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How NOT to Make Friends with an Ex-Lover



I really know how to piss people off. Just the other day, I went to the post office {in this rural agri-community, we don't get home mail delivery} and bumped into a summer fling from a few years ago. There wasn't any lasting power with this creature, so I ended it with: "I'm done with you."

He never forgave me. I broke his heart. Or perhaps thought he lost out on a potential 'sugar momma.' Fuck knows what goes on in that empty skull, devoid of anything outside of the first law of Maslow's hierarchy, Survival.

Of course, his presence at the post office provided me with ample opportunity to torment him with one sentence. As predicted, he rose to the bait and muttered something under his breath.

I yelled at him, "If you have anything to say to me, you say it to my face."

He stood up, stared right in my eyes and said, "I don't like you," and followed that up with a dopey chuckle, "Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh." Forty years old going on three.

I couldn't resist. I lowered my voice and repeated, "I don't like you. Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh," while doing a two step shuffle as if I were a monkey.

The back of his head exploded. That's when the post office guy jumped in with both cleats. Chiding my ex-lover, he said, "Jerk, what the hell's wrong with you? This is how you speak to a lady?" In the background I continued doing what I now call The Monkey Boy Dance softly intoning, "Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh."

I stopped long enough to jump in with both cleats as well, "You're uncouth and rude. Just like an animal."

At this point, enraged, shaking and humiliated, he threatened, "Don't you dare come and eat at the restaurant where I work. Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh. I'll poison you."

He meant every word. And regretted it when he saw the look of joy flash over my face. For a man who never cared, wow! what passion! What an idiot!

He was the best lover I ever had. The chemistry was magical. Outside of bed was another story. All his intellect and thought must've been in his cock, 'cause the guy flatlined in conversation. One day he pestered me, "What do you do for the winter?"

Back then, I still lived in the City. "I close the summer house down and move back to the City."

"Okay. I'll join you there."

That statement floored me. What I took as a great summer sexcapade he mistook for a relationship. In my rural community, I didn't mind being seen in public with him. In NYC, though, I had massive reservations.

First off, his head's misshapen. I've got issues about that. It makes his ears stick out more and his hairline dubious. His features aren't hideous; it's the perpetual look on his face. Eyes wide open like furry animal buttons, mouth slack, lower mandible thrust out. His teeth are sharp and feral. I envision putting a little fez on top of that misshapen head, a collar and leash around his neck, handing him a tin cup. Guess you know where I'm heading with this.

After his inquiry, I didn't want any more. Don't get me wrong: I adored the sex, treasured it. Yet, that disfigured, worthless piece of crap attached to the end of his cock overplayed his hand. I'm not in the habit of rewarding sex with carte blanche entry into my life and all the doors that can open.

Hey, I may be an older woman, but I'm not anyone's patsy. Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh.

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This blog and all its posts are a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.






















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