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Knocking on Doors

Knocking on Doors

The Hunter
July 16, 2021

I made it to the New Millennium. Lita is my girlfriend. Lita is a very attractive West Indian Sister from the Dorchester area outside of Boston. She has an ass and chest on her that just won’t quit. She may have missed her calling. Lita do well in the Adult Entertainment Business except she has a screw loose. She is sweet as hell, but she is hysterically jealous. Like, burn your shit up with you in it jealous. We met when she came to look at some of the shit (furniture) I advertised for sale when I accepted foreclosure as imminent for the home in Atlanta. She bought the dining room set and 30 days later we’re sleeping together. Besides, she really took a liking to my 4-year-old son the first time she saw him. Lita has people who have people who can get me to the Black Godfather of Atlanta. This ain’t no serendipity BS. I’m taking this as a sign the God’s have my back on this one.

Lita’s taking me to a meeting with one of her people. This woman she said is The Good Right Archbishop, Apostle and Dr. Charlotte Saunders-Wright-Johnson Smith. She told me in advance, “…Whatever you do, when you meet her, don't stare…” The Drag-Queen RuPaul ain’t got nothing on this woman. She has to be 6’5 and looks like she could play tight-end for the Chicago Bears. How she got all her equipment into the little ass dress she is wearing, I haven’t a clue. She has enough junk in her trunk to fill the dresses of two plus size women. And damn if somebody didn’t hit her ass with an ugly stick. I knew but for Lita telling me of her being married that this woman’s got to be transgender. When Lita introduces us, I don’t stare. Though I fucking want to, I don’t. But I don’t know whether to salute, curtsy or just fucking "...What's up Bish Good Rev. Dr.?" I choose to smile and make the usual pleasantries about how nice it is to meet her at last given the wonderful things I heard about her. Lies and damn lies. Damn this is one ugly woman.

We are in her tiny office in this small storefront structure she has the nerve to call her Church. We’re sitting around her desk which seems oversized and somewhat pretentious for the size of this room. We’re looking at each other as best we can with this big-ass pot burning incense in the corner smoking up the damn room to the point that I’m slightly choking in between breaths. Lita is hemming and hawing about why we’re here while I’m looking around at this building that could come down on my head any minute. I‘m listening to this crazy woman talk about how God has richly blessed her ministry. I’m thinking “…if you’re so fucking blessed, then why the hell aren’t the walls completely stuccoed or painted? Just saying.  

I’m growing impatient so I blurt out “…Madam, Bishop, Good Rev. Dr. Apostle Smith, Lita told me you could possibly get me an audience with an important and influential contact of yours. That’s why I’m here and I’ll be happy to help you financially with building on your Church…” She stops smiling and this frown comes over her face. She looks dead at me with these eyes that look like they want to burn a hole right thru my black ass. In this accusatory high-pitched voice and the attitude reminiscent of ‘Little Richard’ she says “…What you saying about my Church? You don’t like my Church? You belong to a better Church?” Damn, I’m thinking, 

“…No, I don’t like this shit shack you’re calling a church. Yea, I think you need to get some fucking stucco and paint on the damn walls before the Fire Marshall shuts this mother-fucker down and, yes, I have a better fucking Church to go to…” But I said” …Oh no. I didn’t mean to imply anything negative about your lovely ministry here but I was just hoping we could talk about my getting an audience with that friend of yours Lita told me about…” I could see the red dilation of the pupils in her eyes. Even thru the mild smoke in the room, they said “…You’re a fucking liar…”

She reaches down and opens her desk drawer, reaching inside in what I thought was an action designed to intimidate me. I’m not the least bit moved nor intimidated but I don’t take my fucking eyes off her ass either. She reaches inside and pulls out the butt of a half-smoked cigar. She licks the unsmoked end and reaches way back in this big ass chair for the incense bowl burning behind her in the corner of the room. I’m thinking to myself “…If this woman falls on her fat ass out of this big ass chair trying to light this cigar, I’m gonna burst into laughter consequences be damned…” She succeeds in getting it lit, stands up and starts coming around the desk. She’s coming towards me now with this shit eating grin on her face that I can see given some of the damn smoke in the room has lifted. I’m thinking “…What the fuck? If this crazy ass-woman gets too close to me with this damn burning cigar, I’m popping her ass Bishop, Apostle, Dr. or whatever the fuck she is…” She gets right in front of me and starts blowing the damn cigar smoke in my face and all over me saying “…It’s time to see if the spirits say you’re worthy of that which you’re seeking…” Then she starts chanting some incoherent voodoo gibberish asking the spirits to look within and judge my black ass as worthy. I’m looking at Lita like what the fuck have you gotten me into? Her blowing smoke at me and spouting this voodoo gibberish goes on for several minutes but it seems like hours. She finally stops. She blows on the lilt end of the cigar and puts it in the ashtray to extinguish it. She looks at me intently with this stare that has me wondering “…Is anybody fucking home?” Just like that, she seems to come back in her head again and smiles. She says “You’re good. The spirits say you’ll be alright for your journey but I wanted to see if you’re gonna take care of or mess over my girl Lita…” What??? 

Like now I’m thinking, “…That’s what this shit is all about? Woman please. You got me all jammed up in this fucking shoebox you call an office spouting incoherent BS because you all up in my Kool-Aid behind what’s gonna go down with Lita and you don’t even know what flavor it is? Give me a fucking break…” That’s what I am thinking. But I said “…I understand your need to be cautious under the circumstances…” I mumble something about the stakes being pretty high at this end of the pool. Then, I seek to bring this damn meeting to a close worthy of the shit I’ve been subjected to for the past hour with “…Does that mean you will you try to get me that audience?” She flashes what look to be her less than pearly white dentures at my ass and says “…Of course. Anything for Lita…” What can I say? This Knocking on Doors shit is a bitch.

Read more about the Hunter story In These Rooms

The Struggle Continues...

50-year-old Ex Bounty Hunter grappling with financial ruin and a serious drinking problem. View Profile

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