Post by Markus on Jul 24, 2006 17:44:04 GMT -5
Lol, nice divorce letter. Sil sent this to me 
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 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 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.
