The Singleton's Guide to Valentine's Day

in hive-184628 •  12 days ago 

Fair warning, this is probably NSFW, but there are no pictures to go along with it. If words bother you, I suggest reading something else.

Another year has past, and is gone, and suddenly St. Valentine's Day is upon us again. Seemingly out of nowhere, in the middle of winter dreary, a holiday is thrust upon us seemingly to test our collective mettle to see just how strong as a society we are to not fall into an even deep, mid-winter depression. There are no fancy lights, no St. Nicholas sneaking down your chimney in a bound, and no Easter Bunny to shit out little chocolates. I guess St. Valentine's role is to spread lover's cheer which, in this day and age, may very well see him flitting from lover to lover spreading Venereal Disease. Suddenly Valentine's Day's acronym of VD has an entirely new meaning!

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"Your Gonorrhea has taken me, but you still have my heart"

VD... or Valentine's Day... is definitely a day for lovers and couples (or lovers and multiples if you're into that sort of thing). What it isn't, however, is a day for singles. If you're single you probably hate the day and would rather torch out your eyes with a butane powered flame thrower than have to witness yet another public bout of affection by two overly happy-for-now-until-they-have-children couple. Assuming that you may not want to inflict permanent bodily harm upon yourself, however, how is one to get through the day and keep the spirit of St. Valentine alive in your heart?

Fear not, my friend. Here I present to you a portion of my upcoming book, The Singleton's Guide to Hosting a Successful Menage-a-mois (and if anyone wants to model for some visual, hit me up on Discord).

You've woken up and realised that it is St. Valentine's Day and, surprisingly, the box of chocolates that you have bought yourself isn't bringing much satisfaction. You reach over to the side table, grab one of the mouth-watering nougats of goodness, and with a groan pull yourself up from the covers to sit on the side of the bed. Sitting there with your elbows on your knees you think to yourself that there must be some way to get through the day while feeling good about yourself, at least until tonight, when you'll get to feel yourself good like a good lover should. You're looking forward to that, but there is still the rest of the day to get through.

With a deep breath you stand, stretch, and glance back at the bed. Lying there for you, patiently, is your friend - your five foot nylon female you've named Barbie if you're that type, or your 10 inch piece of curved glass goodness you've named Lance if that's your style - and you're quietly thankful that Barbie/Lance has yet to let you down.

You shower, dress, and think about breakfast. Breakfast! Today is Valentine's Day, a day to treat your lover which, in this case, is yourself. You're not going to cook for yourself! No way! And then clean afterward? Absolutely not. You're going to go out for breakfast. And not just any breakfast. A good breakfast that you can feel good about. Today is not a day for IHOP or Waffle House. You want more, so you find the one restaurant that prepares breakfast foods you cannot pronounce and is served by people you don't understand. You're not entirely sure what you're eating, but it's good. And for the price you're paying, it better be.

Today is Friday, so you don't have the day off work, and that helps get you through it. You laugh with your coworkers - the single ones, anyway - and silently detest the others. At lunchtime you go to buy a puppy. A cute little Siberian Husky. You hear that they don't bark, and good god they're cute.

Despite the cuteness overload that is your new puppy, and you really want to call this little girl your new best friend, you know, deep down, your best friend is Barbie/Lance waiting for you at home. You're finally off work (you were sent home after the puppy chewed through the snack door, ate three pouches of coffee grounds, got so hyper she bowled over the cleaning lady, then peed on the breakroom sofa) and you're feeling good about and with yourself, but not great.

It's time for supper and you realise that you need puppy food. Shit. You need to go to the grocery store anyway because, dammit, it's Valentine's Day, and you're treating yourself. And you're going to treat the puppy, too! You buy her the most expensive puppy food you can, and you get yourself a top-shelf wine. You won't need food tonight; food is for the dog.

Home. Wine. And a lot, hot, steamy bath. It feels so good to sink yourself into it with the full knowledge that something else will be sinking into something else tonight with no concerns of inadequacy, no guilt, and no questions asked. The wine is good. Hell, you're good, you realise, as your hands find parts of your body that are not accustomed to having hands on them. And that's okay, because today is all about love.

The bath is finally done, the wine nearly gone, and the puppy just ate a plant. You, however, you have your eyes set on your silent bedroom guest. And look! There is already lube available - you put it there earlier knowing you'd not want to look for it now. It has no added flavour or scent - that would just attract the puppy anyway, and that's decidedly not the type of love you're looking for from her. Besides, flavoured lubes are for those who have partners or more to taste them with. Hell, straight up vaseline would do for you, but this is a special day, so you got the top-shelf lube to go with the top-shelf wine (really, you just bought it online).

As the evening progresses and, ultimately, finishes, you lie there with the last of your chocolates in hand and realise, truly and completely, you are the best you've ever had.

(c) All images and photographs, unless otherwise specified, are created and owned by me.
(c) Victor Wiebe

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