Plush Love

When Cary’s marriage fell apart, so did he. The idea of dating another woman was more than he was able to hold in his heart. Just before his wife left she told him she’d faked every orgasm, every act of intimate affection, and that he was a terrible lover who always left her dissatisfied. This was said to him in cold fury after he discovered she’d betrayed him with a mutual friend; they were moving in together. Obsessively he pictured them naked, tangled in the throes of their passion. The smell of her slightly sweet-sour sweat mixed with the musk of sex and sperm haunted him. Even more than her, he hated all women.

After she moved out, he found a teddy bear he’d given her early in their courtship. Like him, she’d left it behind. At first he took the bear to bed because her scent lingered on the plush toy. When his sexual hunger returned, he masturbated with the small stuffed bear pressed into his face, inhaling the residual fragrance of his lost love, meager substitute for his missing partner. The man and the bear began a comfortable nightly routine. When he felt the pain too deeply, when he missed her more than he could bear, he would talk through his feelings with the little creature. Often these conversations ended in tears.

Together they worked through the hard times and Cary’s broken heart began to mend. In place of longing, his anger and passion grew larger than the hurt. Over time sex with the little doll got rougher and rougher as he came to understand the bear could never return the love Cary felt and lost.

One night in a fit of resentment he ripped the crotch out of the creature and shoved his penis between the torn fabric, deep into cotton inside. Rocking back and forth over the little mound of fake fur he brought himself to orgasm with a loud moan, spurting his seed all over the soft white stuffing inside. There was something profoundly satisfying about defiling this token of his love. The bear didn’t complain.

Night after night for weeks Cary abused the plush toy in the same fashion until the stench of his own rotten semen was more repulsive than the carnal and emotional satisfaction he received from ravaging the small doll. For a moment he considered tossing it into the washing machine but then he realized he was done with the past. It was time to move on.

©April 4, 2010 Fred Dodsworth