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Letters

By: lilith79



I never thought that my life would be quite like this. Here I am, 28 years old, pregnant with my 2nd child, and all alone. I am married; but my husband, Chad, is not here with me. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and is in jail due to it. One day 6 months ago he went to a bachelor party at a strip club with his brother, Eric. They had a few drinks and someone started a fight with Eric, Chad stepped in and ended up punching the guy in the face. 

Unfortunately the man Chad hit, died. The judge ruled it involuntary manslaughter and sentenced Chad to 2 years in jail and 3 years probation. He won’t be released until our 2nd child, a girl, will be 13 months old. You see, I found out that I was pregnant with our daughter two days after Chad was arrested. It was hard enough for me to deal with raising our son, Cody, alone for who knew how long; and finding out I was pregnant again sent me over the edge. I immediately called my mother who lives across town and explained the situation and asked her to take Cody for a little while. She agreed, and ended up having him for 2 months, until after the trial was over and I finally was able to deal with what was going on. The one thing that brought me out of my depression was receiving a letter from my husband. He apologized to me for what had happened and told me how much he loved me. I guess that was the start of it all. We always had a hot sex life, and eventually the letters turned erotic. The prison didn’t allow for spouses to come in and make love now and then, so I guess this was the next best thing. His first letter was so sweet:

“My darling Rebecca,

I can still see you in my imagination. Your long flowing brown hair cascading down your back and grazing your nice firm ass. Your perky 32B breasts with nipples as dark as chocolate set against your ivory skin. Your legs that never seem to quit on your 5'2" frame, leading to your sweet pussy with it’s full lips and soft tufts of curly hair. I can feel your beautiful brown eyes peering into my own as if looking into my very soul. I miss your touch so very much, I long to feel your delicate fingers running through the hair on my chest. I long to feel your arms wrapped around me with you on your tip toes in an effort to reach my mouth. I dream of you and I making love, and of how beautiful you are during pregnancy with your full belly. How I miss you riding my cock, or you taking all 7 inches of it into your wonderful mouth. I would give anything to have just one more night with you. I would lie you down by the fireplace in our living room where I would have candles burning and a bottle of red wine. We would drink a bit, and make long sweet tender love there on the rug. I would start slowly by nibbling on your neck, and working my way slowly down your body, only stopping occasionally to see the look of ecstacy on your lovely face. I would spread your legs open and delicately eat your pussy, making you have orgasm after orgasm. Then I would slowly rise and rub my hard cock against your clit until you begged me to take you. I would start out slow, and occasionally go faster and harder-just to tease you. I wouldn’t stop until you begged me to cum. Then I would linger over you, kissing your body everywhere. Finally I would curl up next to you and fall asleep there on the rug.

I miss you my dear and I can’t wait until I am in your arms again.

Love, 

Chad”

At first I couldn’t believe that Chad would write such a letter, he really wasn’t into things like that. But the more I read it, the more it turned me on. I did feel that what he did was very sweet, and erotic, so I decided to write him a letter myself:


“Dear Chad,

I can’t put into words how your last letter made me feel. The only way I know how to repay you is to share a fantasy of my own with you. I hope you like it.

Imagine us alone in a room together. We only speak with our eyes and movements. I look you over and grin as I slowly come closer to kiss your lips. We kiss slowly and passionately as our hands explore one another's bodies. I kiss your neck and lick your ears. Your hands fondle my tits as I run my fingers through your hair. I slowly unbutton your shirt with my teeth. I lay you down on your stomach and massage your back. After a while I just have to massage your ass, so I turn you over and unbutton your pants and remove them and your underwear with my teeth. Your huge erection springs right out with pre-cum glistening on the head. I lick it off and turn you over to I can finish massaging your sexy bod. As my fingers work over your ass they wander down to your balls and you turn over so I can suck your cock. You writhe in pleasure as you watch me suck your cock. When I'm done you sit up and remove my clothing. Your mouth waters with anticipation of getting to lick my sweet, wet pussy. You dive right in, sucking and licking me. You put 3 fingers inside me. You slide them in and out and within minutes I'm coming in your mouth. You lick your fingers as you mount me, shoving your big hard cock into my climaxing cunt. Slowly you pump at first as our bodies slap together. Eventually I get on top and I ride your cock good and hard. Every time you get close, I slow down. I then get on my knees and let you take me from behind. Just as you're about to shoot your big load I pull you out and I suck on your cock until you cum in my mouth and I swallow every drop. We then lie down and doze off.

I love you,

Rebecca”

I guess it just snowballed from there. We soon were writing letters to each other two and three times a week. I really miss my husband; but I have his letters to keep me warm at night, and to build up anticipation for his return. Until then, I will continue to write him, and so will he to me.

Letters



Edited by PeeJ

1.                  

Amy's finger massaged her clit as she sat on the toilet reading the "Letters" column in her husband's magazine. She had gone into the bathroom for a quick pee but noticed it in the mag-rack amongst the others: House and Garden, Money, Fishing and other more benign periodicals. It was funny how she had never noticed it before but it had somehow snagged her attention this time.

She recognized the name as a mainstream men's publication but she was curious to see what was inside. As she thumbed through the pages, occasionally checking out the pictures, she came upon a column called "Letters." In slightly smaller text just below the title, it read "Readers experiences," and then went on to explain how "you" could send in yours.

What had kept her reading though were the titles, such as "I gave hubby a blowjob at work," and "How my boss got what she wanted," and of course the first one that she read, "Cum inside."

Cindy, was the author and had a lot in common with Amy: they were both dinks, double income no kids, and their husbands had insisted that they stop all forms of birth control except for the withdrawal method. Cindy went on to explain how her husband would taunt her into holding him inside her vagina to the point of his orgasm, but would always manage to break away at the last possible second.

She was about halfway through that letter when she decided to close the bathroom door so she could start "digging". Digging was the word that Amy and her friends had used to describe masturbation before they knew there was a name for it, and it had stuck.

John, Amy's husband, had never asked her to hold him in but everything else sounded familiar. In fact, he had tried to get her off the pill even before they got married, but Amy would have nothing to do with it. She had told him that if they got married, it would be because they wanted to, not because she was pregnant. 

Amy pushed her panties down to her feet and kicked them off. She had removed her bra earlier as she usually did when she got ready for bed. Clad only in her t-shirt and sitting on the toilet, she continued to read—and dig. Cindy went on in her letter to describe her feelings as frustrated, and a relentless desire to be pregnant. She also missed the feeling of her husbands cock "going off" inside her. "The warm explosion of semen when he ejaculated," she wrote.

                 2.

Amy's finger dipped inside her vagina as she recalled the feelings that Cindy described. She remembered John's cock pumping warm cum inside her as he did that last hard push and held it deep inside her.

She opened her knees wide as she sat on the toilet, and watched as her finger moved in and out of her wet vagina. Amy inserted a second finger and rubbed her clit with her thumb. Her red pubic hair tickled her upper thigh as her fingers distorted the flesh around her hole. Removing her fingers from her sex, she cupped her vulva with her hand and continued to read the letter.

                  3.

Cindy, the letter continued, had carefully calculated the date of her ovulation and it was due. She came up with a plan to seduce her husband that night and take the top position where she could be in control. Starting with his favorite meal and a sexy negligee, she then maneuvered him to the couch and began to undress him.

After Cindy had removed his clothes, she wrote: "I got down on my knees and took his cock into my mouth. My tongue gave special attention to the underside where the foreskin joined and split the head into two parts. I sucked him with passion until I could taste his precum and knew he was on the verge of orgasm."

Cindy climbed up onto his lap and pulled the crotch of her panties to the side, and then she inserted his cock. She locked her feet to the underside of his calves and worked her arms under his and around his back. Later in the letter, her husband would confess that he knew what her intentions were, but he had been too excited by her sexual aggression to stop it. Cindy went on to describe, in graphic detail, the rest of the story.

"'Cum you fucking bastard,' I screamed through clenched teeth as I fucked him heatedly. My husband's hands gripped my hips and assisted my pumping movements. I could feel my own orgasm approaching and sat all the way down to his balls. I started a front to back motion not giving up one inch of penetration.

"I—I'm going to cum," my husband sputtered as he tried to lift me off his cock, but it just made me bare down that much harder.

"Cum—cum—cum!" was all I could manage as my orgasm overtook me. My husband's hot sperm flooded my vagina and I screamed unintelligible words that neither of us would be able to recall later."

                  4.

Amy put down the magazine and looked between her legs. Her vulva was inflamed and her groin felt heavy, as if something was inside her vagina. She put the tip of her finger at the entrance of her hole and then pulled it away. A long string of clear fluid clung to her finger and then attached itself to her thigh. She used her wet digit to dig at her clit as she relived an experience that occurred months before and had never been repeated since. 

John had just finished making love to her and had ejaculated into her pubic hair. He had gone to the bathroom and she grabbed the towel, the one they always brought with them to bed, to clean herself up. But in a moment of weakness, she lubricated her finger with his cum and started digging at her clit.

It was exactly the middle of her cycle and not a safe time for sperm to be anywhere near her hole—and that excited her. At first it was just a game of dare. How far would she go? 

While she rubbed her clit, a finger from her other hand dipped into John's cream. She raised and spread her legs. Being careful not to penetrate, she smeared the cum around her hole, but like a thirsty kitten at her mother's teat, her pussy demanded more.

This time, she used two fingers and scooped up a good lot of it and held it up to her hole. The finger at her clit dug in just under the little bundle of nerves, rubbing the length of it. Amy's orgasm was upon her as she struggled with the moral dilemma—but lost. At the last fraction of the last second, and just before the very peak of her orgasm: she shoved the two cum-covered fingers in her cunt

                  5.

A shiver ran through Amy's body as she sat on the toilet thinking back to that night. It wasn't an orgasm, but it was as close as she ever got without going over. It wasn't uncommon for her to have several mini-gasms, as Amy would call them, before the real thing.

Amy looked over some of the other tittles in the column hoping to find another letter that interested her. There were about ten in all and most were topics she wouldn't want to read about. When she came to the last, the title was mysterious enough to make her read a little further.     

"Two plus one equals fun," was the title and a woman named "Twobivirgin" wrote it. Twobi was a woman who had been married for over ten years and had grown bored with life, especially her sex life. Like Amy, she married young and had never had sex with anyone other than her husband.

There similarities were enough to make Amy want to read on. Twobi describes herself as a woman in her thirties, a little round but not fat, small breasts and what others tell her is a cute face. She goes on to write that, "Judging from the attention I get from men, other than my husband, I am acceptable to most as a sexual partner." A rather odd way to put it, Amy thought, but curiosity kept her reading.

Amy skimmed through some of the other facts that were mostly geographical in nature and moved on the juicy parts. Once again she let her finger do some digging while she read.

The letter starts to get interesting when Twobi complains to a woman, Vicky, whom she works with, that her husband had to fly to fly to Miami on business and would be gone for the entire week— including the weekend. She invites Twobi to spend a few days with her and her husband, David. After Vicky's assurance that David wouldn't mind, she accepted her invitation. 

                  6.

Twobi writes: "When I showed up at their door Thursday night, both Vicky and David greeted me with a warm smile and salutations. David took my small suitcase while Vicky wrapped her arms around me and hugged my body. Her breast and groin pressed into me and she gave me a peck on my cheek. I remember thinking at the time that it was a bit much. David shook my hand; his right hand in mine as his left gently squeezed my wrist, and then he too gave me a kiss."

The letter goes on to describe the first night as nostalgic and great fun. Except for the wine, it was very much like the sleepovers Amy had when she was a young teen. Even David had a roll to play in this; Twobi had a crush on her friend's older brother and now she found herself very attracted to David. Not that she would ever do anything to hurt her friend, but a girl can fantasize—can't she?

                  7.

"Yes," Amy thought out loud, "a girl should be aloud to fantasize." Amy turned the page.

                  8.

Twobivirgin continues; "we road together to work and Vicky was at the wheel. Somehow, the long commute to work didn't bother us one bit. We laughed and flirted with a carload of teenagers in a Mustang that played tag with us the whole way. Suddenly we were teenagers again ourselves; thirty-year-old high school girls winking and blowing kisses out the window.

One of the boy's in the Mustang shouted, "show us your tits." I covered my mouth and blushed and was about to yell something back at them when Vicky pulled up her shirt and bra and exposed herself to them and, not to mention, anyone else that might have been looking. Luckily we were bogged down in morning traffic at the time and the car wasn't moving very fast. The boy's whistled and applauded as we pulled up ahead of them a car length. 

"Go ahead," Vicky said.

"I couldn't."

"Why not, it's all in fun?"

It wasn't that I didn't want to; it's just that I'm a shy person and have always been a little embarrassed about my small breasts. But—being around Vicky and her bodacious personality can drive you to do things you wouldn't normally do.

"Come on sweetie, join in the fun. When I slow down, give them a peek."

