Could you please check my grammar in this story I've written? Please... Thank you.

Could you please check my grammar in this story I've written? Please... Thank you.

I was once a journalist. I travelled far and wide through all the inhabited continents on earth. I was so busy that I couldn’t go home between the months of January and September.

I had an experience in Pakistan that I couldn’t forget for the rest of my life. I covered news on the drug cartel in Islamabad, in which government officials were involved.

I was at work in Islamabad when my mobile phone rang. The caller was eager to talk to me. It was somebody I didn’t know. She said she had a file on her computer that she needed to show me. Towards the end of our conversation, she invited me to dinner at Khiva Restaurant on Main Margalla Road the next day.

At the restaurant the woman introduced herself to me as Flerida. She was an Israeli, with long brown hair. She sat in front of me as if she were trying to seduce me, but I took no notice of her because I was faithful to my wife.

Let me cut this long story short. Such a woman was a hag, a fake. Some government officials merely used her to get more background information about me.

Three days after my conversation with Flerida, the police arrested me, interrogated me, and put me in their custody. They accused me of being an American spy on the Pakistani government. During the interrogation, they wanted me to tell them what I was doing in their country. I said I was simply a Filipino journalist assigned to cover news in Islamabad. They refused to believe me.

I was made to face a Pakistani court for a hearing. Finally, it revealed its final verdict: I had to be put behind bars for six months.

One night, two of the cops came into my cell. A stunningly gorgeous man as I was, they asked ‘favors’ from me. I shouted, and everybody else in the jail was awakened.

I told those two policemen that once I was released from prison, I’d file charges against them. They tried to bribe me with over 100 million rupees, so that I’d keep quiet about the incident. My faith, however, wasn’t shaken.

During the ninth month of my imprisonment, the Philippine government appealed to the Pakistani government to review my case. A year later, I was released.

While sitting comfortably in my seat on the airplane heading to Manila, I borrowed a newspaper from one of my co-passengers. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read the headline: Pakistani VP, CJ nabbed for drug trafficking.