Ugly, squalid, degrading little story I wrote a couple or three years ago under the influence of Rammstein. Sort of a cautionary fable about modern romance----I kinda think of this story as an ugly stepchild that doesn't know how to behave in polite society, so, like a good parent, I have to foist it off on you. Never published anywhere, exclusive to this blog.
My chief complaint is, she took my dick. I know I’m getting no sympathy. Call me a whiner and a sore sport on all counts; I’m going to miss the damn dick.
You’ll tell me it was all in the contract---okay: Given. We did have an agreement.
Do you believe in love at first sight? I DON’T, but Dreamlover69 was about as close as I’ve ever come. Will ever come. It’s all downhill from there.
Her: SWM. Has a death wish. Me: Take a guess. Mommy issues? You betcha. Nothing that hasn’t been documented elsewhere, so I’m nothing special.
I was special for Dreamlover69, though. My Prince, she called me. My Proud Peacock. You wouldn’t understand.
Our courtship was very old fashioned…I mean, really. Dinner, movie, all that. We had our consummation lined out, though.
Being the Woman of the Relationship, of course, she had to take my dick---that was okay---it played into the aforementioned Mommy issues and she was good at what she did. She put me under and kept me on morphine and she braised it and served it with baby spinach leaves and sun dried tomatoes. I thought it was pretty good, but that may have been the morphine talking.
There was plenty of that to go around and it helped as far as my end of the bargain. I love this girl and I can honestly say she made all my dreams come true—she may have taken my dick, but she became everything I needed her to be.
I swear, those beautiful eyes---they broke my heart. Naturally, I had to scoop them out after a while and stick them in the freezer. It's better in the freezer....I've learned, through painstaking trial and error, that things go bad in the crisper.
You give this thing called a heart, metaphorically or not, and I guess it’s like all great romances, all great stories. It’s sad. I mean---you’re thankful to have had it, but that intensity burns out and then there’s just the aftermath.
Of course, I’m sad. Didn’t I just tell you that? I’m sad and so is she. Tell ‘em, Dreamlover69.
Hey! Dreamlover69? Dreamlover69?
Copyright 2013 C.F. Roberts/2015 Molotov Editions