When she slowed and we were even with the Mustang—I did it. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and hooked my bra with my fingers on the way up. With my nipples erect and a tingle in my clit, I displayed my tiny breast to the world. The sound of the boy's hands slapping together and their wolf whistles sent what felt like a thousand bumblebee wings buzzing in my groin. Out of the peripheral vision of my eye I saw a man, he must have been in his seventies, with a big grin on his face. Several of his fingers were applauding silently as if not to let his wife, hunched over the steering wheel and engaged in a white-knuckle death grip, hear or see what he was doing."

                        9. 

Amy's finger on her clit produced another mini-gasm inspired by Twobi's story. The magazine rested on her knee as she closed her eyes and dug at her sex. She let out a soft moan and her body began to relax. Amy opened her eyes and looked down to her chest. Her nipples stood proudly.                  

                 10.

The second night, Twobivirgin writes, was a weekend night, and no one had to get up in the morning. 

"After work, Vicky and I stopped to pick up some Chinese food and wine for our festivities. A nice Sauvignon Blanc that Vicky had tried at a trendy new wine shop in town. I would have been happy with beer, but when in—France?

When we arrived at Vicky's, I needed to pee in a bad way and Vicky had made me laugh so hard on the way home that I had wet my pants more than once. She almost busted a gut over my frantic departure from the car. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants while I rushed to the bathroom and had even begun to pull them down by the time I blasted into the bathroom. 

"Hi..." David began until he noticed who had entered the room.

I had no choice but to continue with my mission, and that was to pee. It would either go in the toilet or on the floor, but it was going to happen. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I said as I urinated. "It was an emergency."

It was then that my mind cleared enough to realize that he was nude. All that had registered in my mind when I burst into the bathroom was that he was shaving. The fact that he hadn't been a gentleman and left is what made me look up. My face began to burn with embarrassment as I noticed he was naked—the splashing sound of my urine in the toilet water didn't help matters either.

But—it wasn't all embarrassment; before me, stood a very attractive body, and it didn't help any that I was already attracted to him. Although he wasn't tall, maybe five-foot ten or so, he was in very good shape. His proportionately sized muscles rippled under his skin and I don't believe there was an ounce of fat anywhere. And tucked between his legs was, what I considered, the cutest little penis I have every seen. Not that I'm any expert, mind you, but I know what I like. 

I pushed aside my wistful thoughts and apologized again—and then looked away. 

"Could you throw me my towel please?"

My puzzled look must have told him I had no clue as to which towel he was referring to because he then pointed in front of my legs. On the floor was a towel that I must have tossed when I lifted the toilet lid.

David wrapped the towel around his waist and as he sidled by, between my knees and the wall, the tent-like bulge in the towel brushed my head—ever so slowly. He then left the room and closed the door behind him.

There was a moment of bewilderment as I thought about what just happened. I was torn between disgust and sexual arousal. Disgust in that he had rubbed his dick on my head, and sexual arousal in that— he rubbed his dick on my head. I reached down between my legs and squeezed my clit, but the guilt of betraying Vicky prevented me from masturbating."

                 11.

Amy reluctantly withdrew her hand from between her legs; the letter was continued on page one hundred and thirty-two. She cursed in a low, almost inaudible, voice as she searched through the magazine. She came to a pictorial of a man and a woman engaged in what could only be described as "we are about to have sex" pictures. The woman of course had big breast and the man was hung like a banana tree. His cock was semi hard and had a slight upward bend.

The young attractive man held his cock an inch or so from the woman's mouth; her tongue set to lick the monster before her. The small slit in the head of his penis was open and a thick clear liquid filled the space. Amy's finger went back to digging as her eyes moved from frame to frame, but became frustrated when she had to turn the page once again. On the following page the woman's legs were bent at the knees and spread wide and the look on her face was that of a woman waiting for penetration. The man was poised over her with one hand supporting his upper body and one holding his cock. He was about to shove it in.

Amy dropped the magazine to the floor and dug at her clit. She took a short detour to moisten her finger at the entrance of her vagina and when she returned to her clit she new she was about to go over. Her finger moved faster and harder as she made little circles over her clit, and then dug for gold by concentrating on a back and forth movement that brought her to her orgasm. It started in her groin and spread quickly throughout her body causing her to stiffen and close her legs tight and entrapping her hand. She remained stiff with sporadic spasms that jolted her entire body and caused loud inhuman-like sounds to escape her lips.

There was a soft knock at the door. "You okay in there?" the voice from behind the door said; it was her husband, John. Amy tried to think quick but her mind was still locked into the afterglow of the endorphins that had just been pumped into her bloodstream. "Yes— I'm fine."

"You have been in there for a long time. What are you doing?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm reading a magazine, do you need to go?"

"No, I was just concerned, that's all. Go back to..."He had ended the sentence with a pause, as if he were going to ask a question and changed his mind.

Amy wondered if he would still say that if he knew what she was reading. She took that thought a bit further and wondered what he did when he read the magazine. The corners of her mouth slithered up and formed a kind of sardonic smile when she remembered the old cliché, "I buy it for the articles." 

Amy turned to page one hundred and thirty-two.

                 12.

Twobivirgin continues: "After the bathroom episode, I went straight to my room and changed into something a bit more comfortable, and not to mention, into some dry panties. When I finished dressing, I stood at the door and paused, afraid to go out. How would I be able to face David again? It was bad enough that I had to pee in front of him, but then there was his nudity—did he notice that he turned me on, and that I peeked at him?

I shook my head and couldn't believe how juvenile my thinking had become and I felt like a schoolgirl who had just been caught with her panties showing. My need to urinate had been an absolute emergency and as for the other, how could he know what was in my mind—and what of it. It was no accident when his penis slowly raked across my head. He's the one that should be afraid to face me.

When I entered the living room, which also joined the dinning room seamlessly, Vicky had set the table and all the small boxes of Chinese food were strategically placed within reach for all. A glass of wine was set beside each place setting and the re-corked bottle of wine was in the middle. The soft jazz that played on the sound system coalesced with the twenty or so candles they had placed around the room, and induced an atmosphere of warmth and sensuality. Red and gold light from the day's last moments shown through the large westward facing window, and just over the horizon a small sliver of the sun seemed to struggle to keep the day alive.

After the first few awkward moments when David sat down beside me, dinner went quite well. I felt relieved that the toilet encounter hadn't come up—but the morning commute did. David had asked us how our day went and Vicky let it out that they had an interesting drive to work. At that moment I realized that Vicky was the kind of person that just couldn't keep her mouth shut. A secret to her was like a pimple on a teenager's face. It would grow and grow to painful dimensions and then—explode.

Suddenly I felt like a spectator at a ping-pong match. She said, and then he said, and then the rush of blood to my face when Vicky had said, "and she did it too!" My arms crossed both breasts in an attempt to hide them as a serious blush, nearly as red as the earlier sunset I'm sure, colored my cheeks.

"May I..." I started to say, but it came out strange and my voice jumped up an octave. Trying again, I finally succeeded. "May I have another glass of wine...please?"

Vicky and David laughed, and each placed a hand on one of my thighs, and then they both gave me a kiss on an apposing cheek at the same time. At first, it took me by surprise and I wanted to push them away, but the feeling of invaded space quickly faded and was replaced with a warm glow. Their lips felt like feathers as they scarcely touched my face. There was another kiss, and again. Like synchronized swimmers, they moved in a slow sensuous movement that ended at the nape of my neck, and then they kissed each other.

They stood and each took one of my hands and led me to the couch. We sidled between the coffee table and sofa single file like young children at school on their way to lunch. They pulled me down between them and I turned to David to object to whatever it was they had planed but before my lips could form the first word; he kissed me. Vicky had moved close behind me and I could feel her warm breath on my neck. What happened next left no doubt in my mind that David— and Vicky wanted to make love to me. They were a team. Neither male nor female, but one mind and two bodies and they worked well together. The left hand always seemed to know what the other left hand was doing.




Letters



David's first kiss had felt more like a question than a kiss, and my answer had been to kiss him back, but it wasn't meant to be a yes. I was in a state of confusion and arousal, and I felt like the proverbial dear caught in the headlights of an on-coming train. David kissed me again but this time his tongue challenged mine to a wrestling match— and his was winning. A hand had worked its way under my shirt and was massaging my breast. I reached for David's arm to protest his forward advances, but realized it wasn't his hand that was rubbing and tweaking my nipple. 

My first thought was to stand up. To put an end to this before it all went too far, but my legs wouldn't move, and my arms didn't push David away, and the most surprising thing of all, I hadn't removed Vicky's hand from my breast. Those inner voices that seemingly come from nowhere, ghosts of parental warnings and indoctrination perhaps, were shouting hysterically now. "Get up—stop this now!" I wondered how many self-imposed rules I could break in one day: exhibitionism, voyeurism, infidelity, and the night was still in its infancy. That dark room in the back of my mind, the one with all the cobwebs and un-oiled hinges, was now open for business and revealing the desires that I had secreted away over the years."

                 13.

Amy set the magazine down on the floor and thought about Twobi's dilemma. How many times had she herself been tempted to open that door; to go inside and rummage through the stacked boxes filled with real and imagined sins. For most of Amy's life that door had been locked, but today she planed to open it up, air it out, and do some dusting.

At this point in the letter, Amy new where it was heading and which dusty old box in Twobi's hidden room she would be opening next. Amy had a box just like it in hers, and its contents created the night that Amy and her friend, Ronda, had spent experimenting with sex. It had been so long ago that she wondered how much of her memory was real and how mush was pure fiction.

They had both just turned eighteen, their birthdays were only a week apart, and they were celebrating by having a sleepover at Ronda's house. It was always best to stay at Ronda's because her mother was divorced and worked nights so they pretty much had the run of the house—and the beer. Ronda's mother was of the mind-set that it was okay for them to drink as long as they stayed in and didn't have any other kids over. Amy cringed at the thought now, but in Ronda's mother's defense, times were different then and she was a recovering hippie.

Amy's recall of that night was rather vague as to how the topic started or even who had started it, but somehow they wound up talking about sex. But after admitting, along with some alcohol induced laughter, that two eighteen year-old virgins new nothing about sex, they moved on to something that they did know about and had even coined the name for—digging.

                 14.

Ronda had a secret:

"What is it, come on—give?" Amy said as the two of them sat Indian-style, and facing one another on the floor.

"I want to, but I'm scared of what you'll think of me if I do."

"I wouldn't think bad of you, we've been best friends for most of our lives."

"But this is—different," Ronda said. The word "different" came out in a long drawn out whine; she bent her head down and ground her thumb into the carpet as if she were squishing a bug.

"Okay, if you don't want to tell me," Amy said as she got up off the floor and started for the couch. She pulled at the hem of her t- shirt and tried to cover her ass but the shirt was too short. They had changed into their sleeping attire not long after Amy arrived at Ronda's apartment; this consisted of nothing more than a t-shirt and panties.

Ronda got up off the floor and ran up the stairs. For a moment, Amy thought she had pissed-off her friend and she was going to pout up in her bedroom for the rest of the night. Then a pair of pink- toenailed feet appeared at the head of the stairs just below where the ceiling met the banister. She had paused there for a moment, and then continued down the stairs.

She had a large brown paper bag in her hand, and it was swinging back and forth—as if it had something heavy inside. She walked around the coffee table, and then over to where Amy was sitting. She stood there for a moment clutching the bag with booth hands.

"You have to swear—on your life—that you will never tell anyone about this," Ronda said. She had a look on her face that told Amy that this was serious. 

"Shit, Ronda, your scaring me. What's in there—a severed body part or what?"

"No, but your close," she said. The "o" in no was drawn out four times longer than needed.

A tingle shot down Amy's spine all the way down to her feet as she pondered the meaning of "close." 

"RONDA! WHAT'S IN THE BAG?"

"You don't have to..."

"Your creeping me out damn it. Just show me—no—scratch that. Tell me first."

"Okay—okay. It's a dildo," she said. The crotch on one side of her mouth slid up into a roguish looking smile.

"Dildo?"

"Yeah, you know—a rubber penis."

"A rubber penis? You mean like a model of one—human?"

"I mean like a 'digging' kind, and yes—human, male, a man's thingy," she said as she handed the bag to Amy. "Wanna see?"

Amy took the bag and set in her lap, and she could feel the weight of the thing as it lay across both her thighs. The only penises she had ever seen were on babies, like when she had to change her cousin's diaper, and that had been a little bit of a thing. She carefully unrolled the top of the bag and moved her face to one side as if something might jump out at her. Something like a snake-in-a-box; it wouldn't be the first time Ronda had set her up for a good scare. Amy made a small peephole at the top and peeked in. 

There was a loud shriek, and then a thud as the bag flew off Amy's lap and sailed over the coffee table. A small glass vase stood in its path but was no match for the heavy bag. They both bounced on the carpet; the vase shattered into a thousand little shards of glass when it smashed into the baseboard of the far wall. The thing that had been in the bag flew from its prison and flopped on the carpet like a one-eyed fish that had just been landed.

