Below is a tour of a dejected, spiteful pervert’s thoughts on a cold Valentine’s Day:
Somewhere not more than a block or two from me is a young couple spending the day adoring one another and taking turns making the other feel desired and loved. Good for them. I’d like to collapse their skulls with an adjustable wrench.
How much would the cheapest handjob I could get through backpage cost today? Should I tip more because of the weather?
What is the foulest act I could get a woman to perform for a diamond necklace?
Do shotgun sales spike before Valentine’s Day? Could I pack a shell with candy hearts?
I should buy chocolates for myself and ejaculate all over them.
I should see how far down my urethra I can stuff a rose stem.
I should push a safety pin through my scrotum for every time I’ve been rejected.
How many husbands will get better gifts for their mistresses than for their wives this year?
I could buy a card for that cute girl who works at the pharmacy around the corner. I’d fill it out before having her ring me up, then I’d give it to her after paying for it. She’d be embarrassed and flattered. She’d thank me before telling me that she has a boyfriend. Would I feel better for having tried? Should I do it despite the odds against me? Should I be thinking this much about a girl who is less than half my age?
Maybe the nurses in the emergency room would be extra nice to me today if I came in after cutting off my dick.
That woman is so beautiful. I’d like to use a straight razor to carve a heart on her perfect ass.
That woman is so beautiful. I’d like to drown her in a tub full of ice water in front of her crying boyfriend.
That woman is so beautiful. I’d like to fire an arrow through her heart—from a crossbow.
How is buying jewelry and candy and flowers and whatever else for a woman just so she’ll put out any different than paying to be with an escort? How much money is spent on this holiday in the name of getting slightly better-than-average sex? I suppose I’m missing some important point in there somewhere. I guess some guys aren’t doing all that solely for sex. Those assholes will be the ones who get the best sex. I hate life.
I’ll bet there is a married guy not far from me right now who feels about the same as I do. The passion in his marriage is as dead as my eyes. Perhaps I’m not missing anything.
I’m not really alone on Valentine’s Day. I’ll be with the young woman who works at the coffee shop on the corner today. I’ll be with my unsuspecting coworker today. I’ll be with that woman I see some mornings on the train today. None of them know it, but at different junctures today, I’ll be curling up with each of them to snuggle under the covers. We might fool around, but we might just take naps in our underwear. They’ll keep me warm from miles away without having to be here or having to know what I think about them when I’m near them. Before I get started, I might go buy some sexy panties for one of them, just so I can feel what doing that is like.
Tomorrow isn’t going to feel any better.