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There is a man in my life: a man whom I detest with an inexplicable, yet white-hot passion. His name is George. He is a stuffed monkey, soft, with wide black eyes, and a long tail that curves subtly around his body when he is sleeping. He watches me, without blinking, when I’m getting dressed, working on the computer in the living room, taking a look in the refrigerator for something to snack on. Really, it doesn’t matter what I’m doing -- there he is -- always watching. George came into my life about six months ago. He belongs to V, the Light Fantastic, given to her by her ex, Yvonne. And perhaps, that is why I loathe George with such fervor. He is a constant reminder -- a gift from one of Satan’s minions here on Earth. I am convinced, all these months later, that George is a spy for Yvonne, sent here to infiltrate our relationship and report back all my faults and misdeeds. It is a great pleasure indeed, to fall asleep and wake up next to V the Light Fantastic’s warm, lush body but it is an immense irritation to open my eyes and see George staring at me from the safe embrace of his mistress. He mocks me, his tongue saucily peeking out from between his thin lips as if to say, “I’ll outlast you.” George has become an amusing point of contention between my lady and I. Whenever I threaten to harm George, I am barraged with promises of Lockdown, and glares, and comments like, “Just say not to cruelty against (stuffed) animals.” Then she’ll hold George protectively against her bosom and again he’ll mock me because he is being held in so coveted a locale. One night, while V was in the living room, and I was lying in bed amusing myself, I turned my head to the right and saw George staring at me and the smirk on his face was so smug, I became blinded by anger and before I knew what I was doing, I had tied the end of the blanket around his neck and tossed the creature over the bar of our canopy bed. He looked so helpless, hanging, his body swinging to and fro, that the laughter bubbled forth from my lips and soon I was gasping for breath because finally, I had conquered George. I wasn’t afraid of the consequences, and consequences there would be, because for one moment, I had wiped that smug look from George’s face. Before he could squeal, I pulled him down and began throwing him against the wall like a basketball. The power was going to my head. I knew I was out of control, but I couldn’t stop. Months and months of dealing with his superior attitude had consumed me. There was no logic to my actions, and until I had had my fill of this gleeful torture, all rationale would be stranger to me. When he even dared to open his mouth I stuck him under a pillow and bounced up and down on top of him. V came into the bedroom, to see what all the commotion was about, and that’s how she found me, my eyes glazed over, a sheen of sweat covering my face, and my extremely tall body bouncing up and down on a stuffed animal. She just shook her head, with a look so disapproving, that even a hardened criminal would be ashamed. Wordlessly, she removed George from beneath my ass, gave him a kiss on his forehead and left the room. Her silence, believe you me, was more devastating than any words she could have thrown my way. For the rest of the night, I pleaded for her forgiveness, cooked dinner AND washed the dishes, gave her a foot massage, and ran a warm bath. I tiptoed around George, not even glancing in his direction, but he was smug again. Oh he was smug. I heard him cackling as I sat in the corner quietly contemplating my fate. And he whispered some very nasty things indeed when V took him to bed and told me to stay on my side of the bed. I lay, along the edge of my side of the bed that night, the sharp crease of the mattress digging into my skin, and I wished I had taken George into the hallway and thrown him down the garbage chute. I wished I had faked a kidnapping, demanded an impossible ransom for the beast. But swallowing my pride, I inched towards V, brushing my lips across her bare shoulders and vowed to treat George with love and respect for the rest of his life. V turned towards me. “Do you promise?” she asked, in the most pathetic little voice I ever did hear. I crossed my fingers and nodded solemnly. She thrust George in my face. “Kiss George to prove it.” I wiped my mouth, held my breath and leaned in for a quick peck. “Kiss him like you mean it,” she demanded. For a brief moment, I contemplated the absurdity of all this. George was, after all, a bloody stuffed animal -- a child’s toy and here we were, treating him like an actual person, but then I remembered how he mocked me, the way he always stared and how much I hated him. I knew, with certainty that despite appearances, George was all too real. I swallowed the remaining dregs of my pride and gave George a kiss worthy of a king. V beamed with happiness and patted me on my head. George bit my lower lip. I winced inwardly and cursed Yvonne soundly. George still sleeps with us but the war is not over. |
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
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