                 15.

Amy pulled up her panties; the toilet seat was starting to bite into her ass and John would eventually get concerned about her lengthy stay in the bathroom. She took the magazine and headed for the sofa in the living room. John would be watching some old movie on television in the bedroom and would probably not budge until it was over. She looked in on him as she passed the door and noticed that he had fallen asleep. She could hear a light snore and he was on his side facing away from the TV. "Good," she thought. She shut off the light and quietly closed the door.

She sat on the couch for a moment, and then removed her panties and shoved them under one of the cushions. Amy took the blanket that was neatly folded across the top of the couch and covered herself from the waist down. "This is much better," she though as she reclined and propped a pillow under her head. She brought her feet up sole to sole letting her knees fall apart and then rested her hand on her wet crotch. 

Opening the magazine to page one hundred and thirty-two, she quickly scanned the page for the paragraph where she had left off. She started to read but found her mind drifting back to the night when she and Ronda had—dug a hole together. There was a muffled sound of a laugh from Amy as she tried to hold back a loud burst at her own pun. 

She slipped the magazine under the couch as she wondered what Ronda was doing right now. The last time she had heard from her she was pregnant with her third child. Her husband had been transferred to Ohio and they were on the move again. They had called each other for a while, but with the cost of long-distance phone calls and such...

That's just bullshit, she thought. The truth of the matter was, they had nothing in common anymore and Amy hated Ronda's husband. He was a little fucking computer geek that knocked up her friend and took her a thousand miles away—and she missed her. She missed the old Ronda; the one that she could share all her secrets with, and be there when she needed her to be there. What she would give to go back to that night when they shared one of Amy's most intimate experiences. 

                 16.

The thing in the bag that had frightened Amy was now resting quietly on the floor in the middle of the room. When she looked in the bag and saw the veins, it had startled her. She wasn't sure what she thought it was, maybe an arm or some other homeless body part, but she did think it was real. Amy had shoved it away in a moment of panic.

"What the hell is that Ronda," Amy blurted out. Her heart was still pounding in her chest and it felt like it would jump out of her throat at any minute.

"I told you—it's a dildo. Women use them to dig."

"Dig?" Amy tried to understand but her brain was still in a frightened fog.

"You know, they put it in their hole."

An expression of enlightenment came over Amy's face as she finally got it, and then turned quickly to one of disbelief. 

"No—I don't believe it. That thing is way too big to fit in there."

"No it isn't," Ronda said. There was a big smile on her face and for a moment there eyes remained fixed on each other in silence.

Amy was the first to speak.

"You mean..."

"Yes I have," Ronda said before Amy could finish her question.

"But...that means..."

"Well...yes, physically I'm not a 'virgin' anymore."

"Wow," Amy said, but it sounded more like she was whispering to herself than talking to Ronda. She looked at the thing on the floor and tried to imagine Ronda putting it inside her vagina. 

Ronda walked over to the dildo and picked it up off the floor, and then went over to where Amy was sitting. Amy was still spooked; it was like being in first or second grade again, when the boys would hand you a rubber spider or fake puke. You knew it wasn't real, but it was still gross.

"Here, take it," Ronda said as she handed it to Amy. "It feels so real."

"How would you know, I mean, if it feels real or not? Is there something else you haven't told me?"

"No, but it does feel real—don't you think?"

Reluctantly, Amy took the rubber phallus in her hand and examined it like a first year medical student that was about to dissect her first foot or hand. She knew the basics of the male sex organ and how it all worked, and she could even name the parts. Between her mother's embarrassing sex-talks, sex-ed at school and what her friends had told her, she understood all the details—except one."

"Is this what they look like when their 'hard?'" Amy asked. It was a subject she had always wanted to clear up, but she was too embarrassed to admit she didn't know.

"Yes," Ronda said with a puzzled look on her face. "You didn't know?"

"Well I know the word, but I wasn't sure what it would look like. Where did you get this thing?" She asked, quickly changing the subject.

"I found it in a box in the basement. When my father left, mom packed away all his stuff and I found 'it' with some dirty magazines under some clothes. I guess she forgot it was there."

"Dirty magazines? You mean like playboy?"

The lascivious grin returned to Ronda's face. "No—it's pictures of people having sex for real—and before you ask, I found them with the dildo. I think mom has forgotten that this stuff is down there. You know—she won't even go in the basement anymore, and if she wants something or needs something done, she just sends me to do it—you wanna see the pictures?"

Amy nearly laughed out loud at the way Ronda worked in the question, "—you wanna see the pictures?" It reminded her of when they were in second, or maybe third grade and Ronda had learned how to spell the word "shit." She had that same look in her eyes, and couldn't wait to tell her. "S-h-i-t," she said displaying all her bright teeth in a grandiose smile. Something Amy's father might call a, "s-h- i-t eating grin."

"Yes, go get them."

This time Ronda ran to the kitchen; she heard the caterwaul from the door that leads down to the basement, and then the thump of Ronda's feet as they hit each step of the stairs. Amy's attention turned to the disembodied penis that lay on her lap. It just didn't seem possible that it would fit inside her vagina without causing serious damage. One night, out of curiosity, she put her finger at the entrance of her hole and pushed it in about an inch, and even that was a tight fit.

Amy heard Ronda running up the stairs of the basement and then the sound of the door slamming shut. She quickly tossed the dildo over to the other side of the couch as if her mother was about to catch her with the evidence of a cookie jar raid. Ronda hurried into the room and set the magazines on the coffee table.

"I'm going to clean up the broken glass and them I'm going to have a beer, you want one?" Ronda said. She was breathing hard from her run down and then up the stairs.

"Yeah, I think I need one," she said as her eye's purposely avoided the pornography before her. 

In between Ronda's trips to the kitchen, the first trip with a dustpan in her left hand and dragging the broom on the carpet behind her in the other, Amy let her gaze fall to the collection of four or five magazines neatly stacked on top of one another. In bold yellow lettering, printed on the front cover of the first magazine in a half circle, were words of a language Amy didn't recognize, German maybe, or it could have been Pluto-nese for all she knew. Just under that were two naked people. A woman on her hands and knees, and just behind her on his knees with his hands on her ass, was a man fucking her. Although the lower cheek of her ass obscured the view of actual penetration, his penis was definitely inside her.

"What do you think of that?"

Amy jumped at the sound of her friend's voice, and felt as if she had been caught scratching her ass or checking her armpits for a foul odor. 

"Uh, I haven't given it much thought yet. Do you need some help over there?"

"Nope. Go on, Amy, look through them and let me know what you think," Ronda said as she went about her chore. 

After Ronda plugged in the vacuum cleaner and Amy was sure she wasn't being watched, she picked up the first magazine and opened it to page one.

                 17.

Amy remembered those first pictures as thought it was yesterday as she rubbed her pussy. Long sweeping movements that started at the very bottom of her hole and went well over her clit. Her hand was making the blanket move in a way that would leave no doubt as to what she was doing.

She reached under the sofa and retrieved the magazine from where she had hidden it. It was already on page one hundred and thirty-two and she was able to find her spot more quickly this time. 

                 18.

Twobivirgin continues in her letter: "David's kiss was breaking all the rules, but my will was diminishing and the internal voices grew lower in volume and intensity. I felt Vicky's hand move to the bottom of my bra and push the cup up over my breast. She then squeezed the entire breast gently. David released my lips and kissed his way down momentarily stopping on my neck—and then in what seemed like a perfectly choreographed movement, Vicky lifted my shirt and David sucked a nipple in his mouth.

Once again my conscience raised its cogent voice in protest. "You've already stooped low into the bowels of decency, stop now before it's too late—too late—too late," said my inner voice now sounding more like my mother than me, but it was already too late. My juices were flowing and my groin felt heavy and excited; I wanted David, and if Vicky was part of the package—so be it.

My eyes were closed and the back of my head rested on Vicky's shoulder as David sucked on my breast. Someone's hand wedged its way between my thighs and I let my legs fall open to its advances. There was a sucking sound as David released my nipple from his mouth and then kissed his way to the other. I felt my bra loosen as half of the two pairs of hands unfastened it, and then pulled both bra and shirt over my head leaving me naked from the waist up.

I took David's face into my hands and gently pulled him up, and then pressed my lips to his. I invaded his mouth with my tongue in a long and passion driven kiss. The hand had arrived at its intended target and I moaned into David's mouth. My body bent at the hips as I ground my vulva against the fingers that rubbed my crotch. Vicky, unknown to me, had removed her blouse and bra and was now reaching to undo my pants.

No words were spoken—and none were needed as I felt Vicky at my pants. Almost as a reflex action, I kicked off my shoes. For the first time since David's first kiss, I looked over at Vicky when I felt a tug at my pant legs. She was standing and bent over my feet, her heavy breast swinging as she moved.

David gave me a gentle push and I fell against the back of the sofa. He started sucking on my breast and put his hand between my thighs. A song on the sound system filled the room with its raunchy blues-driven sound and a sax blew out a solo that sounded like sex incarnate. Vicky began to sway her hips; her eyes fixed on mine as she unzipped and then unbuttoned her pants. She slid them, and her panties down in one quick movement stepping out of them without missing a beat. My eyes went straight to Vicky's naked sex; the V of her groin was completely void of hair. The small labia reminded me of a tongue stuck out from between two large pouting lips. I wondered if it itched much.

I let out another moan, louder this time, as I felt a finger penetrate my vagina. His thumb had found my clit and was rubbing it as he finger-fucked my pussy. I closed my eyes and moved my pelvis to the rhythm of his touch—which also seemed matched the beat of the music. David moved my hand to his crotch, he was the only one dressed now, and I felt around for his penis; I found it and gave it a squeeze.

Now that Vicky had lost her audience, she came over to help David undress. I felt a light, almost nonexistent, kiss on my hand and it caused me to open my eyes. Vicky was kissing my hand along with parts of David's crotch. She pulled his zipper down and then with both of her hands, unfastened his pants and then pulled both his underwear and pants down to his ankles. His cock, all five inches of it, sprang up as his pants and boxers slid past it. I marveled at its beauty; it was as straight as a Popsicle, just as yummy looking too, and the skin was smooth with no scary veins bulging out that looked like they were about to explode.

I suddenly felt an urge that I had never experienced with my husband; I actually wanted it in my mouth. Leaning over him, I took his cock in my hand, and then pulled his foreskin down away from the head. It wasn't round and fat like my husband's; it was more like an arrowhead with its pee hole set perfectly at the tip. I squeezed the base, and in a milking-like move, pulled the foreskin back up. A small bead of pre-cum oozed from the little hole and began to run down the glands: I quickly licked it up.

Vicky kneeled in front of me and rested her arms on my thighs. I turned my head and looked at Vicky, who was now smiling at me and gently pulling at my thighs. The look on her face with her cute dimples, caused by her upturned mouth, made it impossible for me to say no. I let my legs fall open and scooted my butt to the edge of the sofa. I turned my face back to David's penis. 

I slowly masturbated David and more clear fluid formed at the tip, and then spread over the entire head as his foreskin moved up and down. Vicky's first kiss on my inner thigh caused me to jump. 'It's the moment of truth,' I thought, and then wrapped my lips around the head of the second penis of my life to be between them." 




Letters



19.

Amy's clit buzzed with excitement and she burned with the heat of passion like never before. Suddenly an orgasm of a level ten magnitude on the Amy-Richter scale exploded through her body. She clamped her legs around her hand as spasm after spasm jerked her body. She turned to her side and the vowel "O" echoed in the room as the first tear of many splashed onto the couch when it fell from her cheek. A long hidden memory fought its way up from deep inside a box marked, "Sweet Poison" in the furthest corner of that dark room in Amy's mind. But the door to the room slammed shut, and the key quickly turned in the lock—and the memory faded.

The warm glow of satisfaction wrapped itself around Amy as she lay still on the couch. The great clock in the corner of the room ticked loudly—almost deafening. Amy opened her eyes to a sliver and let them grow accustomed to the bright light of reality that lit the room. Her face was wet; she only discovered this when she scratched a tickle on her cheek. 'Tears,' she thought, and then asked herself why but could not come up with any logical answer.

She had a strong craving for beer. It was strange really, she hardly ever drank alcohol and if she did, it was usually wine. She forced herself to move and got up off the couch, pulling down the hem of her nightshirt even though there was no one around to see her naked ass, and went to the kitchen to raid John's stash of beer.

There was the swish-fizz sound as Amy twisted the cap off the bottle on her way back to the couch; she stopped by her bedroom to check on John. He was facing away from Amy towards the wall and snoring. He didn't have the kind of snore that rattled her teeth or kept her awake at night, but more like the sound a cat makes when it curls up in your lap and you stroke it. She felt lucky to have him—still, there was an itch he couldn't scratch, and she didn't think it was because he didn't want to. He was, after all, a skillful lover and the mechanics of it came easy to him.

