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A Love Letter

By: Azrof



"I was swept away, with nothing left to say, some helpless fool; I was lost." The music blared across the room, carrying with it an ache of fond remembrance. The room was paneled in azure hues; bed, curtains, pictures and even the walls hinted of blue in all of it's shades. Even the look in his eyes was reminiscent of blue. 

His fingers danced across the keyboard with a rhythm that matched his swiftly beating heart; matching his thoughts. Was he saying the right words; spelling them out correctly; showing one's thoughts and heart is always a chancy thing. Usually for him it feels as if he is playing a game; one wrong word could end it. Too much love could push the One away while too little would starve both him and the One Love's breath. He inhaled sharply as his eyes caressed his written words, wishing with his entire being that his fingers could touch the One's throat, cheek, hand. He felt his mind swim...with memory.

"I love you," whispered hesitantly in the barely lit room. Her shape, smooth like a ripple of a wave, not quite touching him. His heart, he knew at that moment, would be forever changed. His eyes focused on what his fingers were doing, caressing her neck and cheek, willing her to understand the depth of feeling he had for her. Wishing he could transfer to her how much he loved her. 

Change. What is love? he considers now. Loving another means being willing to change those things within and without ourselves, to accept love over pain. For Her he was willing to change. Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache; velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow, were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made him were not undone by Her but by his willingness to accept the healing Love could gift. Such is the essence of all creation. These are the rules.

The shifting from one song to another brought him to the present smoothly; the memory brought both pain and acceptance. A strange mixture to cause peace. Back to the purpose, he demanded himself. He was to write a letter to Her. So far from him; three hours drive was an eternity and a breath to lovers. He needed her and wanted her to understand.

So he writes,

"Dear xxxxx.." No, not correct, he rewrites.

"Dear xxxxxxx,

Our time together was too sweet for my memories; I feel them, like in those silly romance movies we never watched together, filled with background music. Yes, I can actually remember our times together as if floating in a song..."

He pauses a long moment, knowing that while the music he speaks of could be contained in a song by Tool, Nine Inch Nails, Dave Matthews Band or even Simon and Garfunkel, it would be inappropriate. Love is a song to him. 

"Our time together showed me so much about myself. I realized that my own self esteem was as much an issue as yours; I was confident in myself a year ago. Strangely, realizing that, makes me feel ready to feel it again. Thank you xxxx."

He shivers with the need to feel her head tucked beneath his shoulder again, her hand on his chest and her thigh wrapped across his legs. How close she kept him. But he will not write these things.

"I realize more with each breath..." No, again he has mistaken.

"I grow with each second away from you. You planted a seed in me with your acceptance and love. Even when you spoke of my flaws, what I was not enough to you, the seeds were planted. I wonder what luck there is that I know someone who is willing to learn to love me; I wonder what I have done Right to find you after all these months of misunderstanding and pain."

He does not add his fears and doubts; does not voice the remnants of self-doubt. They had talked about that. "You're right. We should be open about what our hearts need. I don't think I can be one person's property but I think that I can give myself to one person if he is open and willing to be open with me." The words he remembered were not exact but were enough to break his pall of worry. She would be open with him now, as he would with her. Communication; the first goal.

"I don't know what else to say except; I will look forward to each moment that passes for I know that each past moment brings me closer to you."

And he signed it.

"Your Love..."

A Love Letter



It isn't often that I experience a moment of such clarity and illumination as I did repeatedly over the past week; it was the realization, once again, of just how dear you have become to me and how much I miss you every day! I know that this may someday frighten you with the intensity of my feelings and I hope that this is never the case! It is just that in writing to you to express my feelings and hearing in return from you, I feel a fulfillment that I have never truly known before. I realize, my love, that I very much older than you but this in no way diminishes either my ardor or the way your words stir the heat so deep in my loins. I just get so hard (even now, as I put these words to paper) and my hands tremble as my heart races; it is almost scary in the effect that you have on me, my sweet Julie.

I envision us lying together on our soft bed with our arms around each other and gazing deeply into each other's eyes from our position on the pillows. I can smell the sweetness of the scent from your body as you drape your leg over my thigh. As we touch our lips together in a blessed morning kiss (Oh God- the honey sweet taste of your lips!), you hips move slowly along my legs and your silken smooth pussy rubs against me. You moan softly into my mouth as you start to flow in the first dewy cum of the morning and my legs feels the heat from you.

I raise my hands to cradle the sides of your face and continue to rain ever firmer kisses upon your welcoming lips; our tongues slide slickly along the other! I then lower my head to your shoulder and, cradling me in your arm, you bring your nipple to my straining mouth. I reach up and as you tease my lips with your turgid nip, I lunge just enough to capture it in my mouth. As I suck and nibble until your milk starts its flow into my parched throat, I take your other breast in my hand and squeeze it and tease the nipple as your moans are becoming stronger. You have increased the motion of your pussy against my thigh now and are flowing copiously. Your wet, hot pussy is rubbing against the bottom of my soft shaved balls now and, as you reach to highest point of your heaving hips, my rigid cock is stroked by that warm cunt juice!

No longer able to lie still, I lift you up until you are straddling my hips with your wide-spread knees. Your hands are on either side of my head now and I draw you down to bring your lips to mine for long lingering and passionate kisses. As our lips meet, you sway your breasts slowly and the hard nipples rub against my hairless chest (sorry babe – no body hair!) bringing them to an even more excited state! The friction causes even more milk to flow; now in almost a constant stream. I lift you upwards to brings your hanging tits over my mouth and, as I look up into your shining eyes, I take each tip in turn between my teeth and pull hard (not enough to hurt you – I would never do that!) but enough to create a nipple-driven orgasm and your cries of joy mingle with mine around your sweet breast!

I lift you up until you are on your knees and I roll to the side of the bed taking you with me. As I sit on the side of the bed, I lift your body until you wrap your legs around my waist. Then, supporting your delightful ass cheeks with my hands, I lower you until to open petals of your pussy just touch the tip of my hard cock! You are streaming cum from your orgasm and it is flowing downwards to cover my cock. Meanwhile, my own precum is lubing your cunt as I ever so slowly lower you until you fully rest with my cock deep inside you! Your legs wrap themselves tighter around my waist as you struggle to rise on my cock but I hold you firmly impaled! I pull you closer to me until our upper bodies are almost as one; your milk-covered tits are pressed firmly against my chest and our nipples are rubbing together – this causes mine to grow hard as eraser tips! As we once again crush our lips together in heated passion, we rub together to create more and more pressure on our nipples and I feel your cunt tightening around my throbbing cock as the tingling in our nipples flows into our joined sexes. 

As you start to moan that you are almost there, I lift you with my hands and then lower you in a constant plunging motion of my cock inside your pussy. With your strong legs you are pulling yourself deeper and harder against me each time and we both cry out together as our thrashing bodies are joined in mutual orgasms! Your pussy grips me in multiple spasms as I cum again and again shooting up into you! 

Your head falls on my shoulder as you continue to orgasm over and over. I lift you up by standing beside the bed and, turning to lay you on the edge, I lift your legs from around my waist to my shoulders and continue to drive my still hard cock into you until you have cum another three (maybe even four) times! I finally manage a small climax and fill you one more time as you spasm one more time!

I gently lower your legs and turn your body until you are resting on your pillow. As you lay there slowly recovering your breath, I move quickly into the bathroom and return with several warm, wet face clothes and proceed to wipe your body clean and sweet as the flower you are. As I reach your hips, you smile and spread your legs wide so that I can clean you there! Of course, rather than the cloth, I lower my head and, with my tongue, happily lick you completely clean. The taste of you and I together is so wonderful that my cock starts to firm again! Oh Lord! The affect you have on me is incredible, my darling!

