“Subject: Caty, just read this OK? Please. I need you to understand.” by Simon Pinkerton

May 4th, 2016 | By | Category: Fake Nonfiction, Prose


I feel like I didn’t get a chance to fully explain myself the other day on the phone, so that’s why I’m emailing. I’ll continue where I left off, I mean, from where you hung up.

So what I was saying was, I met a girl, and she was pretty amazing. I thought about her obsessively. She was a friend of a group of friends, and because of my control issues I needed to know everything, so I asked people friendly to both of us a ton of questions about her. It was going well and we had our fifth date by that time, and everything was positive and wonderful, except then I learned that for a very short time she had dated my nemesis, Perry Lennon.

This guy was such an unbelievable asshole. He was the exact opposite of everything I valued, and he would always put me down in front of the other guys, and so I made it my job to punish him. I may have let the air out of his tires on more than one occasion. I may have put red food dye in his parents’ pool and written “Blood Money Paid for This” on the sidewalk nearby, even though his parents were human-rights lawyers. I may have shit in his locker.

When I found out that she had been with him, I was more uncertain about everything between us, and I needed to go deeper. While I was investigating, we were dating very hard and fast and I was enjoying myself greatly. But I heard bits from here and there, and I put them together, and I worked out that everybody had been being really “nice” about her, that in fact she had been throwing her sexual organs at any man or woman who had shown even a fleeting interest over the past couple of years.

So I didn’t want any part of that anymore. It hadn’t stopped me up to that point—I mean, when I didn’t know, I was more than happy to buff that muff. And boy did I go down on that thing. But I’m squeamish. I won’t date a nurse because of things they have to touch. I’m even funny about women who work in old folk’s homes or schools—I can’t stand to think of how many hands they’ve held. Hands for Christ’s sake! Let alone cocks.

So this is my thing, yes, not hers, before you jump off at the deep end and talk about double standards or misogyny. That wouldn’t be valid anyway. I would be just as grossed out by a well-used peen. But yes, it’s my foible. That fact doesn’t change anything—I still found her vagina unpalatable.

And that, Caitlin, is why I never married your mother.

And why you’ve had various stepdads and a ton of homes since you were a baby. Which, by the way, could you please figure on staying at mom and Darren’s over the summer? That is, if she’s not too busy with her legs in the air to feed you. I’ve got a new thing going with a lady and I don’t think we’re ready to have you join us. She was part of a cult (forcibly) for the last fifteen years—so only one sexual partner (and that wasn’t consensual!). Creeps me out, but let’s face it, at my age I’m unlikely to bag a virgin.

I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you a horse if things go well with Jeannie. Space won’t be a problem. She’s agoraphobic. I guess being kept in a basement makes you fearful of other people. So the city’s out.

Anyway, you’re old enough now that we can have these heart to hearts, and I don’t want to keep anything from you, so I’ll let you know why I’m so excited about this new romance—the pussy is the bomb.

Love you, call you soon,


Defenestration-Simon PinkertonSimon Pinkerton is a London-based writer of humorous and dark short stories and poems. He has a blog at http://www.simonpinkerton.tumblr.com and a Twitter thing also under his name, and feels very alone so please look him up and make nice comments, maybe even “follow” him.


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