"So what of it, sweetie," one of her coworkers would say when her work was not quite right. She would continue with, "I don't walk on water, and they shouldn't expect perfection."

'So what of it, Amy,' she thought to herself. Maybe she expected too much from him, maybe it's like the itch on your back that appears in one place, only to disappear and reappear somewhere else when someone was kind enough to scratch it for you. How could she expect him to satisfy her needs if she didn't even know what they were? Life was such...

'Sweet poison,' she thought. Amy wondered for a moment, 'where had she heard those words before?' Unable to recall, she raised and lowered he shoulders in a gesture of surrender and went back to her sofa.

Amy pulled the blanket over her body but before she did, she removed her shirt. There was something naughty about being naked in the living room and it seemed to fit her private evening's motif. The magazine had fallen to the floor and was open to a photograph of a woman lying on the floor and perched on one of her elbows. Her legs were spread and one hand spread the lips of her vulva. She wondered what it would be like to display one's self like that to strangers. Amy picked it up and turned to the page where she had left off. Before she started to read the last of Twobi's letter, she pushed the blanket to the floor; she hoisted one leg up on the back of the sofa and displayed her wet, open pussy to a mythical stranger that was watching her.

                 20.

Twobi writes that there was another kiss from Vicky but this time it was at the crease that separated her thigh from he groin. Close enough to smell her sex and see David's fingers as they poked and rubbed at her vulva. How far would she go? Would she kiss her there, and lick her there? Even her husband had only done that once—and that didn't end well. She envisioned Vicky looking up from between her legs with a disgusted expression on her face, as if she had just eaten some bad sushi. 

"In the next wonderful moment, I felt both of David's hands on my head giving gentle direction to my unskilled fellatio. There was a sensation of wet heat at the top of my vulva and I realized that Vicky was sucking on my clit. I felt one, or maybe two fingers enter my vagina and wiggle inside. I let go of David's penis and fell back into the couch; my whole being, my whole world, became concentrated in a six-inch area between my legs. My groin met each down-stroke of Vicky's mouth and I could hear noises you would expect to hear at a hospital for the grossly insane. 

My orgasm was at its peak before I even knew it was coming. I reached down and pulled Vicky's face into my sex and held it there firmly, not daring to move—or even breathe. When I could finally take in air, and my heart had resumed its task of pumping blood through my body, I released my grip on Vicky's head. With each accidental brush of Vicky's hair or movement of the fingers still inside my body, I would lurch uncontrollably. Even Vicky's breath as she exhaled, sent small electric-like shocks through my clit that were amplified by my body. My legs that had gone up and out, and had almost connected with David's chin on the way, slowly descended. 

Still in the grip of orgasmic after-burn, I looked down my body and through my open legs at Vicky's face. The two small dimples, the ones that always accompanied her smile, were back. They gave an illusion of innocence that seemed out of place just inches from my pubic hair. Vicky moved up and over me, pivoting on her knees, and placed a sweet kiss just above my navel, and then another between my breasts. She continued upward and her lips touched mine. Then again—and again, but this time I felt Vicky's tongue push its way into my mouth; I could smell and taste my own sex.

While my attention was on Vicky's kiss, she had moved from between my legs and David had taken her place. 

"Is it okay if David puts it in you?" Vicky whispered in my ear.

I opened my eyes that I had closed during Vicky's kiss, and was surprised to see David masturbating between my legs. I wanted him, but then there was that inner voice again; the one that sounded far too much like my mother. For an odd moment, I remembered a television commercial where a mom follows her teen-aged daughter around, and then instructs her on safety and values. "Look both ways before you cross the street," the mother would say. There were other bastions of wisdom, but she couldn't remember them. Come to find out, the mother wasn't really there but her teachings were—the creation of inner voices, I mused, and hers was up to its old tricks too. 'Don't, but if you do, use protection.' 

"Does he have a condom?"

"Of course honey, wouldn't have it any other way."

David pulled out a drawer in one of the end tables beside the couch. He picked up a small package, ripped it open and what appeared reminded me of a miniature nipple for a baby bottle. 'How ironic' I thought. I watched in fascination as he placed it at the tip of his penis and rolled it back onto the shaft. Vicky massaged my breasts with one hand as the other grabbed hold of David's cock and placed it at the mouth of my vagina. I braced myself for the inevitable penetration.

David's first thrust separated the lips of my vulva as it sank into the fleshy folds inside. The pain that I usually felt when I had sex with my husband—didn't happen. There was just the pleasant feeling of fullness and a sliding sensation that worked its way up to my clit. His pubic hair meshed with mine as his balls slapped at my butt as if to punish me for "ever" doubting him. Vicky wasn't idle either—they were a team. A two for the price of one deal; she would hand him the ball and he would run with it. And in the end, she would cheer, "give me an S—give me an E—give me an X... "

For a moment, I thought he had cum when he stopped fucking me. His hand went down between my legs and held onto his cock as he backed it out of my pussy, but I didn't see any semen in the little nipple at the end condom. David and Vicky each took one of my hands and led me down the hall and into their bedroom. The room was dark except for three candles they had placed around the room. The headboard of the spacious bed was centered on one wall and protruded out to the middle of the room. The music that had fill the living room was also fed into speakers that hung on two walls.

David turned to me and pulled me to him in an embrace, his arms under mine causing me to put my arms around his neck. Behind me, I could feel Vicky snuggle up to my back. Her arms embraced the two of us as David and I started a long and sensuous kiss, which ended with David trailing light touches, not kisses really, of his lips down my face and neck. He would pause now and then to give me painless bites. Vicky wedged her hand between my buttocks and massaged my anus and vagina with her fingers, and then moved on to my clit. She pinched it between her thumb and finger using the lose skin around it like foreskin on a penis to masturbate me.

I nudged David far enough away to reach his penis with my hand. The only experience I had had with condoms was one that my friend had shown me, and it felt so odd on David's cock. I wanted to feel his penis not wet sandwich wrap: I grabbed the little nipple on the end and pulled it off—there was a snapping sound and David bend forward with a resounding, "OUCH!"

"Oh my god, did I hurt you," I asked.

David sat on the bed clutching his genitals and after a moment said, "That's okay—I didn't need those four or five pubic hairs anyway."

Vicky fell over on the bed holding her tummy, as she laughed so hard that I, again, thought she would bust a gut. She suddenly jumped off the bed, and with her hands cupped between her legs she ran for the bathroom shouting she had to pee.

"I'm so sorry—I didn't think of..."

"It's okay—it's starting to feel better."

I sat beside him on the bed, and then took his hand and placed it in my lap.

"Here—if it makes you feel any better you can yank a few of mine."

David put his hand in the thick of my pubs and took a hand full, and for a brief moment I thought he "would" do it.

"Na—I think I would rather do this," he said as his hand went to where my legs come together.

As David's finger entered my vagina, I laid back and spread my legs as wide as I could. Each thrust of his finger was met with an upward push of my groin.

I must admit that even now I have no clue as to what came over me. I sat up and straddled his lap, and as I did his penis entered my vagina. David started to say something but it was too late. I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms were in a strangle hold around his neck. 

"Fuck—I'm going to cum, I said as the grunting sounds that came from my mouth grew in volume with each thrust. Suddenly, there was another pair of hands on my hips and they were assisting my movements on David's lap. 

"Twobi—I'm—going to—cum—condom," was all David could manage to get out. 

I felt the first blast of David's seed fill my vagina, and I suddenly realized what I had done, but my climax was upon me and it shot through every part of my body in orgasmic intoxication. My head went back and I felt my upper body fall into Vick's arms. My legs were locked around David's waist to prevent him from moving, but with each ejaculation, his cock would twitch and it caused my body to jolt. 

It seemed like a long time before anyone moved or said anything. Giving into a need for comfort, I leaned forward and off of David. As I did, I could feel the thick fluid that David had just pumped into me begin to drip down my thigh. Vicky noticed David's cum- soaked dick and then shot a quick glance between my legs.

"David—you didn't use a condom?" Vicky said.

"It's not his fault Vicky, I wasn't thinking and I climbed on,"

"Do you use birth control?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Whew—at least we don't have to worry about that," said Vicky—who now took an interest in my crotch. "Do you mind if I take a closer look?" Vicky asked, pointing to my crotch.

I didn't answer with words, I drew up my feet and let my knees fall to each side. Vicky climbed onto the bed and slid in between my legs, and then gently inserted a finger into my soggy hole. She then rose up on her knees and took hold of my hands pulling me to my knees as well. Vicky then lay down on her back. I had no idea what she was up to till she scooted up between my legs. I turned my head to look at David, who had been strangely quite all this time; he was sitting in one of the two chairs in the room and was slowly pumping his dick.

I bent my body at the waist and assumed, what I have heard called, the doggy position. Vicky flashed her dimples up at me just in time for a drop of cum to hit her squarely on the tip of her nose. She laughed and asked me if I did it on purpose. I smiled and shook my head, but I still felt a bit uncomfortable with the lesbian behavior of my friend. 

Vicky reached up and grabbed me by the hips and pulled downward. I lowered my body onto Vicky's so that my crotch now hovered just above Vicky's face. I could feel Vicky doing things to my pussy but I had no way of knowing what precisely. Vicky's question echoed in my ears, "Do you use birth control?" Of course I had lied and told her I did. At that moment, I wasn't sure how I would handle it if I were to get pregnant. I turned my head toward David, resting my cheek on Vicky's thigh, and looked closely at his body features. I didn't think it would be "all" bad—to have his baby.

"Move closer David—so I can watch," I said.

David griped the seat of the chair and dragged it with him as he moved to the edge of the bed. He put his feet on the bed and spread his legs so that I now had a close up view. I could even see his anus peeking at me from between the muscular lobes he sat on. His balls hung heavily and would bounce as he played with himself. Vicky's pussy was only inches from my nose and I could smell the unmistakable odor of her sex. I found the smell pleasant—quite to my surprise.

Something had discovered my clit, and that something was getting my excited again. Maybe it was a finger or a thumb, or maybe even Vicky's tongue, but it really didn't matter, it felt wonderful. I watched David move the foreskin of his cock up and down over his arrowhead-shaped glands, and I could hear the sound of his fist colliding with his groin as he quickened.

"No," I said.

We locked eyes for a moment, and in a language that can only be described as "intuition," he understood what I wanted. He rose from the chair, and in a precarious looking knee-walk, joined me on the bed. I raised my head up toward David and used my index finger in a come- down-here wiggle. He took this to mean that I wanted a kiss, but that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to whisper in his ear; to say something I didn't want Vicky to hear.

As he started to kiss me, I turned my face and put my lips to his ear. Little bumps of anxiety rose up on my skin and my stomach took a turn, as if I were on an elevator at the first floor but my stomach was still on the third.

"Save it for me," I whispered.

"Save it for what?" he whispered back, and then kissed me behind her ear.

"You know..."

"Maybe I do—but I'd still like to hear you ask for it."

The bumps on my body doubled in size and my stomach took a leap towards the fifth floor. 'God' I thought. "I can't believe I'm thinking it, let alone, asking for it." Vicky's tongue was engaged in villainess behavior between my thighs and it was hard think. I know I can justify my desire; after all, he had already cum in me once. Would it really matter if he did it again? 'Yes,' she thought, because it wouldn't be an act of seduction on their part or a stupid mistake on hers; it would be little Twobi, all around good girl asking for it, and if he made her beg—she would.

"I want you to cum inside me again," I said. My voice had an unmistakable tremble.

He didn't answer, and I was thankful I didn't have to say it again, but what he did next made me question the very ideals I had lived my life by.

David grasped Vicky's knee, the one closest to him, and pulled it around himself as he knee-walked up between her legs. Vicky had raised both knees and I had to persuade her to move the one that was now in my face. The knee went down and to the side away from David; I used the soft, fleshy thigh as a pillow. 

There was a pang of jealousy as I watched him rub the tip of his cock on Vicky's pussy, and I had to remind myself that it was his wife he was about to fuck. He made small circles around her clit and then moved down to her hole—and pushed the head in. He pulled it back out and then he held it up to my mouth. He didn't push it at me or try to force me to take it; it was an offer—an offer I "could" refuse.

The head of his penis was wet with Vicky's juices, and the eye set perfectly at the tip looked as though it were crying. A tear of pre- cum was about to fall to the bed, but it held on by the thinnest of threads. I could smell the distinct odor of sex; not the smell of a cock or a pussy, but the fragrance that was left in a room after a couple of horny newlyweds had been screwing all night, only stronger now. I looked up at him from under his cock, and there was a moment of doubt, but it passed quickly. I took the beautifully shaped head into my mouth in much the same way I would jump into cold pool water. 'Just do it,' I thought.