Not to be outdone – as my oral ministrations brings you to another series of orgasms - you take my growing cock in your soft hands and draw it down to your mouth. As I continue to run my tongue from your clit to your puckered rear and then plunge it into your cunt, you take my cock deep into your mouth until it touches the back of your throat. You suck me harder and harder and run your tongue the length of my 7" cock until you reach the tip. There you lap at the sensitive cockhead and the pee hole until I moan into your pussy that I am going to cum AGAIN!! You stroke the length of my cock with both your hands while sucking and licking around the glans! The sensations are going to drive me over the edge and I lash and suck hard on your clit as you suck me harder and pull my into your mouth; my cock swells and I drive myself deep into your mouth as I cum until you have sucked me dry. Meanwhile, I have continued to nip on your clit and finger fuck you as deep as I can until your cunt grips my fingers and tongue in a massive orgasm that sends sprays of your sweet cum down my hands and into my mouth!

I turn around and fall upon you in a deep tongue-exchanging kiss while we exchange each other's tastes and juices! As we do, we are both virtually in tears with the extremity of the feelings!

I enfold you in my arms, my darling, and we fall into a dreamless sleep together.



A Love Letter



I want to take it up my fucking ass. I want your hand at the back of my neck, pushing my delicate face cruelly into the mattress. 

You can slowly press the head of your cock against the tight little ring that clenches and resists you even when I do not. It can't help squeezing itself tightly against you. 

But go ahead and push it in. Make me uncomfortable, let me squirm as you impale me with cock that pins me by my ass and keeps me from getting away. 

Skewer me so it hurts; I want to cry for you. I have nothing to give you but my body and my tears and they are all yours. Don't tell me this is not romantic. This is just like Shakespeare:

"I'll follow you and make a heaven out of hell, and I'll die by your hand which I love so well." 

I want you to give me a little jab so it hurts the way I hate for it to. Make me squeal like a filthy little fuckpig doing nasty things on all fours. Make it so I don't feel like I'm on a plush mattress, but like I'm wallowing in mud. 

Smear the tears on my face, make me eat them as you fingerfuck my mouth while jerking into my ass. Just don't tell me this is not romantic. Don't tell me Shakespeare didn't write about this: 

"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs, Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears." 

I know it's twisted, the way I love my face squished against the bed, the way it gets me off to know you've chosen to hold me down and shove your cock up my ass, leaving my bare cunt lonely and clenching on nothing and drooling a string of lust onto the bed sheets. 

How fucked up is it that I'd like you to yank me by the hair afterwards and push my porcelain face into that puddle, smearing it on me, making me lick it up. It's sick. It's fucked up. It's like Shakespeare said: 

"When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew."

I love cum up my ass. I love to look over my shoulder and know you're blowing a load where you should not, where nature has no purpose for it. 

That's why I'd love for you to stuff me with the big plug afterwards, not the one I can squeeze out, but the bigger one. The one I find it hard to take. I want you to not only cum up my ass, I want you to make sure it can't leak out. I want it to stay there. 

I want to be sealed up and know that you fucked my ass, you spewed cum up my ass, and that you're not letting it out. I'd be so embarrassed. 

You shame me so completely and you even make me hate you sometimes. Hate you so much. Love you and hate you, and I think that's romantic as hell. Shakespeare agrees:

"Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares." 

Would you like to push your cock up my ass so we could play games with my dildos? You could lay me on my back, hold me by my leash as you recline and look down at me. You would have an exquisite view of my ass stretched around your cock. 

Maybe we could start small, trying to work a little rubber cock into my cunt. You could see my face, watch my hands, see the way your cock in my ass shrinks my cunt, steals the space. 

Your cock and the dildo would be vying for my body and you'd get squeezed so hotly. You'd see my shame, my horror as I struggled to get that rubber cock into a space you've made too small. 

I want a vibrator in my cunt so my ass hums on you. I want to be a human sex toy, making you shudder and spray cum up my tight ass. You could turn my toy on and my ass would quiver and hum on you so good you wouldn't even need to move before you filled me up with sticky cum. Don't anyone tell me this isn't romantic. 

"Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong." 

And it is wrong. It is so wrong. 

I wanna take it 

up 

my 

fucking 

ass

for

you. 

Just like Shakespeare said: 

"My heart is at your service."



A Love Letter



"Loving, knowing that you are going to get hurt is like living knowing that you are going to die. Not loving, so you don't get hurt is like killing yourself before you die."

*

Dear you,

I sat here for a good, long time, wondering how exactly I could write this to you in order to convey the deep emotions I feel for you, yet, I'm afraid this will not be an accurate portrayal of my feelings, as articulating something as complicated as love into a mass of words stringed together in sentences does no justice to the emotional grasp that you have over me.

I do not long for a fairytale romance as portrayed in movies; my expectations are unclear and skewed, in a manner that allows me to be completely open to your whole being, each and every aspect of you becoming like a new discovery every day, reassures buried within you for me to excavate freely, me becoming an explorer into your deepest emotions, truths, wants, needs, ideals, and everything in between that you hold inside. And I know I will not be surprised and hold back, but instead I will step forward and understand. I will be amazed of the unique differences that lay between us as I begin to study them and accept them as another part of me. .

Let me confess something that has always troubled me ever since I learned the concept of loving the other half. When I feel things, when I involve myself into things, I cannot help but immerse myself into them completely. I know that doing so increases the chances of me possibly hurting for some reason or another, but it's something I have difficulty controlling. I become utterly co-dependent on people and on these indescribable emotions I have deep within me..

When I think of you, regardless of who you may be, sometimes I hurt so much inside because I know that you will be someone who has had a life before me that I wasn't a part of. There will have been people who touched your life, and there will have been people who made it a living hell. There will have been those who you once loved, those who you lost, and those who remain because they are worthy of you. You will have a whole entire history that I will only ever hear about from recollections, and see in photographs. And for me, this will never be enough, because sometimes I will be hit with the yearning to have been there with you for every significant step of the way. I think of the people you have loved, and I will wish that I too, loved them. There will be things that made you cry that I wanted to cry for with you, times when you laughed and I will wish that I had been there, by your side, indulging in your happiness.

Because of this, I may, at times, be overwrought with a sense of helplessness, of loss, where I will find it difficult to see the good in the moment. I know I should not allow the past, your past, at that, to affect me, but I know it will happen. And this is the biggest fear I have of us, even before there was ever an us. I will need your help in overcoming this difficulty.

I need you to know that despite my fear of the future, I will be ready. I will be yours in times of need. I will be prepared to uphold your burdens when you need me to, because, selfishly, I need to know that it will be me you will come to count on. I need to know that I will be the first person to know your fears and your tears. I need to know, very selfishly, that you trust me deep enough to share your good times and even more, your bad times.

I'm fully prepared to expect the hardships and difficulties during our life together; I don't expect perfection. But through it all, we will remain strong, and I will always be there for you, as a comfort, friend, lover, companion, and others that will become a combination of things, as I get to know all of you and hold it inside of me.

There'll be gaining and losing in each and every step we will be making, but all I can offer to do is to be there beside you in good or bad. I promise I will stay by your side to support and have faith in you, even when you don't have faith in yourself. I promise to help you overcome those burdens and never cease to love you endlessly when obstacles fiercely and repeatedly hit you. I promise to reach out my hand to hold yours in darkness and in the times you fall into the deepest well of sadness and depression. I promise to be strong when you're not, to keep believing when you stop to, to keep loving when you hate, to endure any pain when you think it's too unbearable for you, to stand high and steadfastly when you're kneeling down, to listen when you feel the urge to ramble, to remind you when you stop remembering, to cure when you're in pain, to pat your shoulder when you achieve your dreams, and to wipe your tears when you weep and bleed. That's all I can offer to do, and I ask for nothing in return except you and your whole self.

