by Dave GUNN

Dear­est Diary:

Why, why, why did I ever buy Dwayne that damn I‑PHONE cam­era doohick­ey? He is dri­ving me BANANAS! Ma­ma was over tonight for din­ner (note to self: some Valen­tine’s present, huh?) and every time Ma­ma would turn her head he would take a pic­ture of her rear-end or snatch and show it to me. told him over and over, “I know where I came from doo­d­iehead, you ain’t got­ta show me!”

Speak­ing of which, it was just two weeks ago to­day that he got the bright idea for a pho­to shoot us­ing his I‑PHONE, a pho­to shoot that Dwayne said would “spice up our fla­vor­less love nest,” or as I re­fer to it, OUR WATERBED. (note to self: get on his ass about the leak un­der the pil­lows). Now, the first few out­fits that I wore for the pho­to shoot got me hot and sweaty in all the right ar­eas. I wore my ex­tra small t‑shirt that I got at Knotts Berry Farm along with them ex­tra small span­dex shorts we found at Fam­i­ly Thrift. Wow! My breasts, thighs and lungs could bare­ly breathe, and my rear end was pinched over and over by the lens of his I‑PHONE. I want­ed to taste him in my mouth that felt suffocated.

Then the dum­my goes and gets Char­lie the boa con­stric­tor out of the front room and makes me get butt naked af­ter slick­ing my hair back with gel, wrap­ping Char­lie around my neck like I’m Cleopa­tra or some Ama­zon­ian crap. I would­n’t have mind­ed, but no one has giv­en a bath to poor Char­lie or cleaned his cage out in over a month and he was so damn cold that night as Dwayne ain’t fed him for few days. I told Dwayne, “Start Snap­ping be­fore I start Squirm­ing,” and that Char­lie just kind of laid on me, did­n’t move much.

Of course, the damn I‑PHONE start­ed ring­ing and it was Dwayne’s Dad­dy on the phone and he has the gall to start telling him what we’re do­ing, in DETAIL! All the while Char­lie starts lick­ing my hard nip­ples with his slip­pery tongue, mov­ing like quick­sil­ver in and out of his mouth. I had no com­plaints for a while, but then Char­lie’s head start­ed mov­ing down fur­ther on­to my stom­ach and oth­er ar­eas be­low that and I screamed, “This snake is bound for glo­ry Dwayney Babe!” When Dwayne saw what was hap­pen­ing he came over and swapped Char­lie’s head away and he fi­nal­ly hung up the stu­pid I‑PHONE. Then that dirty ol’ Dwayne start­ed telling me ways to pose sexy with Char­lie, say­ing it was “Snakes on a Play­mate, Snakes on a Play­mate!” which I thought was just so damn cute. Why can’t he say that all the time?

I stormed out of Dwayne’s Pho­to Shoot though when he made me change in­to my wed­ding dress and lay on the floor in the mis­sion­ary po­si­tion with my dress all hiked up my rear. He lit the left­over can­dles from our wed­ding and lit up some licorice-scent­ed in­cense. Then he turned on some Bel Biv De­voe crap that I can’t stand and left the room. So there I am, just lay­ing on my back, and be­fore I know it Dwayne is car­ry­ing in a bunch of stuffed an­i­mals from the kid’s room and he lays them all over me in dif­fer­ent po­si­tions like it was a fur-ball gang-bang. I told Dwayne, “Sug­ar, this ain’t my idea of a sex casse­role!” Then I went in­to the oth­er room and sat in my wed­ding dress watch­ing some episodes of MOONLIGHTING that I got on DVD from Net­flix. (note to ABC: You need to dump that Bruce Willis and get a re­al man on the show, some­one who re­al­ly knows how to fuck.)

De­spair.…

Filed under Letters on February 13th, 2007

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