i know some people on here have proberly already seen it but hey
Dear Susan :
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. 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, Susan." 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 Ithaca Bar 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. Jugs 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 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 Susan? 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 ****ling 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, Susan, to watch. Do
you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Susan,
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 in Upper Side 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 Susan 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."
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 counsel about you and about women in
general. She’s pulling for us to get back together, Susan, She really
is. So we're drinking in a hot 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 and that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured
you about trying it and how that probably fuelled 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, Susan.
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.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know, otherwise, can
you let me know where the remote control is.
John"
Dear Susan :
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. 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, Susan." 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 Ithaca Bar 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. Jugs 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 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 Susan? 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 ****ling 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, Susan, to watch. Do
you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Susan,
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 in Upper Side 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 Susan 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."
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 counsel about you and about women in
general. She’s pulling for us to get back together, Susan, She really
is. So we're drinking in a hot 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 and that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured
you about trying it and how that probably fuelled 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, Susan.
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.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know, otherwise, can
you let me know where the remote control is.
John"
