And for some odd reason I can so imagine Captsmakk writting a letter just like this!
See letter below:
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, 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 the fucking remote is?
Love,
Dan
Now, I know at least a dozen men that could probably write this letter and see nothing wrong with it!! Very Sad!
