Oh God, that feels much better getting that off my chest. I now sleep with a long, slender, white partner (a black one would be silly). Not that I should talk-- my ex is as orange as The Situation.
But sleeping with this new partner is so exciting and so fresh. I'm always trying new positions, lately favoring curling my leg around, laying on my side and groping the supple body beside me. It's very kama sutra.
My history with my ex goes back to when I was just entering my teenage years. One day, I happened to see my now-ex at Wal-mart, and it was love at first sight. With a curvy body, a soft touch and a sporty appearance, I couldn't pass 'em up.
That began a love affair that could have inspired the romanciest of romance stories, or even the creation of the word "romanciest."Night after night, we cuddled, its body always underneath me, missionary style, usually under one shoulder or the other. It always helped my neck and back feel more comfortable, plus it felt nice pressed up against me. We went on trips around the country together, from Texas to New Hampshire. It even was open to threesomes, accommodating the thousands of ladies* who joined us in bed. Sure, it was always a little awkward the morning after, as it seemed put off that I ultimately cuddled with the woman, but it never held a grudge.
* Clarification: "Thousands" means "some**"
** "Some" means "Does spooning count?"
But this month, I knew the time had come to confess the relationship was over. I had already cheated on it one lonely night in Chicago, finding a long, beautiful lover in my hotel bed, yearning to envelope my body.
I had to get one of my own. Just like James Franco on "30 Rock" recently, I had felt an undeniable connection to my full-length companion, except mine didn't have the appearance of Japanese manga porn.
So I went out and found one for $10. White. Huggable. Soft.
Hypoallergenic.
Perhaps I should mention my bedmate is a body pillow, and not a cheap Caucasian whore (see, it's not your mom after all).
Yes, I now share a bed with Capricorn, Leo, Bailey and Body Pillow. Capricorn is not convinced there is room enough for all of us, and she may be right. I hope she's comfortable on the couch.
It was time to make a change. My basketball pillow, the one I've had since middle school, now looks like an amorphous Dora the Explorer, minus the hair, backpack and exuberance for cartography.
I just don't know how to let it go. This isn't some stuffed animal to cast aside, a la Stephanie's Mr. Bear on Full House. It's not. (It's not, Andy, it's not. You don't sleep with a stuffed animal, you little girl.)
I wish I could quit you, basketball pillow. For now, you will reside beside the bed like a drunken co-ed slouched beside the toilet.
I'd toss it out, but I'd be afraid it would write a tell-all book about all the dirty things it's seen in the past decade-plus. You know ... pillow talk.
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