I STEAL WOMEN'S UNDERWEAR FROM THEAUNDRY LINE TO CAPTURE THEIR HEARTS

 I STEAL WOMEN'S UNDERWEAR FROM THEAUNDRY LINE TO CAPTURE THEIR HEARTS

 

“I Stole Women’s Underwear for Rituals, Now My Life Belongs to Spirits”

I don’t know where to start, but maybe the beginning is the only place I can. I am not proud of what I’ve done, but the truth must be told before it destroys me completely.

It all started when I was tired of struggling. I was always broke, watching other men drive cars and get respect while I couldn’t even keep a job or a girlfriend. A man I met at the shebeen once told me that wealth and love can be manufactured if you’re willing to step into the dark side. I laughed at first, but deep down, I was curious.

One evening he took me into the mountains, far away from the village. There was a cave hidden behind thick bushes. The moment I stepped inside, I felt a strange chill, as if the place was alive. That’s where I was taught the ritual that has now tied my soul to darkness.

The instructions were simple but disturbing: steal underwear from working women. Not just any women, but the ones who have money in their pockets, stability in their lives. Their underwear, once in my possession, would be the key to bending their hearts and minds.

So, I began my mission. At night, while people slept, I would sneak into yards. I avoided dogs, climbed fences, and reached washing lines. One by one, I took what I needed — panties, bras, anything that carried their scent. Sometimes I felt shame, but the hunger for wealth and love drowned it out.

Back in the cave, I would spread the stolen underwear in a circle. I would light black candles, pour snuff on the ground, and chant the words my mentor taught me. Each garment became a rope binding the woman to me.

And it worked.

Women who never looked my way before suddenly became obsessed with me. They started calling, visiting, and spending money on me. Some would even bring groceries to my house, others secretly gave me cash. It was as if they couldn’t resist me. I didn’t have to lift a finger financially — women carried me like a king.

Now, I have multiple partners, all willing to sacrifice for me. They fight for my attention, they cry for my love, they beg me never to leave them. To the outside world, I look like the luckiest man alive.

But behind the smiles, I am slowly dying.

At night, I feel things no man should feel. My private part burns with pain, like fire eating me from inside. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a sensation as if something — or someone — has been sleeping with me. I cannot see it, but I can feel it. Cold touches. Heavy breathing. Invisible movements.

Worse, my manhood has developed a foul smell, one that no soap or medicine can wash away. Doctors cannot explain it. Women whisper about it behind my back, but they can’t leave me either — because the ritual has trapped them.

I wanted wealth. I wanted love. I got both, but at a cost I never expected. I am not free. My body belongs to spirits now. Every night, I fear that the same mountain forces that gave me this life will soon claim me fully.

I am confessing because I don’t know how much longer I can carry this. People see my life and envy me, but if they knew the truth, they would run. Sometimes I wonder: did I really trap these women, or did I trap myself?

The cave still calls me, but I no longer go willingly. I go because I have to. The underwear keeps piling, the rituals never stop. And the more I do them, the more I feel my soul slipping away.

To anyone listening: don’t ever envy a life you don’t understand. Behind my wealth is a darkness that no money can clean. I am rich, yes — but I stink of spirits and even though I want to stop, somehow I can't help but continue stealing women underwear from their washing line.