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.

**** 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 *******

remote is.

Love,

John

"Faith is the daring of the soul to go farther than it can see." ~William Newton Clark

My guts are sore from laughing so much! ;op

U can't find the remote because the battery flat.

great story,can relate to,lol