Welcome

Dennis Jones is a Jamaican-born international economist, who has lived most of the time in the UK and USA, and latterly in Guinea, west Africa. He moved back to the Caribbean in 2007. This blog contains his observations on life on this small eastern Caribbean island, as well as views on life and issues on a broader landscape, especially the Caribbean and Africa.

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Saturday, July 26, 2008

I'm just looking for a pussy.

The last few days have been too traumatic. Some things a man cannot do without and will search hard to find.

The big hairy pussy that I enjoyed in my bedroom every night could not be seen, and would not come no matter how much enticement I tried. "All of that stroking and for what?" I thought. I lifted up every piece of clothing I could put my hand on, but no pussy. I got frustrated but not angry, and yelled "Why you wont come? You don't love me anymore? The small rod I had been using to probe with was still in my hand and I pushed it once more under the rumpled clothing. I could feel nothing. I stormed out of the bedroom and uttered that well-known Jamaican sound of frustration, "Cho!"

I went to the bathroom and washed my hands. "You stay there. You think I care? You goin' be sorry." My wife looked at me puzzled. "Why you making so much noise? You want to wake up everybody? If you want to find the pussy, I suggest you go out to the street and look for it there." For once she was talking sense, and I slammed the front door as I went out into the darkness of the night. I hoped that I would find what I was looking for.

When morning came, I was back at home and lying half asleep, tired on the sofa. No matter how hard I had tried I had not found any pussy. The phone rang. "Yes. Morning." I answered. There was a pause. "I have something for you," the lady's voice said. I felt myself stiffen quickly as I heard her speak. "I have a pussy here at my house. You want to come for it?" My heart started to beat at a rate of knots. I jumped off the sofa and ran to the door with a quick "Soon come!" to my wife. I rushed through the door and ran to my neighbouring lady friend's house. She opened the door as I approached. She was in a light nightgown. "You ready for it?" she asked. What a question. "Of course. Just give it to me." I walked in and she closed the door. She took my hand and guided it. "Feel this." she said. I could feel hair; it was wet, and there was a smell I knew very well. "Oh!" I moaned. She stroked my head. Tears came down my cheek and my lips started to tremble. I had found what I had been looking for all night.

The cat was dead and lying under a blanket, her coat was still damp, and covered in blood. She had been hit by a car. Now, like her, we can all rest in peace.

2 comments:

garry said...

For me nothing beats a shaved pussy, all that talk of a hariy pussy turns my stomach lol

Jdid said...

cuhdear! sorry about the loss of your cat.

nicely written by the way