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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.
“Over my dead body will my friend pretend to be married to a plastic fuck hole,” Mika
I laughed so hard at this!
“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.’”
“Lots of games in the bedroom, if you know what I mean?”
“We’ve done it all. Name the position, check. Name the angle, done it. Name the body part, licked it.” Dear God in heaven.
“Uh, what do you mean you’ve been hit in the head many times?” I ask. “And who the fuck hit you?”
“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.”
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.”
oh my God lol
“And oh wow, yeah, shimmy again for me.” I point at her. “I don’t shimmy during sex. Only when I’m singing ‘Luck Be a Lady.’”
haha!
“Good girl,”
oh yes!
“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.”
“I’m saying I can’t handle you rimming your ice cream like you’re running your tongue over my goddamn piercings.”
“Pips, I can’t be certain if you put a nose on my face or a mini golf course with two holes.”