Love me, that's all I ask of you...

Love,

Me. 



A Love Letter



Eileen... Eileen... Eileen...

Saying your name out loud makes my heart beat loudly, faster.

I cannot wait to see you again. Even if you barely know I'm there, while you're caught up in a smile, or a sigh, some task taking your attention, it makes me so happy just to be near. Even if you don't know that it is I who love you...

Could you know this sharp sting of desire, this terrible sweet longing?

I know when I fell in love with you. 

You were working that day, you laughed, head bent over a book; a lock of hair fell forward. My eyes moved longingly over the line my finger would have traced bringing your hair back behind your ear, as you did, without looking up. You passed in front of me, your perfume in the air. I felt short of breath, like I had buried my head in the warm sweet smell of a freshly laundered pillow.

When I blink, even in that millisecond, I still see you there, as you were that day. The flash of your eyes, the smile playing on your lips, everything fades but you. In that moment, heaven is in the whispering echo of your laugh. I want nothing more, only this, only you.

A year has passed since that day, and I have become your friend. I remember how it happened. One day we spoke, I in my wheelchair, you were carrying a large stack of folders. You could barely press the elevator call button, so I did for you. You looked gratefully at me and smiled that dazzling smile, gleaming so bright it hurt my eyes. 

I stammered, "You, you, you're welcome." and looked quickly down. I pretended to smooth my tie down my shirt, hoping you couldn't hear my thoughts as I fought not to look at you. 

"Nice tie." you said, noticing. 

I smiled at you then, as it was a particular favorite of mine, my first "grown-up" tie. I had only owned standard ties before this one. This was my first major indulgence, a $200 striped blue silk number, and it was beautiful. 

"I can carry those for you if you'd like." I said, continuing to smile. I held my hands out, gesturing at the load of folders. 

"C'mon! It's one of the benefits of this chair! Nothing seems too heavy." I smiled again, encouragingly. 

"Ok," you said, "If they're not too much trouble. The 5th floor is a long ride down and my arms are already sore." 

"No problem, see?" as I took the files and placed them easily in my lap and straightened them, grateful that they could cover the all too evident show of desire I had for you. 

The elevator dinged, and I rolled in, your hand on my shoulder, as if to help me. You hit the button for the 5th floor, and looked at me quizzically. I nodded, and smiled again. We rode those wonderful too short seconds, or were they minutes, down in silence. I couldn't feel the folders in my lap, nor the chill of the elevator air-conditioning, nothing but the heat of your hand resting on my shoulder and the electricity it sent to the pit of my stomach, to everywhere. 

The doors opened on the 5th floor, and you stepped out to the side, unconsciously holding the doors open for me so I could roll out. It was amazing that nothing seemed awkward, that my disability seemed not to matter, like it was the most normal of motions. I usually had to ask people to do that for me, but you had needed no words. 

I started to unload the files onto the reception desk and you reached down to help me. As you did, your fingers brushed me, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Oh god, the heat and the desire, swallowed me. I was horrified to realiize that my body readied itself and there was no hiding it. 

I looked up to say a hurried goodbye, when you leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks," you said, as you straightened, "gallantry is alive and well and lives in New York City." 

"You're very welcome," trying desperately to sound calm, "It truly was my pleasure." I said sincerely. 

As I started to wheel around and go back to the elevator, my eyes caught yours as you looked over your shoulder and smiled slowly at me. 

It was that day I started to pray, to hope that perhaps a life, that I dared not want before, was possible for me, a broken man, but someone whole with love for you. 

I dream of you. I aspire to be a part of your life. I know I am part of it now, but not enough, never enough. All this time I have held myself back from telling you how I felt, afraid I would see only friendship in your eyes. But I've seen you with men you've loved, and thought my chance had passed me by, then I'd held you in my arms when they broke your heart, angry with them for wasting a chance with you, aching with you as your tears fell onto me, and I knew that I would never hurt you. I know I can be the man for you, the husband, the lover, the protector, and the friend you need and want.

My body burns with fever for you and yet my forehead is cool. I am out of breath, confident, but unsure; full of love, accepting, yet hesitant; joyful, eager, yet afraid, all these things I am, and only one thing I am not. I am not complete, until I hold you in my arms and whisper into your ear that I love you, and only you. 

When, my darling, when?



A Love Letter for Jean Martel



Jean had short blonde hair and coke-bottle glasses, back before those glasses were cool. Jean's favourite movie was Labyrinth, or at least that's what she always said – she might have been joking. Jean wanted to be a musician, but could never decide what instrument she wanted to play. Jean wore boxer shorts. Jean's best friend was a starving artist named Angela, who I actually met only twice. Jean kept a small stack of black metal records under her bed, which she only played after breakups. Jean had had seven boyfriends and two one-night stands before we started dating, which she recounted to me like she was describing what she had for breakfast this morning. Jean still had an old NES she played all the time. Jean liked to be the one on top. Jean's parents were divorced, and her mother lived in France. Jean's shower was barren except for a large block of soap and an usually empty shampoo bottle. Jean was frequently mistaken for a lesbian, something we both joked about. Jean would re-arrange price tags at stores when no one else was looking. Jean had this lovely peach-fuzz around her slit, which would massage my face while I went down on her. Jean watched Jeopardy every day she could and yelled the answers at the TV. Jean was a straight-A college dropout.

You see my dilemma? I want to capture all of Jean Martel, but how do you fit a person into a block of text without slicing them to pieces? I can list everything I know about her, but all this gets me is a list of symptoms with no sign of the disease. I could try to describe her personality, but I don't know how to describe a personality without turning it into a cliché. If I described her as smart, spunky, cynical, with an inscrutable sense of humour, wouldn't she just become your favourite smart, spunky, cynical and inscrutable TV character?

I'll try and give Jean to you the same way she was given to me: through life, through experience. I doubt text can truly take you into someone else's mind, no matter what my English teacher said, but it's the best I can do.

--

When Jean and I met we were both working dead-end jobs at a furniture store. She was in retail, I was in shipping. We got off at the same time and took the same subway home, and eventually we got to talking.

"God, I wish I worked weekend shifts," Jean said as the train rattled through the dark and grimy tunnel. "Maybe there would be less old people around then. As it is, I feel like I'm in a zombie movie."

"Had anyone die in the store yet?" I said.

Jean grinned. "No, but I wouldn't be too surprised. We ought to start keeping defibrillators under the cash."

"Keep an adult diaper dispenser in the change room."

"Put large-print tags on all the clothes." When we got going like this, riffing on each other's jokes, nothing could stop us. But we were both too tired today. Jean leaned back, trying to rest her head on something, but there was only the shuddering window behind her. When her blonde hair touched it her neck snapped forward, reflexively taking her away from the shaking glass. She kept talking as though nothing had happened. "It's pretty sad when you think about it, eh? All these people work for forty years, and then when they retire they have nothing to do but go to the goddamn mall every day. I mean, shit, is that what we're working for?"

"If I didn't have to work," I said. "I certainly wouldn't go to the mall instead. To me shopping's always been another kind of work."

"So what would you do, Dave?" Jean said.

"I'd go bowling."

Jean laughed. It's rare to get a genuine laugh out of her, wrapped up as she is in her invincible armour of irony. "Bowling? They'd, like, break their wrists."

