What's a girl to do?

Bond asked me to marry him (again), but I had to decline eventhough I admit he looks amazing in a wet tuxedo.

















I can tell he was really devasted by my response as he abruptly took off from our romantic lunch at Venice square.




I came home last night only to find him at the laptop, writing me a letter. He wanted me to know how hurt he was, and how he began self-mutilating his own body just to numb the pain. But what dissapointed me the most were the scare tatics he tried to use, uttering threats about taking his own life by wearing extremely tight swimming trunks in order to cut off his circulation while drowning in his own sea of sorrow!












Gosh, I really hate the idea of hurting anyone, especially
him but I guess some things just weren't meant to be. He was a huge part of my life and I will always remember every inch of him. SIGH. Gosh, it's so hard being a heartbreaker.








This story was written by an M.A. candiate who just happens to have a tiny crush on actor Daniel Craig. This story should in no way, be indicative of any level of sexual respression, poor grammar or crass imagination on the part of the story-teller.