A Breakup Tale In So Many Parts

Part 28 

Part 28:  35 days... 15 hours... 4 minutes since you left me...

It's not that I love you anymore. It's not that I want you in my life anymore as a friend, as a lover (I can't even think that far back), or as a husband.

But you got me. Besides my friends, you got me.

You got me and you slept beside me; you smooched me and, at one time, you were intimate with me.

I scare men.

I'm too twisted for color tv.

At dinner last night, my friend said, "But you are crazy, that's part of your charm". It's not charm when you represented in cyberspace, believe me. Not when you have to write, "I'm kidding", or "I was being sarcastic" after things you say, or when the guy's profile says, "Turn Offs: SARCASM". It's not "Sex In The City", where Sarah Jessica Perkier acts like a complete asshole and guys think it's adorable or quirky because she's a size 2 and has tits up to here. She whines her ass off to Chris Noth and he still finds her in Paris at the end to say, "It's you, Carrie, you're the one".

I'm the Carrie that gets pig's blood spilled all over her ("they're all gonna laugh at you, they're all gonna laugh at you... we're all very sorry, Cassie, we're all very sorry, Cassie").

I tend to send a million emails; leave a million phone and send a million text messages, because I forget to say or write things and I feel like I have to let people know right then or I'll forget. One of my meds' (Topomax) side effects is forgetfulness and short term memory loss, so I forget things. I forget words or times of things and I have to write things down... it's so screwy.

You "got" that.

My friends understand that I do that and I don't feel embarrassed telling them about the side effects.

I do feel shy about telling Joe Handsome Charming that, oh, by the by, I'm on some "no go crazy 'cause daddy had sex with me" or "my life was all dysfunctional" medications that cause me to do some strange and OCD type behaviors and I forget things and.... hee hee... "crazy's...part...of...oh the hell with it".

Strangers trying to "connect"... they think it's weird, psycho, crazy...

not "part of your charm".

It's going to be so hard when it really comes down to it. I can just hear you, telling your friends, "She's going to have a lot of trouble finding someone who'll put up with there shit; all of her problems and all of her annoying little... things."

You're right. Maybe I stayed with you because I thought you were the only one who'd have me. But then you didn't have me. You left.

Now, I can't very well say,

"Hi, happy Match.com connectors! I'm dark and hard on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside, like a Hershey Dysfunction Bar. Crazy's part of my charm, don't 'cha know... that's what they say, anyway. I've had a helluva life, but I'm "strong like bull" and will cross stitch you a tea towel and bake you cupcakes for your birthday if I know you long enough. I will get you to laugh through my pain and at things you didn't think you could laugh at, then I'll stop and fawn over a dog on the street. I'm cynical and adorable. Huggable and vicious to men in pleat front pants.

But my heart is two sizes too big and you'd know that if you actually met me, but because we're corresponding via electronics and I don't translate well through the wires, you'll be blocking me from communicating with you very soon.

Take Care and I Blame Myself,

Me"

Were we still in the days of The Pony Express, I'd be a spinster.
_____________________________________________________

Nothing about me is normal. Everything is a little bit off.

I had a Frankenstein vibrator.

Because we weren't having sex, I had to rely on it (and my 3-ways with Ben and Jerry) to keep me happy and satisfied. I didn't have the extra funds to go to my toy shop  HYPERLINK "http://www.babeland.com/" Toys In Babeland, to invest in a  HYPERLINK "http://www.babeland.com/page/TIB/PROD/vibrators-rabbit-style/DA280121" Rabbit Habit.

And so, for your reading pleasure, this is the story of the Frankenstein vibrator.

First, before the bolt-necked sex toy, I had the honey bear.

He was attatched to a control by wire with a variable control speed and his little arms were raised above his head, like a ballerina, closed together to tickle my happy places.

How could I resist this little guy? He puts out forest fires!  His little arms? They waved! They waved at my hoo-ha! They said, "Hello, hoo-ha, I love you and I'm sorry that you aren't having all the sex and orgasms in the world. I'll put out that fire for ya'.... num num num!"

Also, bears like honey, so.....

Wheeeee! Yay! Wheeeee!

Wait.... fizzzz.... spurt... sputter... stop... grrrrr... Noooooooooooooooooooooo!

The honey bear had eaten something bad out of the pic-ah-nic basket (not a euphemism, my state park is well tended to) and died a horrible death after a while and went to honey bear heaven to live with Boo Boo and Smokey.

How long did I wait to trip on down to Rivington St. for a new plaything? Faster than you can say "new plaything". Try it.

I'm already there.

Scoping out new prospects... no more little bullet covered forest dwelling hoo ha wavers.

I was going big time.

I found the "Japanese" vibrators. They are shaped like people, so as not to be "offensive" and I liked that. Very considerate. It seemed so much more honorable to the country of Japan as I pleasured myself with it while watching online porn or dreaming of someone else besides my husband, didn't it?

I chose a lovely light blue model that had a long shaft shaped like a woman and a little attatched area shaped like a little bunny rabbit.

Actually, it looked like the little "beaver" (appropriate) is taunting the "lady" by sticking out his tongue, saying "You gotta go in there, hahahaha". And the "lady" is saying, "I'm so not listening" (I imagine this because she wears pearls, like Jackie O. rgasm).

But I had to use it so frigging much, one day it just stopped.

"What the hell?" I yelled, pausing the laptop, leg slung up on the desk (we weren't wireless yet).

I'm not kidding, this was, like 3 and 1/2 years without sex. I should get wife of the century.

God, why did I stay with you?!!?

Oh no. Sweet Mother Of God.

The wires to the beaver had dislodged.

She knew what she had to do.

She had to hot wire her vibrator.

First, she tried to shove the two wires back into the beaver's head. Nothing.

"We're going to have to go in", she said, grabbing her craft scissors and needle nosed pliers.

Slowly, with the precision of a woman who hadn't had a cock in her since 2002 and had a girl-on-girl scene paused on her computer screen, she cut up the back of the "lady in pearls".

"Sorry I gotta do this to you, ma'am, but release is release", The lady was silent, but it was understood. Underneath the lady was a plastic vibrator... it had to go. She chucked it into the trash. All that was left was a blue rubber flap, where a pearl wearing, hard lady used to be. She said a small prayer.

"Thanks, doll", she whispered as she folded down the blue rubber beaver cover to find a plastic egg.

She knew this egg. This was the egg that the sex peddlers sold covered in bears, bunnies, different colors. The hoo-ha egg. But this particular one had a wall around it, where the wires needed to go, so she gently put them down the sides, and BANG, the little guy started moving!

She covered him up and smiled to herself. She was strong like bull.

Until the wires pulled out of the control panel a few second later.

She turned off the vibrator. Angrily cracked open the control box, stripped the beaver wires with her pliers and wound them around the connectors are tight as she could. BANG! The little guy started moving again.

Strong like bull. Horny like moose.

The End

So now, I was pleasuring myself with half of a dual action vibrator (the good half, yes), that was flippity, floppity on the other half (like a deflated Martha Stewart), with an exposed control panel of batteries and wires in my hand.

But, screw it, it was ALIVE..... ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!!!!

Something had to be.