"Bullshit," I said. "Anyone can go bowling. Plus, bowling is the best sport because it's impossible to really give a shit who wins."

"You sound like you're a fan."

"You can call me Mr. 300."

"Surely you don't weigh quite that much." That one got a laugh out of me.

A minute of chugging through the subway tunnel passed before Jean spoke again. "You want to go bowling tomorrow night? Show off your skills?"

I was taken aback. "Um, sure. I think I'm free."

The subway pulled up to her stop. "Awesome. I hope you still think that it doesn't matter who wins when you get your butt whooped." And with that she darted out of the subway car, leaving me in a daze. Jean tended to have that effect on me.

It wasn't until that night that I wondered whether she had asked me out. But that wasn't possible. We were just going bowling, right?

--

Patrick's Books & Magazines was a tiny storefront that squeezed in between a drug mart and a dollar store on Dundas Street. Nobody knew who Patrick was, or even whether it was a first or a last name. Jean and I came in after I had soundly defeated her at bowling, her hand fleshy and warm in mine. I was beginning to think that this was a date, and absentmindedly noticing old callouses on her palm.

The bookstore was not fancy. Pulpy paperbacks were stacked in a loose approximation of alphabetical order, with genre written on pieces of duct-tape stuck to the shelves. Some of them were going yellow. Behind the counter – okay, really a table with a cash register on it – a middle-aged woman briefly made eye contact and then returned to her tabloid.

"What are we doing in here?" I said quietly.

"Just check it out," Jean said. "Isn't this the greatest place?"

"I don't understand." It was a pretty cruddy little shop.

Jean shrugged and lead me deeper into the store. At the back we brushed by a teenager and found a rack of porno mags. A small army of scantily-clad woman stared out at me trying their best to look desirous.

"It's so sketchy it's great," she said. "But you can actually get good books here too." Jean turned to the nearest shelf and hunted around in it before pulling out a dusty volume. "See, look at this. Death on the Instalment Plan, by Celine. One of the best authors of the twentieth century, though no one's heard of him, and he's sitting across from Jugs Magazine. Isn't that like the greatest thing you've ever seen?"

"I guess so," I said. Jean was always more attracted than me to dualities, high and low jammed together and violently mating. Maybe that was why she liked me – half man and half child, half determined and half cowardly.

Jean dropped the Celine book into my hands. "Here, I'm getting this for you. You need to read it."

"I can pay--"

"You most certainly cannot," she said. "This is a gift." She thought for a moment and than plucked a porno magazine off the shelf as well. It was the April issue of a classy publication called Ass Lovers' Monthly. "You have to get some smut as well. It's the Patrick's Books experience."

I mutely followed Jean, caught up in her unstoppable whirlwind. She paid for the book and the magazine and handed the bag to me. The clerk didn't look up. Jean had the broadest grin on her face as we left the sketchy store. It was the joy of spreading your idiosyncratic happiness.

To this day I haven't finished Death on the Instalment Plan. I don't read a lot, and it's just too cynical for me. The April issue of Ass Lovers' Monthly is still in its plastic wrap underneath my bed. I'm not much of an ass man.

Jean looked at the cover of that magazine a month later, in between bouts of fucking. "You know what I love about this? The punctuation in the title. It's not Ass Lover's, like it's appealing to a singular ass lover. It's the plural form. It's like by buying this magazine you're inducted into a society of ass lovers who promote ass loving everywhere. There's a community."

"I think you're reading too much into it," I said.

Jean crawled back onto the bed and squatted. "So why is it still unopened? You're a man, you guys love porn."

"That is sexist stereotyping," I said playfully. "And for your information, I've only jacked off thinking of you for the past month."

"Aww, that's so sweet," she said. I had no idea whether she was being sincere or not. She crawled towards me with that coy glimmer in her eyes. I loved that look. "Can I see it?"

"What, the porn? Go right ahead."

"No. You masturbating." Jean had that coy smile, with her lower lip sticking out begging, that made me a slave to her every desire. So of course I did this.

I sat up and stared at her, caressing my balls almost absentmindedly. Just the sight of Jean sitting on the edge of my bed, naked as the day she was born with that adventurous look in her eyes, was enough to awaken my previously spent cock. My other hand roamed my chest, touching nipples, shoulders stomach -- I knew that once I started on my cock every other sensation would be blotted out.

Without any coaxing, my rod straightened and rose like a charmed snake. I stared at Jean, at her raw pink nipples, at the mole under her left breast, at her skinny and pale body. I wrapped a fist around my cock and started pumping. It was slick with the juices from our earlier lovemaking, and my hand glided easily up and down the shaft. Jean stared, transfixed.

She slung a leg over the edge of the bed and lay before me spread-eagle, like a Playboy centrefold. Her lightly thatched pussy was visibly moist. She wrapped one hand around one of her small but pert breasts and massaged it, her thumb tracing her already hard nipples. I stroked faster.

Soon Jean was splayed before me, one hand shamelessly plunging in and out her cunt, the other rubbing furiously at her clit. I was pumping away at my cock, my hand giving pleasure like it never had before, pleasure that outbroke on my face and in my posture.

We never took our eyes off each other's bodies as they heaved and sweat and humped our hands. We were an erotic circuit, always taking the pleasure we were shown, intensifying it, and returning it to the other. Our gasps and heavy exhalations became synchronized, as we moved in concert, forming an escalating symphony of groans. I could barely see straight.

"Oh god... coming..." I grunted.

"Me... too..."

I shuddered and orgasmed. The first rope of my cum landed on Jean's thigh, the rest dribbled onto my bedsheets. She shuddered right behind me, letting out a mighty scream and then going limp. She almost fell off the bed, but managed to catch herself in time.

We were red-faced, frantically gasping for air. Jean grinned at me, or maybe I grinned first. "You look like you've got that down to a science."

"It's really more of an art," I said. "You don't look like a novice yourself."

"Every day since I was fourteen," she said. We embraced spontaneously, despite our shaking and stickiness.

But I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah, the shady bookshop. After that we stopped at a bar and had a couple of drinks. We talked a lot, about seemingly everything in the universe. In what seemed like half an hour at most it had gone from early evening to midnight, so we decided to call it quits.

The subway ride home was silent. We were both thinking, I guess. Eventually we got to her stop again. She pulled herself up by the handrail, a little wobbly. "Well, thanks for tonight, Dave. I had a lot of fun hanging out with you."

"Thanks. We should do it again sometime." There was a pause in the air. Those mundane statements of goodbye weren't the right way to end this. She turned to go.

If I have one thing to teach you, it's this: there are moments in your life when you can either kiss someone or not, and if you don't that moment will never come again, and if you do you can never take it back. On my long nights of self-doubt where I list all my faults and failings, there is one golden decision I can cling to: on that night as Jean Martel turned to step off the subway train, I stood up and kissed her.

She tasted like strawberry ice cream. She didn't seem surprised or anything, she just wrapped her arms around me and held me tight. The doors slid up behind her and the train moved on, leaving her stop behind, continuing on our way.

--

When I woke up the first thing I was aware of was a pain in my neck. Then came the headache. Nausea finished a respectable third. I stumbled off my too-small couch and barely reached the washroom in time to vomit into the toilet. The world, and my thoughts, were still blurry and aggravating. I gargled some water to get the taste out of my mouth. I was dimly aware that the floor was wet.

