk about it now. I was employed to have affairs with married men. I was supposed to make them fall in love with me. I know, I know! Where are my morals? Where is my honor? Where is my dignity? Where is karma to kick my ass? Well karma just paid a visit so don’t worry. BUT, the wives paid me. So don’t put all the blame on me; good lord, I’m not Akon. They wanted half but were locked into a prenuptial agreement that stated it will go null and void if the husband is caught having an affair.

Spark the brilliant idea also known as how the hell did this start? After my short lived academic life at community college, where I majored in partying. I learned how to shotgun a beer and do a two minute keg stand. I figured out I wasn’t one for academia and academia hated me. That’s how I started my private investigator life. Trust me that didn’t last long! All the people I followed weren’t doing shit. They were pretty decent. To tell you the truth I have really terrible trust issues. I didn’t really buy the pretty decent behavior. Honestly, I think all men are scum (again trust issues.) No honey, that guy won’t be your prince charming. He’ll use you and screw you over for your best friend. They only think with their dicks. Don’t trust me, you just have to experience that for yourself. That’s probably a reflection of my daddy-less upbringing.

So, back to seducing and getting married, wealthy men to fall in love with me. At first, when she asked me to do it, I said ‘Hell no, sister that is a no fly zone.’ In that moment, I was in a so called “relationship.” In reality, what I thought it was a “relationship” was the guy thinking he was getting a hot piece of ass. No feelings and no commitment. Except he was living in my apartment and hooking up with randoms in my bed. Yeah, low blow, a very low blow. So as I grabbed my suitcase from my apartment and headed to the office, I called the woman back. Boy, let me tell you, this shit pay a lot.  Because it worked with the first husband and you know how women talk. I had so much business. I basically became their fantasy woman. This is way better then getting a sugar daddy or having to become a stripper. At that point in my life I was just that desperate. I make my own cash and don’t have to do an old man.

Oh right, I should probably tell you my name. Kennedy Kadence King, yeah I realize my initials are KKK. Well, my momma met my daddy at a white trash trailer party. The one thing they had in common was their love of Hitler. The rest is history. Personally, if grandmother didn’t want to change it; I didn’t see the point in changing my name now. Anyways, momma ran away from home when she was fourteen because the Deep South called her name. She got knocked up by the time she was seventeen. I don’t know much about my daddy except he sold drugs and blew up his trailer. My grandmother is one of the most religious people I’ve ever met, that must have rubbed off on momma otherwise I could almost guarantee I would have been aborted. I barely sent time with momma and bio daddy. They named me, hung out with me for a few weeks, and then shipped me off to grandmother’s house. I was strictly raised by my grandmother. Because as she used to tell me I was the spitting image of my momma. From the only picture I have of my momma, I got her green emerald eyes and probably my bio-daddy’s strawberry blonde. I didn’t grow up with a strong male role model. My grandfather died in the war and grandmother never talked about him. The river da-nile runs deep for us King women.

Grandmother sent me to a private Catholic school. Yes, there were plaid skirts with the whole sneaking smokes and flasks in the bathroom.  You know what they say about good girls, they don’t get caught. School and I just didn’t click. You know how in those old movies where they show teenagers slacking off and those were the cool kids? Well, that was me but the cool kids were the nerds, who studied all the time. Grandmother, bless her heart, set me up with a trust-fund. Well as much of a trust fund as she could, which wasn’t much but it’s the thought that counts. She didn’t want me to end up like my momma. Trust me I didn’t either…I’m terrified of water.   Sarcasm is how I cope. Last I heard of my momma, she was addicted to gambling. She took too much money from the mob and well she had cement boots fitted just for her. I can’t wait to start telling all but that’s all for today.

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