Although the taste of his penis had changed, it wasn't unpleasant. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and pumped the foreskin back and forward while my tongue poked at the little hole, and each time I sucked him in, it went further down my throat. 'Deep- throat Twobi', I thought. Once when I had tried it on my husband, his large dick choked me and I actually barfed all over his lap. That seemed to cure him of his desire to shove that big ugly thing down my gullet. 

I knew I had it all when my lips widened and the light brown pubic hair around the base of David's cock tickled my nose. 'It's silly--young girl stuff,' I thought, but I felt a sense of pride and confidence that I had never felt with my husband, and maybe—I "wasn't" the frigid woman that my husbanded had claimed, and I had believed. David pulled his cock from my mouth and there was a sucking sound as I let go—reluctantly. 

"Put it in her," David said as he aligned himself with Vicky's vagina.

I didn't "want" to share him, and a feeling of jealousy gnawed at my gut once again. 'Stop it," I thought as I looked up to his beautiful face. I want him, and just him. David and Twobi in bed together, kissing, fondling, sucking and—"YES," burst from my lips as I thought, 'his seed deep inside my barren womb'. The feeling had dug itself deep inside me and was now over-shouting reasonable thought. My orgasm peeked in a sparkling splash of colors that flashed on the dark side of my eyelids.

                 21.

Twobi writes; it was like a line out of an old movie, "my whole life passed before my eyes," but—in reverse. It was my future not my past, and it was lived with David "and" Vicky. I took hold of David's cock and pulled him forward and into Vicky. He sank into her and trapped my hand between them. With each outward stroke, I massaged Vicky's vulva with my fingers letting David's slippery penis slide between them as I did. My mind was now clear of the drug- like effects of my orgasm and I was on a new mission. That mission was Vicky's pleasure; a well-deserved pleasure and I would do whatever it took to give it to her. 

I, literally, had Vicky's "amor Veneris, vel dulcedo" in the palm of my hand, and I could feel the excited little organ as my hand was slammed into it by David's thrusts. 

'It's only fare', I thought. I knew what it felt like to be on the lonely side of sex; after all, I had lived there for the last fifteen years, and had even grown comfortable in its company—too comfortable. I kissed Vicky's thigh, and as I did, I raised my hand and stopped David in mid-stroke. I placed another kiss lower and closer to the joined genitals of Vicky and David. My tongue licked the length of David's shaft up to the point where the gentle folds of Vicky's pussy coddled his glands. I took hold of his cock and pulled him out, and then rapped my lips around the head in a final slurp.




Letters Found by a Widow



[Editor's note: this story contains Incest content.]

This is a very short story in the form of letters from a sister to her brother. It is softcore, so if you prefer hardcore details don't bother to read it. It is an idea that came to me one night after having written a two chapter story that was pretty much only hardcore. Even an author needs a little respite after that. 

* * *

Dear Brother, 

You've probably forgotten about it, since it was several years ago, and we weren't entirely sober. It was the best advice you ever gave me. I had also forgotten about it until a few days ago. I bet you forgot that we just had our first wedding anniversary. We didn't forget, celebrating with a bottle of bubbly, real champagne. Since then I have been wanting to thank you, wondering if I should tell you the whole story. I will, I want to. 

As we were finishing the champagne, knowing what we were going to do in bed, he grinned and said: "You're the best lover I ever had." We had already been chuckling about our previous friends, not like that, just admitting that we both hadn't been celibate before we met. His words suddenly reminded me of what you had said back then: "Try to be the best lover he ever had." Remember? 

I can't remember which guy I was with at the time and can't remember what we talked about that led to your saying that. I went back to my flat, thinking about what you had said, asking myself if I hadn't been trying to be. I had to admit that I hadn't been. Oh, I did everything he/they wanted to do, for me to do. Wasn't that all a nice girl should do, not act like a ... harem girl? 

I probably shouldn't get too detailed, but yes, I did suck cocks, after they did that to me, but not voluntarily. For a couple of dominant ones, I even swallowed, but with the other ones, I tried to avoid going that far, like with the guy I was with, when we talked. Was that why we broke up? 

Anyway, with your words ringing in my ears, with the next one -- a sweet softy -- I risked his thinking that I was some kind of a slut. He didn't, I hope, and he sure enjoyed it. Then I did too. With the right attitude, you want it; want it to be that good for him; want to taste it; want your mouth full of it to confirm that it had been that good for him. (Not "you," me, of course!) 

Your advice paid off: I could ask guys (the few) to do everything I wanted. After I made one come twice without stopping ... I'm telling you this?! He's on a trip tonight, and I've opened a bottle of wine. Okay, make up a story for your wife about why I'm writing. 

I sat on his face and didn't let him stop until he made me come a couple of times - more! The pillow was wet on both sides of his head. I had never come like that from his -- or anyone's before - just doing that to me. I did after that, spurting, not always twice, three times, and then not with him, but sometimes, and, of course, when we were doing it the other way. 

You didn't want to know that your sister comes like that? It's your own fault for telling me to be the best lover I can be. Thank you! 

Love and kisses. (Shouldn't have added them, but that's the way I'm feeling right now.)

Your sister 

PS: I reread this this morning, a little surprised, but ... Thanks again! He would probably also want to thank you, but not like that I have been so explicit. I think it was fun. 

Dear Brother, 

When you dropped me off after our returning from Gramp's funeral, you asked what I thought about it. I asked myself, too. What should we think? Maybe my letter had been wrong, that I shouldn't have told you all that, but I had. Oh, when I was writing it, I suddenly had the wild idea of offering to show you how good your advice had been. Must have been when the wine bottle was almost empty. We aren't like that, brother and sister. Well, that's what I thought back then, but we are. We proved that. It was so good!

We only had one drink in the hotel bar the night before we went to the funeral. When I looked at you and murmured: "I want to," you immediately murmured: "I do too." How could you have known what I was thinking? But we both were thinking the same thing. We had, later, joking that we could have saved the price of two single rooms. And how we did! Was I trying to show you how good your advice had been -- every way we could? You did every way I could want, imagine I wanted, taking your own advice. Or were we trying to do everything we could together to make up for feelings in the past? Or was it to suggest that we had to do it all, because we never would again? 

Maybe we thought so, but on the trip back home, we did save the price of two single rooms. I thought that was even better, just lovingly enjoying it, not having to overdo it again. My apologies for not knowing immediately that it was you behind me in bed, but you chuckled, both of us agreeing that it was just too familiar to wake up that way. "Familiar"! More family than with our spouses! We couldn't chuckle about that, but it was. 

Regrets? Like Sinatra sings: "Regrets, I've had a few," but mine are only about not having known earlier your advice, none about us. I hope you feel the same way.

Love, 

Your sister.

Dear Brother, 

Your letter was just what I was hoping to hear. Another song popped into my head, while I was reading it: "Do it to me one more time." Please! I want to, too. It can't make any difference if we do again. "Quando, quando, quando, tell me when." Another visit to Grandma? 

[The letter continues with a couple of paragraphs on other subjects.]

Dear Brother, 

I felt a little wicked greeting Grandma, knowing that our visit was really about our being together. I'm still the best lover he ever had, and hope that you are at home, but it's so good with you too. It's not like we're each having an affair that could upset our marriages, like we talked about on the drive back. Why not, if it's so good with each other? 

[Her letter continues again with her thoughts about their grandmother's situation.]

Dear Brother, 

Oh, it was so good! Did you think you had to make me come three time like that? The pillow was all wet. Did I tell you about that in my first letter about this? I think so. I wonder if the hotel thinks we're married, or just an oversexed couple; not just the pillow was wet. It is just so good with you, maybe because we can't as often as we want to. You said something suggesting that. Maybe better that way. I think so too.

[Again. more that he could tell his wife about the visit, phrased so that that sounded like the start of the letter.]

Dear Brother, 

Yes, I liked that we agreed not to do anything on the way to her funeral. That was nice, very nice, just talking in bed together about her. But it was also nice that we did afterwards, on the way back. Thank you. 

[The rest of the letter is an appreciation of their grandmother that he could read to his wife. She reads it, recalling that he had read to her at the time. She had been shocked by her sister's first letters, almost tearing them up, but had continued to the read the subsequent ones. Now, she smiles mildly with a sigh. She shrugs and murmurs to herself: "If they wanted to. She was right: he was also the best lover I ever had." Her thighs clutch together, as she gives a soft moan, and then finds the next letter.]

Dear Brother, 

Thank you for finding an excuse for our being together again. Just one night, but we knew that. Are we getting old, not having to do it so many times? I wanted to make you come again like that. You let me, but it took longer that I remembered. You thought so too. And I let you just do it to me once. But then we both did again. I love to feel you come in me.

[His widow's thighs clutch together again, but she continues to read.]

I know you do at home too, like he does in me. Funny, being able to tell you that, but that is just the way it is: both of us happily married, but also able to enjoy each other as good as siblings can.

[His widow sees that he had underline the last phrase and skips to the next letter.]

Dear Brother, 

Aren't we lucky! Both feeling the same way about it all? I love him, but I love you too, and you love her. The best of both worlds: happily married and having a loving partner, whom no one can take from us. We're just so lucky! And that you said so too. Pity that we don't have a reason to see each other more often, but maybe that is good. 

[His widow skips the rest of the letter, noticing that the date of it is several years later.]

Dear Brother, 

We are getting older. Oh, it has been good when we were together, and I am still looking forward to the next time, but, well, you know too, we sleep more than we used to. But not just sleep! We do back here, too, both ways, "more sleep, but not just sleep." You two too, I hope. 

[His widow takes a deep breath, nodding. She finds the next letter, dated a year or two later.]

Dear Brother, 

I still love you, even though it wasn't like "back when." C'est la vie. That was just -- not just -- the most intensive way we could enjoy it. And it was so good! Lots of very fond memories!

[The letter was very short, just another couple of paragraphs telling him to greet his wife. His widow snorts, nodding, then shrugging. She gathers up the letters and puts them back where she had found them.]

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this little piece. It was fun to write. If you liked it enough to rate it, that would be appreciated. If you didn't, because you wanted hardcore details, thank you for reading anyway, but please remember that I warned that there would not be any. 



Letters from a Flapper



Crimson's Grandmother Smooth was born in 1900. A "New Century" girl, she moved to New York when she was 19 and lived there for several years. She wrote letters to her best friend Lilly, and kept her updated on her life. Like all of us, she was a green eyed redhead.

If You.re not familiar with the adventures of Silky, you might read them first...

Oh Lilly, 

I've done it! I 'bobbed' my hair. It barely covers my ears! All the girls here in the City do it. That too, wink. I'm so excited! Mr. Ziegfeld has asked me to join his Follies! And I've met a new friend, Olive Thomas. I call her Ollie. 

She has done everything! She was married at 16 and divorced at 18 and she's been a model. Oh, she'll never be the friend you are, dear heart, but she is such a modern woman. And beautiful! The girl has the loveliest violet-blue eyes I have ever seen. They are fringed with long dark lashes that seem darker because of the delicate translucent pallor of her skin. She has this wonderful dark hair that just curls on its own. I want to be her someday.

She has introduced me to lots of swell guys, and they are all rich! Now don't get the wrong idea, I'm not totally a fallen woman. The Follies are wonderful, they put us on stage in practically nothing, but the audience has to look from a distance. Can you imagine daddy knowing I was walking about on stage almost naked in front of a whole group of men!

Best ever, Smooth

Dearest Lilly, life moves fast in the big city. Ollie and I met this guy, Maxwell Hester III, we call him Max, and is he gorgeous! He is also the very devil, I think. 

He challenges us every day to commit some new sin. I've been drunk on alcohol and absinthe, and smoke cigarettes constantly, especially after, wink, and now I've smoked marijuana, like tobacco only it makes you giggle! 

Then he had some powdered coca leaves from South America. You snort it up your nose, and it makes everything all bright and funny and go fast. My nose and lips get numb, but it's so much fun!

Of course, you want the details. Well, Ollie has slept with him many times. She says it's what women do to get things from men, and I think she may be right. She has more money than any girl I know, and she poses nude for artists and lets men give her lots of gifts. So I finally had my turn. 

My, my, the man knows things! I may have left my innocence in Alabama but there's ways to use your mouth and hands that I don't think I would ever have figured out on my own. So he showed me what it feels like to be kissed right on my private parts! Talk about wild feelings, I thought I would explode! 

Then he asked me to return the favor. Can you imagine? Putting a man's thing in your mouth? Well, what could I say? I mean, he already did it for me... so I kneeled down in front of him, and wondered if it were possible. Have you ever tried to put a whole banana in your mouth? 

But I started with just the tip, and it was so smooth, and he sighed when I licked it, so I opened wide and he stuck it in. I was drunk, by the way, but not too drunk to feel every little ridge and variation in his shaft. 

We went faster and faster, and I was drooling all over him, and he was making these delicious noises, and then he exploded. Right in my mouth! I was so surprised I jerked back, and then his penis shot stuff in my face and down my neck and on my breasts. 

