There was none of the mess of a real affair: the panic of hub-home-early and hiding the guy in the closet or letting him out the window to run for his life. Always a drag.
Nope, none of that. Joey was a peach. Not the least bit moody. Quiet, but never brooding. Left me alone. Zero emotional demands. Faithful. Not concerned that yes, sometimes I did think about other dildos, or even that I might brush by him in my sock drawer and not even say “hi.” A great listener. Comfortable with the silences between us. And it was always my turn.
Summer came. I had moved him a while back to my Goodwill bag since my sock drawer was sparse in the summer and therefore detection became more likely. It wasn’t until the Goodwill truck was pulling away from the curb that I remembered! Joey – now buried somewhere deep in the piles of stuffed animals, stretched out sweaters, too skinny-skinny jeans, and poly-blend career wear. I ran after the truck, screaming, “Stop, stop!!!” but…he was gone. Gone from the hissing of summer lawns and afternoons at the mall to the roil and boil of a new life somewhere in the city.
Oh, I had my mourning period. I wore black (eye liner) for a few days and got wistful when I thought of him with someone else. But, inevitably, grief fades, the heart heals. Friends call and laughter happens. Also, I got to cruising some new online stores and frankly, there’s something to be said for these new synthetics. Long story short: “Raoul” is in the mail…
