I'm disappointed in you George. You said you had more votes than Gore, you said Iraq had weapons of mass destruction, you said you had a ten-inch dick...
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 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. Same 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.
Holy cow, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. 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 please tell me where the fucking remote is?
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