Thank goodness I wasn't wearing any clothes or they'd be a mess, wink.

Yours ever, Smooth

My dearest Lilly, 

How can I describe the things I've done? 

I've been so popular in the Follies that I've been allowed to join the Frolics, with Ollie. They strictly control who can come, it's all rich young men, up on the roof of the New Amsterdam Hotel. We walk around in the crowd. Last night we were dressed in balloons - only - and guys would use their cigars to pop them, so pretty soon we were just walking around totally nude, kissing one boy on the cheek while another pinched ours, and sitting in laps that were always bumpy, with hands grabbing everywhere! But the tips! My goodness, I made $100 last night alone!

We have some stage acts we do, that I wrote most of, so I'm proud. 

In one, we're both dressed as men, in pants with big braces. We don't wear shirts, so the braces have to cover our nipples. We have these fake moustaches, and we call each other "Thomas" and "Fields." The thing is, the pants are rigged so we can drop them, and we wear fluffy pantaloons under, and we can drop them, too!

So in one act, we walk out arm in arm, and I say. "Why Thomas, what is that?" I point to the ground, and we both bend over, and our pants drop, but we don't notice.

Ollie winks at the audience and says, "I think that's a Hundred Dollar Bill."

We stand back up and I say. "I heard money grows on trees around here."

And we turn our backs to the audience and bend over and this time we drop our pants and undies just long enough to get them howling.

Ollie says, "Say fields, aren't you going to pick that up?"

I reply, "Today's my day off. I'll pick it up tomorrow." Then we do a frontal drop and flash and run off stage. They love it!

In another, Ollie is still a man, but I wear a flapper dress, only so short it barely covers anything. We are arm in arm, but she usually drops her hand to my rear, sometimes under my skirt. We walk back and forth until it's quiet, and I say, "Mr. Thomas, I have a present for you."

He asks what it is, and I turn my back to the audience and make a big show of pulling up the front of my dress. I have a cigar in my kootchie, and I pull it out, and hand it to him. He makes big show of smelling it, and we aid lib a little, like talking about virgin's thighs and such. 

Eventually, Ollie asks me where I had it hidden, and I get all dumb and say I found a 'special' place made just to hold cigars.

So he says he has something he'd like to put in there, and I pull out the front of his pants and look in. "I don't know if that would fit, Sir. And it's not a cigar."

Ollie says, "Well do you know what to call that, girl?"

I say, "I think that's a wee-wee."

He says, "From now on, call it a 'cock'."

And I say "Oh, I've seen lots of cocks, and believe me, that's a wee-wee!"

It brings down the house.

Your show biz friend, Smooth

Dear Lilly, I'm almost famous. Ziegfeld made a poster for the Frolics, I've enclosed a copy. Don't let anyone at home see it, they'd faint. You may say that's not me, I know, it's Ollie, but that's my hair. We both posed all day for the artist. We love it.

I told you Max was the devil. Well, he really is. Last week he bought some Opium. Opium, for God's sake! We were in our own private opium den!

When you smoke that, I can't describe it, but everything seems so good, and peaceful. You just know there's no trouble anywhere... but you also don't think so straight. So the three of us were smoking, and of course we were soon undressed, but that's not a new thing... 

Ollie's skin is so smooth. I know, that's my name, but it ought to be hers. And Max, he's all hard and hairy, so there's this big contrast. So we're lying there, and sorta kissing and touching, and Max told me to kiss Ollie, so I did. I know I've kissed you before, but this was different...

Maybe it was the drugs, I don't know, but her lips were so soft, and she sure knows how to use her tongue. It went on for hours, it felt like, and the only thing in my world was her mouth; and then a hand started caressing my breast. It was like electricity shooting to my female parts. I started kissing harder, and pretty soon I was feeling her breasts, and her nipples were like rocks... 

Max kept pushing and then I found her nipple in my mouth, and someone was sucking mine, and oh, God the feeling. I was just floating...

Then he pushed my hand between her legs, and it just felt so right to touch her there. She was slippery and wet, and I just trailed my fingers up and down, and she moaned, oh, I don't think I've ever heard that sound before...

I realized her fingers were inside me, and I was moaning just like her...

We both had our other hands roaming over Max's hardness, and I was going out of my mind. Then Ollie went down on me. I mean, she started licking those places Max had kissed, and she really knew what to do... 

In a haze of opium and lust, I fell over and began to do her. The taste, the smell, so different from a man, so exquisite. I couldn't tell whether I was paying attention to my actions or hers, and then Max pushed himself into me while Ollie ran her tongue over the outside... 

Somewhere in there I went into the fog, the clouds, the sky. I was just intense feelings, no thoughts at all, and everything felt completely good. Just correct, in place, like it ought to be... 

I can see why people smoke opium... 

Your famous friend, Smooth

P.S. Ollie's sleeping with Mr. Ziegfeld!!



Letters from a Raven



As she runs her fingers through her slightly damp hair, she adjusts the volume on the radio and begins to sway to the music. Her heart is pounding as the music voices her every feeling;her elations, her pain, and her confusion. Hands trembling she pulls the corkscrew from the drawer and begins to open the chablis that tucks her into a lonely bed every night. She crosses the apartment and briefly gazes out the window at the city all lit up down below, then takes a deep breath while heading to the bedroom. 

In all her envelopment in feelings she never even noticed he was there. He leaned against the door frame unseen; dressed in black pleated pants, a crisp white cotton shirt, and black long coat- he watched her in all her vulnerability. He had a wonderful view, the woman that he loved was standing not more than twelve inches in front of him and she didn't even know he was there. He watched as she laid across the bed and took a large mouthful of the wine, he also watched her throat move as she swallowed it. He'd seen as the tear formed in the corner of her eye, roll down her cheek, and land gently on the file laid open on the bed. How he wanted to catch that tear, take all of her sadness away. He reached out for her arm just as she stood to go to the bathroom, all he wanted to do is comfort her and tell her everything would be okay. 

She quickly spun around at his touch. Her eyes scanning the room for movement, as she closed her robe tighter around her waist. Was it the chill in the room or did she know he was there? As she turned and continued to the bathroom, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed near where she had been laying. He lifted the wineglass to his nose and inhaled the perfumed mixture of the wine and her scent. He replaced the glass on the night table and glanced over the file; his picture, some poems she had written, a few of her more x-rated stories, and a ribbon tied bunch of letters he had never seen. 

To the best I ever had,

My most visited regret is that I feel that I never properly let you know just how much you mean to me. You are my sunshine in the morning, the sweet dreams that make me want to sleep forever, and the only real friend I've ever had. If I were to take a deep breath most of what I breathe in is you. Every thing I write has a little bit of you in it; it more or less stems from me thinking about you. My heart is hungry for you all the time and its a feeling that will never be satisfied. This is what I have to feel, for the rest of my life. You know that I love you, right? 

Yours,

Raven 

To the best I ever had,

My rupturing heart tears at my blouse as it threatens to pound right out of my chest at the mere mention of your name. A glimpse of your face and I may very well need some form of revival, and although my physical form would be lifeless; my spirit would be soaring. To kiss those gentle, sweet lips is the only Heaven I could know here on Earth. My mind aches to think of new ways to link my life to yours; I miss you. By the way, you know that I love you, right?

Yours,

Raven 

To the best I ever had,

I went out walking in the rain the other day just to try to get you out of my mind. The shower quickly turned into a down pour and I found myself running back to the apartment. As I turned the corner I thought I saw you cross the street, so naturally I went tearing after you. The rain started to cloud my vision and the tears were blinding me, so when I finally gained perspective I could no longer see you. Out of frustration I turned and headed back to the apartment. As I walked down the street oblivious to almost everything around me I realized that my relationship to you is like one of those watery puddles. I can peer into that liquid mirror see everything that I am and everywhere I want to be just blinking back at me but the second I reach out to touch it, the image distorts, changes form, and becomes unlike anything it was before. Damn the rain, damn the heavens for pouring it down on me and damn these feelings. I'm going to go take a nap now; I've come to believe I'm at my best when I'm sleeping, because that's when I'm with you. You know that I love you, right?

Yours,

Raven 

 To the best I ever had,

My breath is at a pause at the prospect of seeing you again. I almost drowned myself in the shower this morning while rinsing my hair, I was thinking about you so hard I forgot to inhale. It's like that a lot of the time, my mind keeps returning to days when everything was good and all I had to do is close my eyes to remember what love feels like. Now I'm starving for that feeling, the sustenance of emotion is non-existent when you're not here; the bed is cold and my mind is blank with feeling. I miss you eternally, and I'll wait for you longer than that. You know that I love you, right?

yours,

Raven 

 To the best I ever had,

The twisted knife tears at my stomach as my barb-wired soul spills out onto the floor. The pain I feel is immeasurable. Never did I believe this was possible; that there would be a time I should just give up, that I should accept the inevitable- this is not who I am. My love for you is absolute, and now I find my pain with you is the same. It's almost funny to realize that emotion could be so much like a revolving door. One emotion and your on the inside; enveloped in warmth, love, and all things that feel good. Let that same opening swing you the other way and your on the outside in the cold where the ache is so great deep within your being that you can't imagine it could be caused by the same person-the one you love so much; the best you ever had. This internal chill that having been tossed aside consumes me like a demon causing me to have feelings of regret and stupidity for all that I've believed in. The anguish is great and all consuming, but I'm not giving up on you, you are my life and without you I don't exist. You know that I love you, right? 

yours,

Raven 

 To the best I ever had,

My soul is screaming your name in the dead of night, and my eyes soak the pillow with the tears of love's pain. I am silently yelling your name in my sleep, and its a sound not like anything you could ever imagine; the sound of heartache. Don't you understand how much I feel for you? Can't you see that my life is void without you? Please don't make me go through this, I need your love to make me whole. I don't even know how to exist and not be in love with you; but is that even what you really want? Do you really want to be rid of me and all of this love I feel? I honestly don't know how much more I can take without shattering to pieces, shards that will irreparably pierce the heart that beats within my chest, the soul that still needs you. You know that I love you, right?

yours,

Raven 

 To the best I ever had,

Just when I thought I'd felt every possible sensation there is to feel involved in loving you, I know now that this is the last drop of feeling my heart is strong enough to handle.My desperation is breaking my soul and my spirit shattered a long time ago. With nothing else to hold onto, I am forced to let go. This may mean no more to you than all the other expressions of depth I've tried to share, but I feel that without writing this last letter I'll never know true closure. The depression of never knowing your love again is too great a burden to carry; quite simply, I can't go on. The coldness and stabbing that I feel in accepting that you're gone is my absolute hell on Earth; I don't know what my crime was for this punishment but I'm assured it must have been great to have brought this upon me. My life will be forever changed because of your presence and even more so due to the lack there of; I thought I couldn't live without you, now it looks as though I'll have no choice- it's the pain I'll have to survive. But I have acknowledged that you are not mine to keep, I realize that your attention and affection is not something you are willing to share with me anymore, it is for this reason I am letting you go.

Raven 

His hand trembled as he finished reading the last lines of the letter; he could feel all his life source draining from his body as he sank slowly to the floor. She had given up, all the fighting and waiting to hold out for him had been in vain, he didn't come to her in time. He could understand the pain she must have been feeling all this time, but to have lost her was too much. His eyes bled with tears as he frantically scoured the room for proof that this was a dream, it couldn't be real. 

As he looked around the room he noticed the last letter on the nightstand, pen still out; ink still wet. The skin seemed to be transparent on his right hand as he reached for the letter, and though he was sure the paper was within his grasp he couldn't take hold of it, his hand was no longer there and it was as though his whole body was disappearing before his very eyes. With his left hand he lurched toward the paper and shaking, opened it to reveal the last words he may ever read from his beloved.

 To the best I ever had,

Though I try with everything I am to let you go, I realize that a woman in love with you is all I'll ever be. Whether that is your soul's burden or your one true blessing, I could never be anything but yours. It took all the strength I had to hold out this long but the attempt to give up took so much more. I love you; no doubts, no remorse, no regrets. I will wait for you to come until all the stars are gone and the nights skies are merely an expression of the darkness I feel. My adoration for you is infinite, my love, everlasting, and my commitment, forever. I will always want you by my side to laugh and cry with, because without you all my feelings are numb. You are the love of my life and the best I ever had, without you I am nothing. You know that I love you, right?

Forever yours,

Raven 

His body was shaking, his legs were weak and although he was sitting on the floor, he felt as if he were falling. While the tears fell gently and he sobbed quietly, he never heard the lock click, he never saw the door open, and he didn't know she was in the room until her arms were around him. They cried to each others hearts and they held on for what seemed eternity. Forever they sat in silence until she broke the quiet with a soft voice,"you came, I knew that you would; but why now, after all this time?" 

And he answered her with the most pure response he could,"I finally realized that without you I am nothing too." 



