Archive for January, 2011

Dear Penney,

How have you been?  We don’t normally talk, do we? That’s putting it a little mildly; we never talk. How many years has it been, four? Most of what I write below might seem outrageous to you, vulgar even, but I hope you find it in your heart to not forever be disgusted.

Have I ever told you I remember exactly what you were wearing, the first time I saw you, all those many years ago? I’d been told to expect you in my class. Half the guys in college wanted to shift to our class, solely because you were in it. I’d heard tales upon tall tales of how incredibly beautiful you were. And the contrarian prick that I was, I was determined to not like you. Not anything personal of course, but I was determined to not be taken in by you and your famed beauty, regardless of whether it was conventional, old-school or avant garde.

In true diva-style you didn’t turn up for the first three days. And then on the fourth, there you were. Wearing that blue top and skinny jeans with those outrageously large, circular earrings I’ll never forget. And I went all……Meh. I genuinely did not feel that you justified the hype surrounding you. Little did I know that I had caught you on your one bad day in the entire fornicating decade.

We worked together for some time, for that thing that time. And I swear, the first day I found out we’d be together, I swore I wouldn’t think of you in a sexual way, in any way other than as a co-worker, and for two years, barring the odd stray thought or two, I never did. That reminds me, I have to thank you for that, for I never figured you were training me. No, I don’t mean that I had to work again with a co-worker who was as beautifully, perfectly sculpted as you are; because lets face it, what are the chances that I could be as insanely lucky as to find a co-worker as hot as you again? Its just that I had to train this slim, big-bosomed young thing for a year, and the two years I spent talking straight to your face (and into your forehead) really paid off.

I seem to be rambling again, don’t I? You really must form your opinion on me based on hearsay, rather than the few feeble attempts at wisecracking I attempt in your presence because generally, I’m not half as bad as I seem to be in front of you. And there I go again!

Getting to the point, the entire aim of writing this missive is because you deemed it fit to appear in an extremely provocative and god-bless-your-delicate-little-breasts, massively cock-raising dream I had the other day. True to form, you did make what I am positive will be a once in a lifetime appearance during this, but I’d rather not complain. Such memories, illusory as they may be, do tend to stick around, and I have relived the dream enough times hence to be reasonably sure that I will not be forgetting this in a hurry.

You’re curious. Morbidly, but curious nonetheless. Let me lay it out for you then. By some random circumstance, you and me are on a date. A quiet, home-grown date. This song, one of your favorites, I know, plays in the background. A dainty meal graces the table, set in the middle of my living room. A small square table, with just enough space for the breads and the red wine. A red tablecloth, maroon almost. Now, I don’t drink of course, but to imagine such a meal without wine on your lips would be a travesty, and for all my failings, travesties are not what I commit in such situations.

We’re smiling, too. Later, I will feel surprise on this rather unusual occurrence but at the moment, it seems like the perfect thing to do. Why shouldn’t we be smiling? Why shouldn’t we be passing on the bread-basket and having a perfectly good chat? Why shouldn’t we finish up, and over my protestations, you help me clear the table? Why then, should we not gaze into the nothingness of the hills that lay outside the house, although the darkness, that wicked ally of all sinners past and present, had long since settled in, knowing what would yet come, having seen tableaux such as ours time and again?

I confess, I did not think, did not hope that we’d go any further. I did not know what miracle had caused us to have that dinner, that almost-romantic evening, but I sure wasn’t going to ruin the night by trying to get physical. Exactly why I was thinking that way, whilst even the breeze flowing by was whispering, “Kiss her, you idiot” is beyond my comprehension, but then I’ve always had trouble thinking straight around you anyway.

You turned. And looked me in the eye and said “Fuck Me”. And that was it, no preambles, no soft touches, no intertwining of hands, nothing. You deigned me worthy enough to gaze upon your naked flesh and thusly, I was blessed. Even in a dream, lady, I cannot imagine touching you without first obtaining your consent. That is the power you hold upon me, and to the day I die, you will.

You were wearing a light-brown gown, two pieces of cloth held together by flimsy threads, and my shock had not yet subsided by the time you finished getting out of those. You weren’t naked, black was always a good color on you, and the low lighting combined with that racy lace bra of yours combined to give me erection the likes of which I’ve been scarcely privileged to get. To your credit, you didn’t burst out laughing at the spontaneity of my involuntary gesture, you understood. I’m not sure how accustomed you are to random pants tightening in your presence, but years of inhabiting a body such as yours must have given you some practice, yes?

It was when you leaned in to kiss me that I finally came to my senses. This was a moment I’d waited for years, and I’d be damned if I was letting it get away from me. Of course, I wasn’t prepared for the double whammy that was the touch of your gently moist lips on my nervous ones, and your hands working on cupping my testicles. Channeling yourself some Johnny Fontane, were you? You realized my utter bewilderment, and giggled. When you rocked your head back with that darned half-smile, I knew I’d lost. Tonight would be yours. And so would any other night you’d choose. I realized you knew exactly the limitlessness of the power you had upon me, and I didn’t care.All I wanted was that precious little jewel of a body next to mine, on top of mine or below mine on a bed. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else stood a chance.

Now, before I move further ahead, you must tell me, do you wish me to continue? I insist. After all, this is but my dream. Little one, there were far more interesting things that happened that night, things that I’d only be too happy to share. But I must ask you this, do you wish to hear more from me? Or do you wish to stop our correspondence here? Tell me, what do you feel right now? Is it revulsion, interest, or dare I ask, arousal? If even the tiniest sliver of  your perfect little body wishes me to continue, pray do not silence it. Do reply and I shall continue.

Till then, with all my heart, I await your response.

Truly yours,


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