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... a
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. Gosh, 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. Because 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 you put the fucking remote?
Love, Chuck.
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