I kept saying to myself, “Come on Biff, where are you?”A lot of options went through my head. Maybe she got hit by a car, or mugged? Maybe she had a stroke, or a heart attack? But the dominant thought was, “Have I just been played?”Biff’s disappearance put a lot of things into perspective. I went through every one of the five stages of grief.Denial: first I sat for almost 48 straight hours watching the curser blink. I kept telling myself that Biff would never do that to me.Then Anger: I said to myself, “Fuck her! I don’t need the bitch!” I went out and bought a case of Jameson’s and spent the next week drunk on my ass. Occasionally I staggered over to the screen to look at that diabolical little prompt. It was still blinking away. Finally, I smashed the monitor with my last bottle of Irish.Then Bargaining: I woke up lying on the floor covered in vomit and little pieces of plastic. I took my wasted body out to the local Best-Buy, and bought a top of the line system. I wanted all the. “Trust me sexy, just as easily as I can put it down, I can get it back up… no problem.” He raised one eyebrow and looked at me as if he was thinking of testing my boast. He slid a finger between my legs and into the very center of me. I knew that I was so wet that it was about to drip down my legs. His eyes got this sexy-ass menacing look as he said, “Oh no… I need to get my dick in that.” He began to take his finger out of me and I flexed my vaginal muscles to try and hold him in. He grimmaced and breathed, “GAT DAMN!” as he tugged to remove his finger from my pussy holding his digit captive. When he finally got his finger free, he immediately put it in his mouth and moaned as if he had just sampled a taste of a Cheesecake Factory dessert. Again he placed his hands around my waist and sat me on the hood of his car. I looked him in the eye as I leaned back on my hands and spread my legs for him. He looked me in the eye as he placed one hand on the small of my back and the other on.
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