Till Summer Do Us Part

by Meghan Quinn

This is a story about me falling in love with myself. Yup, being a twenty-nine-year-old divorcée will do that to you. The only person I want to be in love with right now is me and me alone.

I moved to the city to be closer to my friends, got a job with Butter Putter editing their ad copy and editorials, and now I’m living the single life, trying to regain the confidence I lost when I was married to Matt.

Yes, you read that right…penis after chino-encased penis. To tell it to you straight, I work surrounded by a real sausage fest. And not just any sausage fest but the worst kind.

It’s what the youth are calling…the finance bros. *Shudders*

This is a living nightmare. Surrounded by happy couples boasting about their weekend plans, talking about their partners like they worship the

ground they walk on. What’s that like? Couldn’t tell you.

“That my friend needs a fake husband for a therapy session tomorrow at nine in the morning, can you fill in? He said, ‘Sounds like fun, send me the deets.’”

I know the difference between Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Zero, and the pure shit that is Pepsi.”

“She always underestimates the size of my dick. The only time she remembers is when I bottom out inside her and she can practically taste me in her throat.”

“Something we tend to forget when married,

that we’re tied together in all aspects. What one partner might do affects the other. Whether good or bad. One move tugs on the other and vice versa. That’s why when we’re making our way through life, we need to be aware that our every move is tied to our loved one. We need to be conscious of that.”

I follow her line of sight, straight to the steam shower, where a large dildo is stuck to the wall.

“Dear God,” I whisper. “Whatever you do, don’t drop the soap, Scottie. For the love of God, don’t drop the soap.”

“Let’s get one thing fucking straight,” I say as I move over her. “I’m not Matt, and I love eating pussy, so spread your goddamn legs.”