12-17-2003, 03:31 PM
(Not real of course)
Letter to Ex
Dear Terri:
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, Terri."
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 the Rainbow Room
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, Terri, 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 you wouldn't believe
and an ass like a tortoise shell. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the
couch being blown by this coed, I thought, look at the stuff we've made
important in our lives. It's all so surface. 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 Terri? 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 quart 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 niggling 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, Terri, to watch. Do you know that I mean? Nothing
feels the same without you, baby.
Jesus, Terri, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do reminds me
of you. Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at Mt. Sinai Baptist
Church? Well, she drops 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 have a few glasses
of wine and the next thing you know we're doing it in our old bedroom. And this
broad'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 God and 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 Terri 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 aid." (Some of this I thought about later.)
You know what I mean? What happened to our spontaneity? You get so caught up in
the routine of a marriage and you just lose sight of each other. And then you
lose yourself. That's the saddest part of all for me. But I keep thinking we
can get it back. I know we can, because I only want this stuff with you.
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean,
Shannon's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her
shoulders. She's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given
me lots of good counsel about you and about women in general. (She's pulling
for us to get back together, Terri. She really is.) So we're drinking in the
hot tub and talking about happier times. Here's this hot girl with the same DNA
as you (although, let's face it, she got an extra helping of the sexy gene) and
all I can do is think of how much she looks like you when you were 18. And that
just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Shannon's really into the whole
anal thing and 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 the steaming hot Dutch
oven of your sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? It's true,
baby. In your heart you know it.
Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances and start
fresh? I think we can. I keep thinking that I think if you'd just try it, I
wouldn't have to pressure you so much. Because who needs all that bitterness,
Terri? It just tears us apart. And I can't be apart from you. Because I love
you.
Letter to Ex
Dear Terri:
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, Terri."
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 the Rainbow Room
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, Terri, 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 you wouldn't believe
and an ass like a tortoise shell. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the
couch being blown by this coed, I thought, look at the stuff we've made
important in our lives. It's all so surface. 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 Terri? 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 quart 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 niggling 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, Terri, to watch. Do you know that I mean? Nothing
feels the same without you, baby.
Jesus, Terri, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do reminds me
of you. Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at Mt. Sinai Baptist
Church? Well, she drops 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 have a few glasses
of wine and the next thing you know we're doing it in our old bedroom. And this
broad'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 God and 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 Terri 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 aid." (Some of this I thought about later.)
You know what I mean? What happened to our spontaneity? You get so caught up in
the routine of a marriage and you just lose sight of each other. And then you
lose yourself. That's the saddest part of all for me. But I keep thinking we
can get it back. I know we can, because I only want this stuff with you.
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean,
Shannon's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her
shoulders. She's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given
me lots of good counsel about you and about women in general. (She's pulling
for us to get back together, Terri. She really is.) So we're drinking in the
hot tub and talking about happier times. Here's this hot girl with the same DNA
as you (although, let's face it, she got an extra helping of the sexy gene) and
all I can do is think of how much she looks like you when you were 18. And that
just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Shannon's really into the whole
anal thing and 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 the steaming hot Dutch
oven of your sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? It's true,
baby. In your heart you know it.
Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances and start
fresh? I think we can. I keep thinking that I think if you'd just try it, I
wouldn't have to pressure you so much. Because who needs all that bitterness,
Terri? It just tears us apart. And I can't be apart from you. Because I love
you.
Do I care? No.![[Image: g_001nta.gif]](http://www.geocities.com/stilesgd/g_001nta.gif)