Because it's all been said. Because what the fuck does one person's perspective matter at this point? Because Anais Nin's diaries would have been sickening if written by a paunchy, middle-aged man. Because I had a bad day at work. Because finishing something means admitting it can’t be perfect.
Zoe and I have an average sex life. We've been married for 11 years. We've made love a few times, but nothing comes close to the letters I've read in your magazine. Zoe has a nice body and keeps herself in good shape. She's very attractive and a lot of fun, but she can also be prudish. It's this prudish side that makes what you're about to read so hard to believe.
We own a boat, and we enjoy cruising and fishing from time to time. Usually when we are away from shore and alone, Zoe will take off her top to get an all-over tan. Unfortunately for me, every time I make a move toward her, she stabs me in the eye with a red-hot poker that she has kept simmering by her deck chair.
Every summer there is an air show along our lakefront, and this time Zoe wanted to invite her best friend Amanda and Amanda's boyfriend to watch from our boat. I told her that would be fine by me, and thought nothing more about it. My good eye twitched, a little. Sometimes that means a storm is coming.
The day before the outing, Amanda called and said her boyfriend couldn't make it. Zoe said good, it's done then, and that she should come alone.
We met her at the harbor the next morning. Zoe wore a baggy pair of busted old sweat pants and a cotton tank top with a completely opaque black sweatshirt underneath that totally obscured her form. Amanda had a cutlass which she would occasionally jab threateningly toward my good eye. Ever since I met Amanda, I've given her a wide berth. She has great dexterity and knows how to flaunt it in all the right ways. She always kicks the shit out of me and tells my wife that sometime they should kill me and dump the body in the creek behind our apartment complex.
By the time we left the harbor, the girls had had two glasses of wine and were kicking what appeared to be a severed head amiably down the deck of the boat. It took the better part of an hour to get to the air show. There was a large gaggle of pleasure craft, and it was hard to find a spot to anchor. We decided to drift to the outside of the flotilla to try to anchor there. I finally got the hook to grab where we could see the show, about 100 yards outside the main pack.
Once we were secure, Amanda asked where she could change into her bathing suit. I told her she could use the cuddy cabin once I was done stowing the bags and coolers. My wife said that would take too long, and there was no room because of all the gear. Amanda asked what she should do. With that, Zoe stabbed my remaining good eye with the poker.
I am unclear on what happened next. I only know that I awoke in what felt to be the trunk of a moving car. I write this letter to you, Penthouse Forum, in the hope that you can assist me in some form. Please be swift and strong. Please spare this man's life. You are my last hope. --Name and address withheld
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