My apartment, charitably called a one-bedroom, was entirely too cramped, but that was the price I paid for not having to put up with a room-mate. The kitchen, bedroom, and living room all kind of spilled out into one another. So I figured out pretty quickly that Jean was collapsed on my bed, topless. Come to think of it, I wasn't wearing a shirt either. I guessed we drunk more than I thought last night.

I tip-toed to Jean's side, and heard her lightly snoring. It was kind of adorable. In sleep, her face looked childlike, almost angelic, the blonde bang that crossed it forming a halo. I stood there for just a moment, watching her.

A moment became a minute, and a minute ten, and when Jean eventually awoke (however long that took) we were staring at each other. There's nothing quite like watching the dreamy film around someone's eyes disperse and seeing them slowly regain sharp intelligence.

Jean rolled over and waved at me. "Hey there Dave. What's up?"

"You're in my bed," I said.

"So I am." Jean pointed at my shirtless torso. "I can see your nipples."

"About that... did we, uh..."

"I don't think so," she said. "We fuck, and then I pass out with my bra and pants on? This isn't a PG-13 movie."

I nodded, and moving my head felt like an earthquake. "Shit, I'm hung over. I'm gonna make some coffee. You want some."

Jean sat up. "Nah, I'm good. Don't really get hung over. I feel peachy keen right now."

I stared at her. "You lucky bitch."

She shrugged. "Yeah, but Angela says one day it'll all catch up to me, so don't get too jealous."

I was barely lucid enough to work my coffee machine, and gulped down the bitter sludge it spat out. Jean lightly sipped at her mug. "I think it's starting to come back to me," she said. "We went back here, and then we started making out, but then you broke away suddenly and puked on both of our shirts. By the time I had gotten them off you were asleep on the couch."

"Jesus," I muttered. "Sorry you had to see that."

"No, I should be thanking you," said Jean. "If you hadn't passed out you would have been witness to me puking for about three hours straight. Incidentally, I think your toilet's clogged."

I laughed, but she wasn't joking. It would at least explain the thin layer of water that covered the bathroom floor. "Not either of our proudest moments, I suppose."

Jean shrugged, but there was something in her eyes and that surrendering motion of her shoulders that signalled fear. "Well, I had a pretty good time last night, but I guess if you..."

I stepped forward, close to her, until our bare torsos were almost touching. "I had a great time. Vomit and all."

She wrapped her hands around my head and shoved my lips onto hers. We kissed hungrily, our lips constantly in motion, and I licked the taste of that bitter coffee off her to get to the sweetness underneath. Her bra fell off and was momentarily pinned between our bodies. I'm not sure who unhooked it.

With more strength than I can usually muster I hoisted up Jean onto my kitchen table and latched onto one of her breasts. She let out a long, sharp breath as my tongue lapped around her hard nipple, my hands yanking insistently at her jeans.

"Lie back," I hissed into her ear. "I'm having you for breakfast."

"Is that supposed to be dirty talk?" Jean said with a cavalier look in her eyes.

"Quit complaining and get your pants off."

She complied, leaning back and letting me peel off her jeans. Her legs were well-shaped, thick where they were supposed to be thick – a little muscular, in fact. I grabbed the hem of her boxers with my teeth and tugged down, which sounds great but in reality I just ended up tearing her underwear.

"Hey, I was using tho-- ooooooh."

Like a starving dog I dug into Jean's pussy. I rubbed my face against her mons and lapped at her clit. She was moist. Her legs were spread wide to let me do my work. With one finger I slowly circled her slit, rubbing at the edge, teasing her while I lightly flicked at her clit with my tongue.

I quit teasing and slid one finger into Jean's wanting cunt. I sawed my hand in and out as I sucked at her clit, and was rewarded with a long, low moan. But I was insatiable. I licked harder and harder, like I was in the desert and she the last source of water. I finger-fucked her harder, my palm slamming into her ass. Jean responded rhythmically. Her groans and grunts started out low and travelled up the scale, as her golden pussy flexed against me more and more.

Finally, she let out one long cry, and with a fistful of my hair mashed my face into her cunt. After she came she lay on that kitchen table, pants and torn boxer shorts down around her ankles, positively glowing. I looked on with the smile that comes with a job well done. Oh, and with an enormous hard-on.

Jean sat up, rubbing her back. "That was fun," she giggled.

"We're just getting started."

We began kissing again, without the desperate speed of earlier, taking a bit more time to fully explore the insides of the others' mouth. Then Jean suddenly stiffened and hopped down off the table. She almost tripped on her scrunched-up pants, but managed to catch herself.

"Shit," she said. "I have to be at work twenty minutes ago."

It was true, I realized. She had an early shift today. Disappointment was the first emotion to break out in my mind, followed by a distant guilt.

Jean hastily pulled up her pants, discarding her ruined underwear. "Looks like I'm going commando today. Dave, can I borrow one of your shirts? Mine still has puke on it."

"Uh, sure thing."

Even in an old plaid shirt that was way too big for her Jean looked amazing. "Really sorry to leave you hanging like that, but you know..."

"It's okay," I said. "My fault. I distracted you."

"You can distract me anytime. Seriously, I'll make this up to you later." She blew me a kiss and was out the door, as always a whirling dervish.

After she left I jacked off to the memory of her pussy. Even by myself I reached a knee-shaking orgasm.

--

It was pouring rain on the day Jean Martel lost her virginity. (Or so she tells me; this is all hearsay but at least it's true for one person.) Her younger brother's friend Lyle had come over to play video games. The only issue was that Jean's brother wasn't actually there. He was, it turned out later, stuck behind a traffic accident.

So Jean was shanghaied into keeping him company and making sure he didn't break anything. To her surprise Lyle was actually, and I quote, "an interesting guy". Somehow they ended up in her room and she reached into his pants and things spiralled out from there.

At that time Jean was eighteen, in her first year at McGill, where she would go through four majors in eighteen months before dropping out. Her brother and Lyle were in tenth grade. She had fooled around with some guys before, but never gone all the way. But as soon as she touched his dick Lyle was a pornographic robot, wordlessly pulling her pants down, constantly pushing forward until he was thrusting through her hymen. Three short strokes later and he came, pulling out to shoot on her tits.

It was painful and disillusioning. The two of them never really talked again, her brother never found out, and she swore off men, dedicating herself to the one-woman cult of masturbation. Obviously (she told me this postcoitally) it didn't stick, but she still remembered every detail.

Like I said, I don't know if this is the truth. Maybe Lyle (if that's even his name) rocked her world and she just didn't want to threaten my self-esteem. Like I would feel envious of a fifteen-year-old kid anyway.




A Love Letter for Jean Martel



Okay, I'll admit it. I'm a little jealous. Not proud of it.

--

The furniture store. Two PM on a Tuesday. Half a week since I had tasted Jean's pussy.

Jean bounded up to me with a bright grin on her face. "You've got to see this, Dave. We've got a busker outside."

"A what?"

"You know, like a street performer?"

"Oh. I think that's a first." We were nestled away in a dull residential area that rarely saw a lot of foot traffic. But summer was winding down, and the school year was approaching, so the place was packed with kids going off to college. I guess if you were going to busk here it this would be this time of year.

We drifted through the crowds and reached the front of the store, where we could see and hear a silver-haired man strumming out the old standards on an acoustic guitar. Judging from the money haphazardly dropped in his case, he wasn't doing too badly. I don't think the guy was a hobo – or if he was, he pulled it off with a remarkable amount of dignity.

Jean put an arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. I was startled at the public contact. "I still owe you from last weekend," she said.

"You'd better be careful," I said, teasing her. "I charge interest."

"Well, I guess I'd better pay it back right away, then."

"How about Thursday night?"

"How about right now?"

