Recap: Old client WR flew me to LA for his 50th to nail me for cash. WR puts me up in a hotel, which is weird since I slept over in my hooker days. He hurriedly shows me his Brentwood estate, avoiding the bedroom. I ask for a glass of water. Maybe we can do a quick slam over the breakfast table? My gift to him: I’m generous like that. I hop up on the kitchen counter, flashing some panty. WR keeps his distance. I notice a pad by the phone with a number and a restaurant scribbled in frilly female writing (?).

I’m not invited to the birthday bash, but he’ll pick me up later… It’s 3:30 am and he’s finally fucking me bent over the rail of his boat in Marina del Rey. I’m staring into the dark water while he pinches my nipples. Realization: I am a kept woman. I am not in control. I cut him off, grab his balls and confront… Cunt is dating a gold-digger bent on killing my plan of him dying childless/ alone from his cholesterol issue. I don’t want to marry the douche, I just want to be the hot piece he remembers while writing his will in between strokes.

I squeeze his balls harder, angry: the contact we kept over the years was a waste. He’s not the lonely twat I knew. He’s about to nest. I’m the lonely one now, making out in bars with guys who buy me drinks. I hate him… So I push him to the deck and savagely bone him in ways his new princess never will… I come hard and he pinches a nerve in his back… In the car, he tells me I can have the weekend off, but to be on call Monday night. So I went to San Diego and did the only thing a kept woman at the end of the line can do: spend the weekend slut’n it up in a bar.

Here is Kendra Wilkinson slut’n it up in a bar in Chicago Friday night because she is a kept woman playing second fiddle to Hef’s obvious favorite girlfriend, Holly Madison. Like mine, her days are numbered. I feel her pain. Not really. She is busted in the face and dumber than dirt.

Obediently yours,
Sugar Nell (ex-hooker, friend of Jesus)

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