Let's call today: 'Monday, 4 September 2006'
wrote in the notebook:
I thought it was a chain letter...
Today, sitting in my inbox on top of the filing cabinet was a letter. It was postmarked Adelaide Aug 22nd, so it had evidently arrived just after I left for my 2 weeks on the road, waiting for me to come home.
I picked it up. It was kinda thick, obviously a few pages inside, and I thought it was a newsletter or something. My name and address was hand written on the front in purple pen, no return address on the back.
I opened it.
Inside was a story. Neatly typed and printed out. No title. No author. Just a date and 'The End' on the last page.
The story uses no names, written in the first person: only 'you's and 'I's.
It tells of the reader, me (assigned to be a female and evidently meant for a female reader: me again), hearing a knock at her door and opening it to the writer, who's apparently not-terribly-close-friends with the reader, and they've been remotely intimate at one time before. This is the first time in a while they've seen each other.
The writer is returning something, something they've had for a while and been meaning to give back. Also - I'll get to the point - the writer reveals that they 'want to taste' the reader.
Then they grab the reader and they go into her room and have sex. What follows is somewhat explicit.
Let me stop here to say that I'm not a huge fan of people dictating what I'm doing in sex...
Allow me to explain:
Back in my cybering days if you told me what you were doing to yourself or even to me that would be fine, but as soon as you started saying what I was doing... as far as moaning, screaming, moving or - especially - climaxing... you'd be blocked.
As far as I'm concerned, you don't know what the fuck I'd be doing, I do.
So of course, if this story is meant to be some sort of fantasy involving myself and this anonymous person, by the point in the story where I'm thoroughly enjoying having cunnilingus performed upon me, or being fingered, and 'bucking (my) hips' and it being 'several minutes before (I) were able to stop (myself) from trembling'... I was getting kinda offended and angry for receiving this letter.
Who the fuck does that?
I think most of us, those who are so inclined, have written stuff like this, I know I have. But I've never sent it to someone. And I usually destroy them once I've finished. And I don't dictate the other person's actions unless I'm recounting an event, not playing out an fantastical event that has not occurred.
Someone I know, at least to the point of them having my name and address, has sent me what I can only presume to be a fantasy they have about me. To what purpose, I know not.
What is this supposed to achieve? Perhaps I'll read it and quiver with excitement at the proposition and spare no expense at tracking them down so that we can make fantasy reality?
Sorry but instead, I find this a pointless and cowardly act. Not to mention creepy. Perhaps I'd have been more impressed if you simply wrote me a letter about what you want to do with me and tell me straight out about your attraction and who you are instead of hiding.
Oh and yeah, calling my clitoris a... what was it.. my 'hardened bug'?... not really the most flattering thing in the world.
A bug is an insect, or a term of endearment between me and Richarrrd. And I have no doubt at all that it certainly wasn't him who sent this.
I have my suspicions as to who I think the sender is. Someone I'm kinda-friends-with-who-I-haven't-seen-for-a-while, someone who I know is attracted to me, someone who is a writer, someone I have kissed before, and someone who can be... well a little creepy sometimes.
If you read this and I've just shattered all your fantastical dreams about us, sorry, but by this creepy move you've already screwed up any chance (if any) of ever doing to me anything you wrote in this story.
Being human of course, I'm curious as to the writer's identity. But only so I can know who to expect this kind of cowardice from again. By all means, contact me *you evidently know how to reach me) and tell me who you are and why you did this. I won't be mad really (unless you take this to epic stalker proportions), I just want to understand why.
'We smiled at each other and somehow, I knew, things wouldn't change. But they weren't going to turn out terribly badly, either.'
- The End © 21.06.08*
Things wouldn't change after that? After you, in a literary sense, rape me and tell me how much I enjoy it?
Hmm, well that shows you don't really know me too well.
*why copyright it??? and since its not 2008 yet im guessing that date format is supposed to be Aug 21 06, which makes sense to the postmark.)
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