Once again I was startled. "You serious? We're kind of busy..."

"Fuck the customers. I don't get horny that often." (This was a lie.) "So you'd better take advantage when that happens."

What can I say? I followed her into the employee bathroom, feeling my cock begin to stiffen in my pants.

Jean shut the door and pulled open my fly. She moved quickly, unbuttoning my jeans and dropping them around my ankles. She reached up and rubbed her hand along my boxer shorts, rubbing the fabric across my cock and teasing my balls. She was grinning ear to ear. I don't think I'd ever seen a girl look this excited about giving head.

She tugged my shorts down and my cock flopped out, almost hitting her in the face. Jean took this all in stride. On her knees she rubbed my prick up and down, pumping her soft fist around the shaft. I groaned, and groaned some more when she leaned forward to take my balls into her mouth. Jean sucked one then the other, releasing each from the warm bath of her mouth with a satisfying smack of her lips. And then it was time for the main course.

Jean rose a little on her knees and began licking the head of my cock – short, darting, almost teasing touches of her pale pink tongue. She kissed it up and down, leaving warm fingerprints, and then she enveloped it whole. I gasped out. She slurped and bobbed and sucked and blew and all those wonderful things that girls do. When she broke off for a breath of air, she kept pumping my now-slick cock rapidly, and gave me that wide-eyed grin again. Looking at her smile I began to feel that lurch of the heart, that feels a bit like a subway train as it starts moving, that so-long-sought-after feeling. It was probably just erotic delirium, but I started falling in love.

She returned to her enthusiastic sucking and it wasn't long before I was groaning and yelping out a warning. That didn't deter her. She pressed her lips down as far as she could go and I just started shooting, sending spurt after spurt of cum down her throat. Finally I staggered away, weak-kneed, and had to lean against a sink to stop from falling down.

"Whew," was all I could say.

"You're welcome," Jean said as she got up. She paced around for a second, shaking out her knees. "But I'd really probably get back to work."

"You've got a bit of jizz on your cheek," I said.

She wiped it off with a paper towel and smiled at me. "That's what I need a man for: to tell me when I've got cum on my lips. You know Dave, I think this might just work out."

--

Here are some things of Jean's that I still have: two Tori Amos CDs, which she refused to take back until I started liking them. A calendar for college night classes, plans for a future that never happened. One of her bras, which still smells of our collective scent. A picture of the two of us on some bridge, posed like she's trying to throw me over. A half-empty bottle of toothpaste.

If it weren't for those things there would be no evidence that she ever existed, that we ever met, and that seems wrong. Maybe I'll return them to her some day. I still believe, probably wrongly, that she'll come back for them.

--

For our second date we went to a concert. I don't even remember the band, but one of Jean's friends – Angela's boyfriend then -- was opening for them, so we went. It was weird electronic music. I didn't really know what to do – you couldn't dance to it, and moshing to it seemed like a joke. So the crowd just stood there, mostly, and clapped after the end of every song. It was bizarre.

"Do you really like this?" I asked Jean after her friend had left the stage.

"Not really, but I wanted to support him. I respect people who care about something most people don't."

"You've supported him now," I said. "You want to get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

The show was at a small venue down on the docks. The buses didn't come out this far at night, so we had to walk for a while through the encroaching chill of a fall night.

"You know it's funny," Jean said. "Every year I hope a little that summer's never going to end. And from June it seems so eternal, you know? Like a new era to save us from the evil of the previous regime. And then in fall I always feel a little betrayed."

"I feel sort of the same way, except about winter," I said. "It feels like it's the new state of the world. By the way, you may be the first person I know to say an interesting thing about the weather."

"Thanks, but I think I was more talking about myself."

We talked for a long time on that night,walking on the city's concrete veins that slowly flowed into its heart. We didn't hold hands, didn't even touch each other. It would have been a distraction. I can't remember much of what we talked about. I only remember the above bit because I think of it every autumn. But I do remember the feeling of that conversation, that childish wonder of discovery, of finding ever new facets to life. By the time we got to her apartment I was convinced that Jean Martel was the most brilliant human being on the planet. That train I felt lurch forward in the employee's bathroom was now racing forward.

"So I guess this is your stop," I said.

"You can come up," Jean said. "The night is still young. We can watch a movie or something."

I was interested to see her apartment, and to think about how it reflected her. Mine seemed a perfect metaphor for myself. It was plain, barely decorated at all, functional but small. I was a small, plain man – that was how I thought of myself at least. I never did figure out what Jean saw in me. Maybe that was the root of the problems.

But this was long before, when everything bad was safely underground.

I didn't get much of a chance to see her place, though, before she pounced on me. Her mouth devoured mine as we both toppled to the nearest couch. It wasn't quite big enough, and our legs hung off the end, but we didn't care. Our hands were like lightning, racing over each others' bodies, immediately making up for the intimacy we had forgone on the street.

Jean covered my face in licks and kisses. She was on top of me, grinding, and I was hard and she was wet and we could feel both through our pants.

"I want you," she whispered, her breath hot against my ear.

She pulled her top over her head and unclasped her bra, exposing her small, soft, dimpled, lovely breasts. My shaky hands were unbuttoning my shirt as fast as I could. But we couldn't get all our clothes off before we were once again overcome by the urge to kiss rabidly, to press our bodies against each other, rubbing skin against skin, smothering each other with our warmth.

Jean reared back, tossing her short straw-yellow hair back, and tugged down my jeans. She lost hers somewhere along the way too. We kept our socks on – in the hurry we were in, why care about socks? And then she was covering me again, kissing and rubbing and caressing, and my cock slid along her soft golden pussy hair, bathing in her nectar, until she impaled herself upon it.

Her cunt was warm and wet and tight, and its embrace felt loving. Jean breathed a deep sigh. And then she began to work, pumping her ass up and down rapidly, fucking me like she had been waiting all her life for it. My hands were still wildfire, wandering across her torso and her breasts, flicking her stiff nipples.

Jean slammed her pelvis down on mine, and I thrust back, striving for more of that addictive warm grip. We were fucking, we were making love, we were rutting madly, all at the same time. It was fast, and hard, and as we felt our pleasure growing out of control we lost control of our tongues as well, letting out gasps and fucks and oh gods.

She came first, grinding herself against me, her face clenched in an expression of bliss. That was all it took for me to orgasm too, every muscle in my body tensing as I poured my seed into her.

It was a while before we could speak. The two of us lay on her couch, sweaty, panting, amazed. She held my soft dick inside her.

"Wow," I said.

"Uh huh."

"I guess we didn't get around to that movie."

She laughed. "I think we found something better to do. By the way, don't worry, I'm on the pill." What would my life be like now if she hadn't been?

"I hadn't even thought about it."

We didn't move from that couch for a while.

--

What is there left to tell? I feel like what I've written until now is only the beginning of the story of me and Jean, but what's the rest? Happy months of dating, witty banter, and great sex? Nobody wants to read about that, at least not the first part, and even the second two would get dull after a while. And later, when things went wrong... I don't want to write about that. I don't want to remember Jean in that way.

So I'll give you a few more memories. These aren't the most important memories, or the most representative, but they're the ones I want to tell.

The first one is from the dead of winter, one of those strangely endless Februaries. I woke up in the middle of the night, needing to piss like a racehorse. Jean was staying the night at my place, but she wasn't in bed when I woke.

After I went to the bathroom I flipped a light on, looking for my girlfriend. She was standing at a window, in her underwear, staring out at the falling snow. It had been lightly gliding down to the streets when we left, but now it was coming down harder. All those kids' prayers for a snow day might be paying off, I thought.