Letters from a Stalker



"How long have you been receiving these letters?" Det. Anton Judge asked the distraught woman seated in the visitor chair in his office.

"About three months," she replied, clenching her fist and raising it to her mouth. "At first I thought that it was a sick joke from one of my idiot friends to celebrate Halloween, but after the second one I began to have my doubts and... these are the third, fourth and fifth ones. I threw the first ones away, but I've saved these. I spoke with two of my sisters in Italy and they advised me to either call the police immediately, or come home to Rome without further delay."

"Three weeks ago would have been early for Halloween though. When did you get these?"

"A week ago; but my husband and I sent out our Halloween party invitations three weeks ago. I have been very busy working on the arrangements since then. My husband pays the bills, but he does not take part in the planning of these things in any way."

"Three in one week? So why did it take so long to come in with them?"

"Look at them! Would you have been eager to show someone that you'd attracted the interest of a lunatic who could write something like this? It is downright embarrassing!" she said emphatically.

"I suppose not," Judge agreed, taking the letter up from his desk to have a better look.

My Darling Avril, 

It is I, your Master. My Darling, you will obey me, and use a laptop positioned between your legs, the camera focused on your naked, cum-filled pussy to confirm to me that you've had sex and that the man, the shameless shemale that I send for you, came in your cunt!

X

Judge's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. He turned to the second piece of paper, reading slowly to see if there was any clue there about the origin of the short missive.

My Darling Avril,

I am going to have you bring home a homeless shemale, who has not bathed in days, nor had sex in a long time. I want you to fuck him, plug his cum in your cunt, and keep it there until you reach the place of your torment to which I will send you. There you must pull out the plug, and let the cum drool down your long, luscious legs.

X

"Do you know anyone who might think this funny?" Anton Judge asked, glancing, casually, at the woman's legs.

"No one!" 

Judge turned his attention to the third letter on the table. He read it slowly and then re-read the contents carefully.

My Darling Avril, 

You have me so worked up and you are so naughty and sexy and hot. I want to strip you and lead you into the kitchen, drape you over the kitchen table, spread your ass checks and fuck your asshole until you launch yourself into oblivion.

X

The woman moistened her lips nervously, and for the second time, Judge raised his eyebrows. A slight smile played on his lips and his cock stirred. Even by the very high Italian standards of her homeland, Avril Corletti was a beautiful woman, and she certainly stood out in the Jamaican social scene. Judge had seen her every week in the reports of the happenings in the party circuit, and she had caused quite a sensation when she walked into his station demanding to see the officer in charge. He took that as a sign of how desperate she was since he knew for a fact that she knew the Police Commissioner and his wife personally, and he knew also that any careless word, by even the most junior member of his staff, would lead to publicity of another kind for her.

"I don't mind telling you that I'm afraid, Inspector Judge," the woman's voice cut into his reverie.

"Indeed, but don't worry, I will do all that I can to help you find this lunatic. At the very least, his sense of humour is in very poor taste; and he should be arrested for that."

***

Detective Anton Judge had worked with the Jamaican police for several years and he felt that he could have been forgiven for thinking that he had seen everything: drug running, extortion, murder. However, he had never seen notes of the kind written to the hapless victim of this stalker. Stalking was highly unusual for the tiny Caribbean island. In all his years in the force, Judge had only seen such a thing on television. The notes reminded him of bad porn, except that the promise contained in them to meet Avril Corletti in person made him take them very seriously. It would not do for one of the most celebrated women in Kingston, admittedly more famous for her beauty than for anything else, to find herself caught up in something like this. Even the most sex-scandal-jaded members of the public would probably draw the line here. 

"Do you know anyone with a name beginning with X?"

"Do not insult me, Detective Inspector! I have thought of that myself! I know no one like that!"

"What about anyone named Cross?"

The woman seemed startled at that. She actually blushed!

"Cross? You know someone named Cross, Sig.ra Corletti?"

"Yes, I know someone named Cross, or rather Crossman. He is the man who runs my home."

"He is the man who runs your home?"

"Yes, I don't want to call him a butler. That seems too pretentious in Jamaica, but he takes care of things for my husband and me."

Judge continued carefully through his slightly fading smile and slowly rising eyebrows. He was aware that he would have to think later if his sudden dislike for the woman was because he now saw her for the vacuous parasite that she and her friends were, or if it was because he was beginning to form a theory about the origin of the notes that she had been receiving.

"And how well do you know this man? Now that you think about him, would he strike you as someone who would do something like this?"

"No! My husband and his family have known him for thirty years! I have known him since I moved here fifteen years ago after my marriage."

"So you're not having an affair with him?"

"Detective Inspector!"

"I just need to be sure that he could be under no misconception about the nature of your relationship."

"I don't see how he could be."

"Does this Crossman have a younger relative who may have seen you, and been tempted by your... personality?" If it killed him, he wouldn't tell this woman that she was a "beauty".

"There is a young man who has come to stay with him on occasion on his days off. I think I heard that he was a nephew."

"Then that is where we will start, unless you have any ideas about these references to a shemale."

***

Judge watched Avril Corletti as she left the building, striding purposefully toward her BMW, carefully oblivious to the fact that most of the men whom she passed on her way turned to look at her. Judge shook his head annoyed. Some people definitely had too much. He was surprised at his attitude toward the woman. He had only just met her in the flesh. The fleeting thought of the word "flesh" ricocheted through his mind and he felt himself stir again. He frowned. Hell; was he missing Thalia that much? 

He called his assistant, Hector Milner, to his office and showed him the letters. The man had been in the force for nearly as long as Judge was himself. They were friends, though to look at them one would never suspect this since neither man was given to smiling or socialising too often, and they usually took dipole opposite views on most issues.

"Do you think that the note could have been signed with a kiss? That doesn't have to be an X" Hector Milner asked.

"Could be, but she denies having an affair."

"She did." It didn't sound like Milner was asking a question.

"Well she said that she wasn't having an affair with her butler, but one never knows about anyone else."

Both men contemplated the possibility that Avril Corletti was not being as forthcoming as she could be with them in a morose silence. Each man had spent a lifetime studying the human mind, plumbing its depths for understanding; but for each of them women were still a mystery.

"In any event that seems a little whimsical for someone who is otherwise so threatening."

"True."

"Do you think that she could be lying about her butler?"

"No the one doing this seems to be a younger man. Look at the reference to her as being hot. If this man Crossman has been with the family for thirty years then he is no longer young."

"Hmmm. He could still be in his forties. That's not so old," Hector Milner said defensively. "And I still think of my wife as being..." He broke off the sentence belatedly. "Sorry..." he muttered.

"Mmmmmm. Forget it."

"What about the husband? It's always the husband, you know."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that. This is real life, not a police drama on Masterpiece Mysteries."

Milner grinned. 

"I'll try to bear that in mind. Are you sure that you don't want me to take the lead on this case?"

"No man, I'm fine."

"Any ideas about these shemale references?"

"Not at all! I've been wondering about that myself."

****

The Corletti home was situated in the posh Jack's Hill enclave. Security-guarded mansions with carefully laid-out and golf-green-like manicured lawns, the occasional peep of a private tennis court or swimming pool, quite often both in the same property, and the stable of SUVs and luxury cars parked in front of automatic garage doors proclaimed Judge and Milner's unworthiness to be there. Neither man gave a damn. They paid their honest taxes, unlike, they surmised, some of the residents there. The actual house looked like something out of a magazine or television programme about the splendidly rich and famous. A tasteful blend of the traditional and modern spoke of someone who had both time and money being the decorator. Judge was impressed. He recognised class when he saw it. 

Basil Crossman, the butler, was there. Once it was established that neither of his employers was at home, but that the police did in fact wish to speak with him, he was unable, he said, to account for his nephew's whereabouts. Judge believed him somehow. The man looked too self-important to be in servitude to these people to allow a small thing like kinship to ruin it for him. He would have turned his nephew in if he really suspected that the young man were any threat to the Corletti's, and by extension, his lifestyle. Judge did not think that there was any point in asking him if he had any inkling who it could have been sending the notes since he did not expect the man to say anything out of turn that would reflect badly on his employers.

A shot in the dark revealed that he could still be wrong about people. Crossman was willing to point a finger at the hairdresser who roved the neighbourhood plying her trade to the neighbourhood wives. He felt that the girl had her eye too firmly on a chance with the gentlemen of the community and that she would stop at nothing to land herself one of them. Sig.ra Corletti was indeed an occasional patron of this woman but she had not used her services recently. The woman lived in the community at the foot of the hill from where the household help and gardening man came as well. Det. Judge would do well to make inquiries there. And yes, Basil Crossman did happen to have the address, and a warning that Ms. Earle was not what she seemed to be.

***

Sylvia Earle surprised Judge very much. She was a statuesque, fairly muscular woman with kind, gentle face and a low, sexy voice. There was something about her that appealed to Judge, however. This surprised him since Crossman had poisoned the well, and he thought her to be an interloper of the worst kind. He really didn't like people who interfered in other people's marriages.

For her part, Sylvia was horrified to think that Detectives Judge and Milner would suspect her of any impropriety. The six gentlemen from the community with which she had liaisons were all just good friends. No, she did not care to mention any names. The gifts that they bestowed on her for her company were tokens of affection, not appreciation. She had no need to usurp anyone's wife since she received the benefits without the responsibilities of such an arrangement. She smiled sadly to herself as she said this. She only wished that the wives understood this fact some more. Marriage with any of these men was an impossible dream.

Judge had the uncomfortable feeling that she looked at him speculatively. He excused himself quickly since he found that despite his disdain for Sylvia Earle's alleged lifestyle, he believed her when she claimed that she knew nothing about any letters, and he liked her. Her kind was not good at hosting large society parties. She specialised in throwing parties for one or two persons at a time. He suspected that none of Sylvia's six friends had any use for her beyond their private sessions, and was happy to think that Sylvia knew this too.

Judge sat in the car and pulled out a cigarette. He thought about lighting it but realised that it would have been a reaction to his surroundings and the situation, and so managed not to. He was at a dead end; no closer to finding the stalker than he had been that morning when he had left the station. He figured that he could always investigate Avril Corletti's husband, see if he was one of Sylvia Earle's clients and see if Sig Corletti had any motive to terrorise his wife.

This idea, once lodged in his head brought with it a more sinister speculation. Judge drove back to the Corletti residence on his way to the station in search of Basil Crossman and his nephew.

***

Basil Crossman had been very cold toward Anton Judge and Hector Milner when the two detectives showed up for a second time. The police coming to the house once could be seen as "helping with an inquiry", but twice smacked of "being suspected of something". Again, neither man cared. Judge had been wrong about Crossman once today and was not too proud to imagine that he could not have been mistaken about the man twice in a single day.

As it turned out Crossman did know where his nephew was, and he knew that Avril Corletti's husband was one of the clients serviced by Ms. Earle. Judge noted the frown on Crossman's face as he related this fact. 

"So much for loyalty!" Judge thought. The man had worked with the Corletti family for over thirty years, but his loyalty was with Sig.ra Corletti. Judge wondered why this was. Not for the first time, Judge wondered at the mysterious ways of the heart. Why would Giancarlo Corletti have an affair with Sylvia when he had Avril at home? She seemed pleasant enough, but she was not the trophy that Avril would have been. His thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of a young man whose resemblance to Basil Crossman proclaimed his relationship to the man.

"David Crossman, I presume?"

Judge had never actually heard a man squeal, or see one turn on his heels, knock a chair into his path and run from the police. From the expression on his face, neither had Milner. Together, they managed to subdue the nancing man before he managed to leave the house.

A coward, David Crossman admitted without too much duress, that it was he who had penned the notes to the lady of the house. He did not know who it was who deposited money into his bank account to do this. The instructions came in the post from the Central Sorting Office in Kingston. He had never been asked to hurt Avril Corletti! He drew the line somewhere! In fact, he had decided to stop sending notes to his uncle's employer's wife when he received instructions to begin sending them to two other women as well!

Judge froze. He had been completely wrong about everyone involved in this case!

"May I see these instructions?" he asked.

"I'm not sure that I should show them to you, officer. Should I be retaining a lawyer? These would be my get out of jail free cards!" David Crossman said, slyly.

Judge glanced around the room and noted the various paintings, abstracts and tasteful male nudes mostly, and large mirrors. He wondered which of these formed a part of a discrete surveillance system. He thought better of beating the information out of David Crossman since, although there were no actual witnesses in the room, he doubted that he would get away with it; as these society types had a way of asserting their moral consciences at the most awkward of times.

"I should regard it as a favour if you would help us with our investigation, Mr. Crossman. As you can imagine, Sig.ra Corletti is very upset by the notes, but it seems that you have been unwittingly helping a very sinister person who has designs not only on this lady, but on others as well. Surely you see that it is your duty as a citizen to help us? Naturally, in return I can promise you that Sig.ra Corletti will never hear it from me that you were the person who sent the notes to her. I give you my word on that," he said glancing at his partner.

