Adventures of Bunny

Not My Type

Hello my beloved readers, I’ve missed all of you. Yes, I’m alive and well. It’s been a busy three months. As all of you know life is never boring.

Between work, my father, and…

I’ve got a secret. I’ve been a bad Bunny. But let’s be honest I think that’s how all of you like me the best, lol. I’ve bagged myself a man. I see diamonds, flowers, white pieces of clothing, a house with multiple rooms, and joint bank account in my near future.

I went to a conference in Charleston. Savannah’s sister city, so I have an appreciation for it. We met at the social hour over Moscow mules. He caught my eye, we chit chatted, I asked for his number. The rest is history. History that involves dinner and hotel sex.

Three months later… still going strong. He’s anesthesiologist at a local Charleston hospital. Six four, runner physique, blue eyes, pale skin, only child, Yankee, and classic Charleston prep wardrobe. His nickname for this post will be Dr. Sleepy.

Dr. Sleepy hits everything on my unofficial list.

Side Note: Yes, every woman has some sort of list. Just like every guy does but doesn’t want to admit it.

He’s funny, yet conservative. Dr. Sleepy is social, runs marathons, dog friendly, likes to eat out, sends me flowers and cute texts (yes I know gag much), makes time to come see me, likes to experiment in bed, and grills a mean steak. I know, I’m living a charmed Bunny life. I’ve got my carrots and I’m eating them too.

I now have what every woman wants….

A bright, shiny KEY!

Don’t worry diamonds are to come. But full accessibility to his home at anytime is a nice start.

I had a client call with an emergency. So of course I had to tote my ass at the last minute to Charleston. Lead foot, anyone? But I’ve got a place to stay whenever I like. So no problems there. And surprise sex, is always fun.

I call him on the way up, but it goes straight to voicemail. I left him a message, just to give him a heads up. But I know he’s on call. He’s with a patient or in surgery most likely.

I run to meet my crazed/annoying client. Which by the way her problem could have been solved over the phone or via email. She’s an OCD annoying bitch. But she’s the extremely profitable OCD annoying bitch that I bill a lot hours for. So here I am smiling and trying to pretend that I don’t mind dropping my entire day for bullshit. I’m grinning so hard my teeth hurt. But I repeat to myself, billable hours. Billable hours and suck it up while I feign to listen. The only thing getting me through this meeting is the thought of heading to Dr. Sleepy’s and not sleeping at all.

After my bullshit meeting finishes, I swing by the grocery to pick up a few things for dinner. I felt like cooking. And who doesn’t like to come home to dinner already made?

No Jag in the driveway, so I’ve beaten him home. I pull out my lovely key to unlock the door. I find it unlocked. Hmmm, this is strange. I walk in, carrying my groceries. I hear voices from the TV on in his bedroom. I call out, and say Hi. Put everything on the counter in the kitchen. Then head upstairs for my welcome home kiss.

As I’m walking down the hall I begin to realize that it sounds like he’s watching porn. And damn it sounds tantalizing. I want in on this! Why didn’t he wait to watch it with me? Hello!

I walk a little slower. I’m peeling off clothing as I make my way to the bedroom. Because I’m ready to dive in to what I’ve been hearing. I open the door, “TA DA! Honey I’m home!”

But there’s no one there. There’s clothing on the floor. He’s normally not this messy. I still hear captivating sounds. They are coming from the bathroom.

Well damn, I hope he’s left me something to work with. So, I swing the bathroom door open.

Before I can speak, I’m left speechless.

He’s in the shower… but he found a friend.

Inner Monologue Moment: That cheating, no good, mother fucking bastard.

I’m still in shock because the friend he found is not female. His bimbo is male. A FUCKING MALE! And very well endowed male. It’s hard to miss looking straight thru the glass shower doors.

I calmly walk to the toilet and flush. Cue squealing and what the fuck.

This is when they notice there’s company. I wave, say fuck you, and walk out. As I’m storming downstairs I hear him screaming. It’s not what I think. Hold on, let me explain!

Inner Monologue Moment: It’s not what I think? Are you shitting me! It’s two men fucking in a shower. I think that’s pretty cut and dry. This explains so much. Why he was so attentive, his great taste, the weekly flowers, his knowledge of designer shoe wear. Damn it. Why didn’t I see it before? FUCK!!

I’m tossing on my clothes and grab the groceries as quick as I can. Dr. Sleepy has made it downstairs before I can get to the door. His company is sneaking out behind him as he blocks the door. I tell him to get the fuck out of my way unless you want me to nail your backstabbing dick to the door. Which I’m pretty sure your side piece will have a problem with.

Dr. Sleepy proceeds to tell me that things were going so well with us. We were serious and life was good. But he had this nagging thought. He wanted to try this one thing before he could completely commit to us with no regrets. And then the thought became real life.

My response, “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Your fucking someone else. There’s nothing more that needs to be said. I can’t handle this or you right now. I need space to process.”

The next day he calls, I let it go to voicemail. I ignore him. The day after I walk into my office. I see the ladies all staring at my desk.

Fuck, what now?

I walk in and see a beautiful arrangement of orchids. But of course there’s more. A large box with a bow. I look at the card, guess who it’s from? So I open the box and I’m greeted with… the new Louis Vitton bag.

Inner Monologue Moment: Son of bitch! This bag is gorgeous. I can’t just toss it like the flowers. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this bag?

I sit at my desk and compose a letter. I take the empty Louis Vitton box and place the note inside. And COD him the box overnight to his office.

This is how I imagine him receiving my box.

Let me set the scene for you my beloved readers.

Dr. Backdoor walks into his office sees the large FedEx box on his desk. He has hope, and smiles. He rips open the box. He looks inside and is greeted with the Louis Vitton box he sent previously. The cheating bastard is perplexed. He gently takes the box out. It’s lighter than he expected. He’s happy. A light box means the gift was accepted and maybe he’s on the road to forgiveness. Backdoor opens the box to see a card with a smiley face on the front.

Inside are three words, “GO FUCK YOURSELF!”

©️southerngabunny

13 thoughts on “Not My Type

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