I approached Jean, and it was in her reflected expression that I noticed an unfamiliar sadness, a kind of defeat. I walked up and put my arms around her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she said. I gave her a look that let her know I wasn't buying it. "It's just... I'm exhausted and I can't sleep."

"So tired after a day off?"

Jean sighed. "It's just... I feel like everywhere I go I'm pretending to be somebody. Somebody smarter, sexier, more dedicated than I really am. And I can't let the mask slip because I don't know whether anyone would like the real me. I'm a con artist, Dave."

"You don't have to pretend around me," I said. "I love you."

"You don't love me," she said. "You're just the biggest mark."

"Listen here," I said. "You think I'm a rube? I've known you for months now... hell, almost a year. And I think I have the authority to say that I love you, and don't you dare try to take that away from me."

Jean sighed. "You're in love with a phony."

"You aren't a phony. You're the most real person I know."

She turned around and offered me a weak smile. "Let's go back to bed."

At the time I thought I reacted well. I'm not sure now. Maybe all I loved about Jean – her unique style, her quirks, her enthusiasm in life and in bed – maybe it was all her way of striving for attention, of playing a manic pixie dream girl like in the movies. Who can keep that up all the time?

--

The second memory is from towards the end.

"Hey Dave!" Jean shouted. "Guess what the U-Haul fairy brought me?"

We had been sitting in her apartment just hanging out when a mysterious delivery had arrived for Jean. "If I guess right, do I win a new car?" I said.

"Sadly, no." Jean walked into the room carrying a big crate of books. "My great-aunt Marie back in Quebec passed away, and I guess she remembered that I was an English major for a semester, so she left me all her books. Come and help me take these things in."

After moving a couple of heavy crates, we now had a tall stack of milk cartons filled with yellowing classics (which showed no sign of ever being read) and a ton of romance novels. "What are we going to do with all this?" I said.

Jean was going through the bodice-rippers and giggling. "Oh man, some of these are FRENCH romance novels. This one is about a strong-willed but vulnerable country girl who falls in love with a sexy but dangerous FLQ terrorist. Thrill to it!"

I laughed. "It's kind of amazing that there are so many of these. They're all essentially the same book."

"But the prose!" Jean said. She had that manic smile on her face, the one I loved. She picked up one of the English-language ones. "Just listen to this... 'He poured chocolate sauce over her breasts and slowly, sensuously licked it off. 'It's sweet,' he said. 'But not as sweet as you.'"

"God, she's a woman, not a desert," I said. "What are these, cannibal romances?"

"Cannibal Romance would be a great band name."

"I'll add it to the list."

"And there's more... 'Finally, he slid between her legs and put his sex in her sex. She cried out as he ravaged her, slowly and lovingly. When she came' – sorry, 'when she reached the point of no return white sparks exploded in front of her eyes.'"

We both spent a long time giggling after that. Jean dropped the book into the box and came up to put her arms around me. It was weird, feeling our laughing chests bump up against each other, like they were at war.

"David," she said with a fake 50s-movie-accent. "I want you to ravage me."

"You want me to put my sex in your sex?"

"Until white sparks explode in front of my eyes."

"Well if that happens I might have to take you to a doctor."

She pressed herself against my knee and I realized that she was serious about the fucking part. I started to back her towards the bedroom while kissing her.

"No, you're supposed to carry me," she said. "That's how all the studs do it."

"Really?"

"Don't you know it's what every girl dreams of? To be carried to the bedroom and ravaged by a handsome douchebag?"

"Well okay." I strained myself and scooped Jean up in my arms. "You're a lot heavier than the romance novel heroines."

"I think you're just a pipsqueak."

I carried her down the hall and gently placed her on the bed, that single bed that we could both fit in if we squeezed tight enough. I pulled my shirt over my head and got on top of her. We kissed each other softly, lovingly, unironically. I laid a wet kiss on her chin and on her throat. She leaned forward and licked my ear, leaving a warm, wet trail down my face.

I worked my way down to her collarbone before her shirt got in the way. She pulled it over her head, and unclasped her bra, opening up to me a sea of that clammy white skin I loved. I left a trail of butterfly kisses down to her nipples, which I lavished attention on. She groaned as I took the hard pink nubs, like erasers at the end of grade-school pencils, into my mouth, one after the other. I licked the pale valley in between them, making it shine with my saliva.

I travelled further down Jean's body. My legs were now dangling off the end of her too-small bed, but I barely even noticed. I gave a kiss to her belly-button, an outie, and to the fleshy loveliness of her hips. Her jeans vanish, like a magic trick. And then I cut across her thigh and reach my destination, that honey-coloured triangle of hair that marks her sexual core.

Jean groaned and reached down to hold my hair, caressing my scalp while making sure I wouldn't leave her unfulfilled. I kissed and sucked and licked, writing my name across her clitoris, slowly finger-fucking her as my tongue lapped her labia. My activities down there were a haze. All I could think about was her rich, bountiful scent (how could anyone find this repulsive?) and her symphony of moans.

This was normally around the time I would speed up, bring her to a crashing climax, but not today. Today I pulled back, slowed down, drawing her away from the end. More soft nibbles, more gentle caresses of her thighs. I brought Jean to the edge again and then pulled back. I did it again, relishing my control, my mastery of this beautiful instrument I have before me. There was now a frustrated element to her groans. Release dangled before her, but when she tried to reach for it, it was so far away.

Jean forcibly shoved my face into her muff, and I picked up the tempo, my fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, my tongue flicking and sucking her engorged clit, until she came. Her climax was almost a monstrous thing, a loud yelp, a spasming off the body, a waterfall of of sticky fluids.

I stood up, taking off my jeans to release my hard cock. Jean was lying on the bed, panting, her face red. "Don't just stand there," she said, trying to mimic mockery through an uncontrollable grin. "Fuck me already."

I got on top of her again, pressing flesh against flesh, feeling as if our bodies were about to melt together. My cock slid up and down her damp pussy, gathering moisture before I reached down to position myself. I sunk inside Jean with one stroke. She wrapped her legs around me. This was a girl who wanted to make sure you weren't going anywhere.

I pumped Jean slowly, grinding against her, kissing more than I thrust. We weren't in a hurry, and this wasn't about orgasms. We stayed there, slowly loving each other, touching every part of each others bodies, all centred around that connection, that shared part of us that wasn't entirely mine and wasn't entirely hers.

We both came together, after what seemed like eternity. She let out a soft whimper, and I gritted my teeth as I shot my seed inside of her. It was getting dark now, and we had places to be half an hour ago, but we didn't move. We just lay there, my cock shrinking in her pussy. I wanted to stay there forever.

It's weird how there can be these moments of perfection even when you're headed irrevocably for catastrophe. There were cracks beneath the surface, and by that time they were starting to become visible, but we thought days like this would pull us through. But in the end – no, I said I wouldn't talk about that.

--

One last memory, against my will:

Years later, her with long hair and in business casual, with slim fashionable glasses and an engagement ring on her finger.

"You look like a normal girl now," I said despairingly.

"Oh, Dave," Jean said. "I was always just a normal girl."

I wanted to scream.

--

I started writing this because I wanted to capture Jean Martel in writing. I wanted to trap my experience with her, like a bug pressed between an entomologist's pages, so that other people could see why I loved her. But in the end I've just created pornography. He eats her out, she sucks him off, and then they fuck – is there any older storyline? Any that needs less retelling? There's even a money shot or two.

But the Jean I loved might have always been a fiction. We fall in love with who we think people are, but that's always just a character we create, "based on a true story". Or maybe that's just me. I should leave everyone else out of it.




