Tweet
stole this from somewhere else.
Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our
"cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I
swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little
boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make
contact.
In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I
guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot
of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about
looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one
of us does.
Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is
what my heart says: "There's no one like you,Connie." I look for you in the
eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even
close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with
me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my
desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth
and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a
perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't
quit.
Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this
stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives.
It's all so superficial.
What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in
this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a
better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive
Connie? I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'd
tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking,
"Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless
technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging
feeling
of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel
the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean?
Nothing
feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you.
And
everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge
last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said
she
figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what
she meant till later, but that's not the real story.
Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're
banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the
sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when
she's not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can
hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your
grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it,
right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me
sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the
mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we
never used it as a sex toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I
mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her
shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time.
She's given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general.
She's
pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're
doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times.
Here's
this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of
how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me
cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets
me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how
that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how
even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all
I can do is think of you? It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know
it.
Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances
away and start fresh? I think we can.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is?
Love,
Dan.
Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our
"cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I
swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little
boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make
contact.
In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I
guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot
of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about
looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one
of us does.
Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is
what my heart says: "There's no one like you,Connie." I look for you in the
eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even
close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with
me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my
desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth
and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a
perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't
quit.
Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this
stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives.
It's all so superficial.
What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in
this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a
better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive
Connie? I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'd
tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking,
"Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless
technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging
feeling
of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel
the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean?
Nothing
feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you.
And
everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge
last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said
she
figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what
she meant till later, but that's not the real story.
Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're
banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the
sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when
she's not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can
hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your
grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it,
right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me
sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the
mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we
never used it as a sex toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I
mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her
shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time.
She's given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general.
She's
pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're
doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times.
Here's
this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of
how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me
cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing, that gets
me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how
that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how
even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all
I can do is think of you? It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know
it.
Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances
away and start fresh? I think we can.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is?
Love,
Dan.
Comment