The Ultimate Divorce Letter
Dear Connie,
I know the counsellor 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. Just the same, I never wanted to be the
first one to make contact again. In my fantasies, it
was always you who would come grovelling back to me. I
guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's
cost me so many 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, so here
is what my heart says: "There's simply no one else like
you, Connie."
I look for you in the eyes, breasts, every movement of
each woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even
close.
Two weeks ago, I met this girl at The Flamingos Club and
she came back home with me. I don't say this to hurt you,
Connie, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19-20, with one of those perfect
bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice
skating or hours in the gym can give you. I mean, just a
perfect "10" body. Smooth, round like you wouldn't
believe and a pert little arse that was to die for! Every
man's dream, right?
However, as I sat on the couch having my cock sucked by
this stunner, I thought, "look at the stuff we've made
important in our lives. It's all so superficial". Ok, so
what does a perfect body mean? Does it make her so much
better in bed? Well, yes, in this case it certainly
did!!! - but you see what I'm getting at, don't you?.
Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better
heart than my basic, barely attractive Connie? I doubt it.
And I'd never really thought of it that way before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later,
after I'd loaded her up with about a half a litre of throat
yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained
and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique, her
insatiable lust for my cock or her totally shameless hunger
for my cum, but something else - some nagging feeling of
loss. Why did it feel so incomplete?
Finally 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.
Everything and everyone I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mum we met at the
Holiday Inn lounge last year? She heard you had gone, so
she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagne. She said
she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around.
(I didn't know realise she meant till a bit later, but
that's not the real story.) Anyway, we had a few glasses
of bourbon and the next thing you know, we're hard at
each other in our old bedroom.
God, Connie, that nubile, voluptuous horny tart's a total
nympho in the sack! She was giving me absolutely every-
thing! 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.
Suddenly she sees that tilting mirror on your grandmother's
old vanity, so she grabs it down and puts it on the floor
and she gets us to straddle right across it, so we can watch
ourselves doing it. Connie that's so hot - I mean totally
hot! - but it makes me so sad, too. Sad because I can't help
thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the
floor and straddle me? We've had this old vanity for what,
14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy."
Saturday, your sister dropped by with my copy of the
restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a teenage 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 told me miles of things I didn't know about you, and
given me so much good advice about women in general.
She is so keen for us to get back together, Connie, she
really is. So we were downing shooters in the jacuzzi 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 16. Baby, that
just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's heavily into the oral sex
thing, and that gets me to thinking about how many times I
pressured you about trying it, and how that may have
fuelled some of the bitterness between us.
But do you see, don't you, even then, when I'm frenziedly
doggy-thrusting hard and deep inside your sister, 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 afresh? - I think we can, Connie.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know,
baby.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking TV
remote is!!!
Love,
Dan.
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