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,
It'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.
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,
It'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.
