Concubine

Dear Pontius the red-necked parrot,

I’m miserable when I shouldn’t be. Any man would die for my job. I’m paid by my boss to make love to all the secretaries in his company. It is my duty to keep them sexually satisfied so they can keep their minds focussed on the job, and not get distracted by life outside of work chasing boyfriends. I have sex three times a night, six days a week, and each time is with a different girl. They are all beautiful and could easily find work as models. I am a lucky man, yet I feel so empty. There is one condition. I am not allowed to talk to the girls or kiss them, because the boss does not want them to get emotionally attached to me and lose concentration at work. I am there for their physical needs only. At first it was heaven, but soon I began to miss the little things I hadn’t thought important before. I miss the laughter of the one you care about when you tell them a funny joke. I miss the proud smile on their faces when you are introduced to their friends and family. I miss the intense look on their faces as they squeeze a pimple on your chin. I miss their wisdom when they give you advice on a dilemma you thought could not be solved. But most of all I miss smelling the scent from their bodies the first time you kiss them. I feel as lonely and forsaken as Christ on the cross. I’m in heaven but it feels like hell.

Kind regards,
from the sad hunchback
from a place too far to care.