Judge actually shook David Crossman's hand to signify their gentleman's agreement. David Crossman furnished the set of instructions about the other two women, and promised to advise Judge and his team if he got fresh directives.

"Can you believe him?" Milner complained when they were safely back in their car.

"Yes, I can. When you tell Sig.ra Corletti that it was he who has been stalking her, be sure to mention that he cooperated with us in our investigation."

"Will do," Milner said, starting the car." Sylvia Earle's again?"

"Please."

***

Sylvia Earle confirmed that the husbands of the two women named in David Crossman's notes were friends of hers. In the public interest, she then furnished the two policemen with the names of her other special friends and confirmed that they knew about each other since there were certain parties at her home in which they all met from time to time. She accepted police protection in return for her cooperation.

***

Judge shook his head sadly when he heard that Avril Corletti was seated in the front office, awaiting her appointment with him, patiently. He wished that she would make a scene so that what he had to do would be easier. As yet, she was guilty only of public mischief, but Judge and Milner suspected that if they did not step in quickly that she would be capable of murder.

"Sig.ra Corletti," Hector Milner began, "we believe we know who has been sending you these nasty notes."

"This is wonderful news, Inspector!" the woman beamed. "Please tell me so that my husband and I may confront this scoundrel."

Neither policeman could look at her for a few minutes. They did not want to actually laugh in the woman's face. 

"We've sent for your husband and he should be joining us momentarily," Judge was finally able to say.

"You've sent for Giancarlo? Why?"

"We believe that he has to hear this as well. We're sure that he loves you and will take every step possible to protect you."

Avril Corletti seemed startled. She smiled bravely.

"Are you saying that he sent the letters to me?"

"I'm saying nothing of the sort."

"I'm happy to hear that because I can assure you that he did not!"

"We know that he didn't, but we're certain that you got them because of him. We believe that they were designed to attract his attention; to make him take notice of the fact that he was, shall we say, leaving his business unattended to?"

Hector Milner offered the woman a cup to tea. She declined prettily, and eyed the doorway nervously. Judge studied her covertly. The carefully manicured fingernails, the tailored dress that fit perfectly over what must be a beautiful body underneath, the long neck, the kissable lips, the strong nose, the doe-like eyes, the beautiful arch of her brows, the fantastic mane of hair cut into a trendy hairstyle; elegance personified, and yet her spouse needed more. Judge wanted to run his hands through Avril Corletti's hair but distracted himself by wondering if it had been Sylvia Earle who had cut it for her. He doubted that very much. Crossman had said that she hadn't been Ms. Earle's client in a long time. Judge wondered if it was because she suspected a relationship between her husband and the woman.




Letters from a Stalker



Giancarlo Corletti arrived at the station and Judge's eyebrows rose right into his hairline. He and his wife made a stunningly handsome couple and yet, it occurred to Judge that it was the first time that he was seeing the illusive Sig. Corletti. For all the wife's appearances on the society pages of the Sunday Gleaner and the Jamaica Herald he was very seldom by her side. In fact, Judge could not remember him at all, yet one look at him and Judge was sure that this was by design. Giancarlo Corletti obviously had no interest at all in his wife's world of social engagements and hangers-on. Judge was sympathetic.

He was never one for counselling, but this couple needed it if any did. Judge did not think himself qualified to be giving anyone advice except that he had seen this kind of thing before up close and personal. He would spew the platitudes that he had been told when his own marriage was breaking down and hope that this one ended up better than his did.

Corletti glanced at his wife puzzled. She did not look at him at all. Milner and Judge looked at each other. Judge nodded.

"Welcome, Sig. Corletti. I'm sure that you've been wondering why we've asked you here today. It concerns a case involving your wife."

Giancarlo Corletti glanced suspiciously at the woman. He turned back to Milner but said nothing.

"Sig.ra Corletti came to us yesterday with some salacious notes; very scandalous and very threatening in nature."

Corletti turned to look at his wife again, and in truth he did seem to be more sympathetic, Judge was happy to see. Hector Milner continued.

"We believe that we know the origins of these notes, and we believe that you have it in your power to do something about them."

"Is it a blackmail threat? Do they want money?" Giancarlo Corletti asked, annoyed.

Judge's heart sank. This was beyond the stage where Avril Corletti could retrieve her marriage. Her husband was clearly prepared to throw money at her problems, which was where they had originated in the first place he guessed.

"I have no problem paying to cover up my wife's indiscretions," Corletti was saying.

Judge could stand it no longer. He interrupted.

"No, Sig. Corletti. It is YOUR indiscretions that are the problem here."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me! We believe that these notes were meant to frighten you into taking better care of your wife. Your affair with Sylvia Earle is a problem for her. Is this not true, Sig.ra Corletti?"

Avril Corletti jumped. She clutched her mouth trying to stifle a little scream.

"What are you saying, Detective Inspector?" Giancarlo Corletti was standing now.

"Please sit down, sir. What I am saying is that your wife had these notes sent to your home in the hope that you would see them or at least see that she was upset and inquire as to the cause. You have obviously done neither."

"Why am I here?" Giancarlo Corletti snapped. He was clearly angry now.

"We wanted to tell you that your wife loves you so much that she was prepared to do something criminal to attract your attention, and get you to express some affection for her again."

"Please stop!" Avril Corletti was clearly embarrassed. She obviously did not think that things would end like this.

"What he said is true, Carlo. I sent these notes to myself; or rather, I had someone send them to me so that you could think that someone wanted to hurt me and come back to my side as you were in the beginning of our marriage. All you do is spend time with that Sylvia Earle person! I don't know why! What is Sylvia Earle doing for you that I am not?"

"Hah!" Giancarlo Corletti barked meanly. "This is not the place, Avril; but for your information she does plenty for me that you don't do!"

"What, is it? Anal sex again? Is that what this is about? Is it that she likes to be tied up and spanked or is it that you do, Giancarlo?" Avril Corletti retorted.

Giancarlo Corletti, Judge and Milner all froze.

"I told you that this is not the place, Avril," Corletti's voice was steel.

Judge and Milner got up to excuse themselves and give the couple some privacy, but Giancarlo Corletti ordered them to sit down! Judge found himself sitting down again across the room from an equally surprised Milner.

"You've heard enough to know that I can't stand my wife! Do you have any idea what it's like living with someone who is concerned only about keeping up appearances? There is no intimacy with her. We can't even have a child because she wants to keep her figure! If she had said that she wanted to keep her career I would have been more impressed, though one can take even that too far! But her figure? Can you believe that? Would you tolerate that, either of you? Missionary with a condom after fifteen years of marriage!" he railed at the policemen. "Yes! Sylvia Earle is ten times, no one hundred times, the woman that you are Avril! She gives me plenty in bed that you've probably never even heard about. I'm in love with her and I'm going to divorce you and marry her!"

"Marriage! Don't make me laugh, Giancarlo! She is a common whore!"

"And what are you, Avril? You're married to me because of my money and the social standing that that can buy you; so what does that make you, Avril? Sylvia has declined my proposal on three occasions already but I'm not giving up. Now that I can tell her that you know about us perhaps she will change her mind. I can tell her that I'm finally getting a divorce. That ought to settle things."

"I'm going to take you to the cleaners!" Avril Corletti promised her husband.

"Who gives a shit, Avril? There is still enough to go around. For Sylvia and me even half of my holdings would be more than enough. Can you say the same thing?"

"What I can say is that I saw you! I saw you, Giancarlo! I saw you with this Sylvia Earle person! It was disgusting! In our bed too!" Avril Corletti burst into bitter tears. "She's not even a woman!"

"Shut up Avril, I'm sure that these gentlemen do not need to hear details," Giancarlo Corletti seemed shocked and then curiously deflated.

"Buggery is a crime here in Jamaica!" the woman retorted. "I think that they do need to hear details."

Both Judge and Milner looked at each other. This had got out of hand. They had obviously lost control of the situation, completely. 

"Sylvia Earle is not even a woman!" Avril Corletti shrieked again. "She's a man! She has both sets of body parts, you understand? My husband is in love with a trans-woman! I saw his hands on Ms Earle's body the way they used to be on mine! I saw him playing with and tweaking Ms. Earle's breasts and sucking her cock as if his life depended on it! I saw this Sylvia Earle person take him the way he keeps wanting to take me, and they were not using a strap-on! That cock was fully functioning! I saw Sylvia Earle spank him in the face... with her cock! I saw him give her a blowjob! Can you believe that? Do you want to know what they were like when she mounted him?"

"Keep your voice down, Avril!" her husband warned. "Everyone will hear you! Sylvia is not a transwoman. She hasn't had all her surgeries yet, but this is a free world, and she is not doing anything wrong. She's a lovely woman, and I'm in love with her! You have to understand..."

"I don't care what you say!" she screamed. She turned to Judge and Milner. "Aren't you going to arrest him? He took a man's cock up in his ass! He did it more than once! I saw him! I heard him groan with lust. I saw him ejaculate! I tell you, Sylvia Earle is a shemale! Just ask her! Carlo is more of a woman than she is!" 

Judge looked at Corletti's stricken face. It was clear that the man expected the worst kind of censure from him. He looked next at Avril Corletti, her beauty marred by the malice that she now felt toward her husband. Judge came to a decision.

"I doubt that Sylvia Earle would confess to anything of the sort, but truthfully, even if she would, it would be none of my business, and frankly, Sig.ra Corletti, personally I can't see a crime in loving someone, but it is a crime to blackmail people here in Jamaica. You seem to have spent a long time looking at something that you claim disgusted you. How else did you see so much of your husband's relations with Ms. Earle?"

"What are you talking about? Sylvia Earle is a shemale! She taught my husband the ways of men making love to other men. Isn't that wrong?"

"I doubt that Sylvia Earle did that, Madam, but hear me out. I see absolutely nothing wrong with this. I believe that whatever your husband does in the privacy of your home is his business. I do not plan to do anything about him and Ms. Earle; though," he turned to Giancarlo Corletti, "I am not sure that remaining here would be your best option. Some people will think that Ms. Earle is a gay man. I do not think so myself. I know that the situation is more complicated than that, but I do not think that everyone will be so understanding; and I agree with you wife, it is in very poor form to take your lover, man or woman, into the matrimonial bed. That was not nice of you, Sig Corletti."

He turned back to the distraught woman seated in front of him, "I don't plan to tell anyone about this at all. I am sure that Detective Milner agrees with me that this whole sordid affair is better left alone. Let your husband divorce you, you're probably better off in the long-term if he does not really love you, take what you can get, and keep your mouth shut. Your situation with Ms. Earle being a pre-operative transsexual is new to me, but I know that people discover that their spouses are unfaithful every day. They survive. Your pain will fade in time, and with the help of good friends. Life is too short to spend it moping about a lost love. Move on! If I hear about this I will know that it was you who told. I'm just trying to get the images that David Crossman described in those letters out of my head; so you won't hear me talking about this, ever."

He glanced at Milner to see if he had his agreement. Milner was having a very difficult time not laughing. Judge frowned. This was no laughing matter in a place like Jamaica. He would have to tell Milner to work on his poker face some more for the future.

"I will have justice!" an incredulous Avril Corletti declared. "I know the Commissioner! I know his wife!"

"If I were you, I'd shut up, lady!" Milner interjected, suddenly very serious. 

"How dare you speak to me like this!" Avril snarled.

"Listen to me you spoiled little bitch! You will say nothing about this to anyone or we will make sure that the media gets hold of your little notes and your part in the story behind them. I will see to it personally! Believe me, no one is going to believe that your husband ran off with a transsexual and even if they thought that it might be true it would not reflect well on you to have people know that you could not keep your husband and that he left you for a trans-man" Milner was angry, and as frightening as a Rotweiller about to attack, and Judge, understanding it, was thankful for his support.

"I cannot believe this! Perhaps you are the same!" Avril Corletti said, unwisely; jumping to her feet in a rage. She had no way of knowing that she was appealing for understanding to a man who had also lost his own marriage because of a taboo relationship; between his boss, the Commissioner of Police, and his now ex-wife, Thalia; and this man's only real friend. 

"Sig.ra Corletti, get out of this office before I arrest you for public mischief," Milner snapped. "Remember that it is a crime to report crimes that have not happened and you did that when you came in here claiming to receive a series of letters from someone sick. You are the only person in this room who is sick!"

Avril Coreletti looked at the three men in the room. All of them looked back at her coldly; a first for her. She got up with as much dignity as she could muster and looked straight into her husband's eye.

"My body is a temple, Giancarlo; your Sylvia Earle's is a market! Remember that."

She spat in his face and walked out; her head held high, and again ignoring the appreciative stares of everyone around her.

Judge offered his handkerchief to Giancarlo Corletti. He sighed. Perhaps his therapist would find it a sign of progress that he was actually able to side with a man who was having an affair with someone undergoing gender reassignment surgery in Jamaica.