A Love Letter for Jean Martel



So what I give to you here is the Jean Martel I loved. Scratch that. The Jean Martel I still love. Maybe not the one that really existed, but a better one, one that never had problems and that never fought with me. This Jean and I, the story-Jean and the story-me, are still together. And in my mind Jean is still young and short-haired and bounding up to me with that big manic grin and some new oddity to share.



A Love Letter for You



My Love,

It's a weekend afternoon. We've spent the morning catching up on some chores together. I'm getting ready to go out and mow the lawn and I see you in the kitchen. You're bent over the counter working on something, and you're wearing jeans. I can't help myself, I have to go to you and run my hands over that gorgeous ass of yours.

Now I can see you are on the phone. You shoot me a mildly annoyed look and try to shoo me away, but both my hands are free. You are unsuccessful. It's not like we haven't been here before, so I resume my fun. I start running my hands up and down your inner thighs now. You try to stop me by clamping your legs shut. This just traps one of my hands right at the top. I wiggle the fingers of my left hand and you shift your weight. I can hear your breathing slightly quicken.

I can feel moisture as you begin to cream. With my free hand I go back to rubbing your ass. I love gently squeezing your cheeks where they meet the top of your thighs. You love it too -- you start to push back against me. I take my right foot and push your feet further apart. In a rapid motion I squeeze with my left hand and push it hard against you through your jeans. You start to move your hips slowly in a figure eight. My manhood strains against my clothing. I need you now. 

You soon get off the phone and I discover why you are annoyed. You were talking to my mother! You pretend that you are upset with me and turn away. You pick up a laundry basket and start to walk down the hall.

I am angry that you think you can dismiss me so easily. Especially when I can smell how badly you want me even through your jeans. As you walk down the hallway I grab your arm. You start to turn and I use my hips to push you against the wall face first. You are really pissed now and start to fight me. I use my weight to hold you against the wall. It crosses my mind that as adventurous as we are in bed, we've never had some really angry sex. I find this thought tantalizing.

I lean forward and start kissing the back of your neck. You continue to struggle, albeit with less resolve. I reach down between your thighs and rub with slow powerful strokes. Your resistance fades. You cry out with desire. I lift up your shirt and let you off the wall briefly to lift the shirt over your head. You try to turn again and I hold you back against the wall. I pin your arms over your head. You continue to struggle. I reach down in the laundry basket next to us and grab a kitchen towel. I use this to bind your wrists together over your head.

Now that I can hold your upper body in place with just one hand, I am free to touch you all over with the other. I start biting your neck and sucking your ear. You give in to the heat, pushing your hips back against my hand as I rub you. I reach around your waist and slip my left hand into your panties. You gasp as I tease around your pussy.

I turn you around and lower your arms in front of you. I lead you to the bedroom. Your eyes are crazed with lust. I sit you gently on the bed and remove your jeans. I am bombarded with the smell of your desire. My own thirst increases. I remove my own clothes and kneel in front of you. As I pull your panties down. I can see your river of desire freely flowing. I lay you on the bed, your arms up over your head I slide between your legs and slowly, lightly, brush my tongue against your slit. You cry out in frenzied pleasure. Your juice against my tongue feels like rain on the desert sand. Your taste is intoxicating. I push my tongue flat against your slit and curl the end inside of you, taking a luxurious lick. I am rewarded with your flood. I use my arms to hold your legs down, struggling to keep my tongue in contact with your sex as you writhe in ecstasy. 

I use my tongue to create slow deliberate strokes the entire length of your lips ending on your clit. Every few strokes I flick your clit as I finish. I am literally drinking the excess from your fountain. Your liquor fuels my yearning. I begin to use my entire mouth on you. I suck greedily at your clit. I push my tongue deep into you. I begin to spell filthy things on your clit with my tongue. You respond as though you can hear the messages. It is all I can do to keep your hips immobilized as I assault your most sensitive parts with my mouth.

You beg me to untie you. You plead with me to free your hands so that you can take me in your mouth. I deny your request, but I help you off the bed and to your knees. I stand in front of you. You try to suck me, but soon discover that it is no easy task without your hands. My cock bounces around your face, teasing us both. You desperately try to get it in your mouth but it is too hard to tame. You settle for licking it earnestly. You push your tongue flat against my balls and slowly lick the entire length of my shaft. You greedily suck the sensitive spot right under the head. It is so powerful a sensation that I can't let you do it for more than a few seconds for fear of coming.

I help you up and guide you back on the bed. You try to lay on your back, but I turn you over. You rest your upper body weight on your forearms and slowly move your hips back and forth in eager anticipation. Your ass looks amazing. I give it a couple of smacks. I place myself at your opening. So tight, and completely saturated. You try to buck back against me but I move to stop you. I grab your hips and slowly easy myself inside. I am so hard it feels like I can barely fit at this angle. I can feel every inch of your tunnel as I slide into you. I feel the head of my cock clear your pubic bone with a pop. You cry out. The feeling for me is exhilarating as the most sensitive part of my penis pushes against your g spot.

I have to stop almost immediately for fear of coming. I take a few seconds to calm myself and then resume. I stroke you so slowly the motion is barely perceptible. I keep myself buried in you, rocking slowly with short strokes, popping the ridge on my cock over your pubic bone. Back and forth. The sensation is so profound that in a matter of seconds I feel myself on the edge again. I change the motion to long strokes at the same incredibly slow speed. I feel my orgasm slowly recede. I go back to the short deep strokes. Your body writhes and bucks as I resume popping the head of my cock back and forth over your g spot.

I am getting worried I can't control your motion enough to keep from coming too soon. I withdraw from you and lay down looking up at your slit. I pull your hips down and impale you with my tongue. You grind yourself against my mouth. Still it is not enough. You badly need to come. I can hear you whining how desperate you are for release. I sit up and roll you on your back. I slide up your body from between your legs. You lift your still bound arms up and place them over my head I reach my arms around your back, resting on my elbows. I enter you hungrily. As I push into you deep I roll my hips and lift. My pubic bone rubs against your clit as I drive into you. I look deep into your eyes as I build rhythm. Your breath is shortened even more, and you pant quickly as you climb towards certain gratification. Your orgasm overtakes you abruptly. You call out my name as the waves of bliss roll over your body. I take one more deep thrust into you and hold you tight as the elation consumes you.

After your float back down to earth, I withdraw and untie your arms. I lay next to you and you ask me if I came. I smile at you and admit that I haven't. You rub my chest and ask me how I want to finish. I take the kitchen towel, blindfold myself, and tell you to surprise me.

I know this amuses you because you giggle. As for what happens next, I have no idea. All I can tell you is that it is so amazing I can't even tell you my name right now. 

Forever Yours,

feelmydesire



A Love Letter for You 02



My Love,

You smile the moment our eyes meet. My heart melts like a reflex. You wrap your arms around me deliberately. In that moment I feel that nothing is more important to you than aholding me. I feel your face against mine. I smell your hair. My hands instinctively snake around your back. I move them down to your hips. My fingers explore under your shirt and seek out their favorite spot. I lightly touch the small of your back with my fingertips while my palms knead your hips. I breathe deep, smelling your hair. My lips barely caress your neck. I feel your warm sigh against my cheek. I pull you tighter against me.

I can tell you want more. I turn you around and move your hands to a doorway. You know what I want. You silently obey the unsaid command to keep your hands where I place them. I kiss your neck. My hands roam under your clothing. I caress your sides and breasts. My hands move lower and slip under the waistband of your jeans. You toss your head back, frustrated by your passive restraint. You thrust your ass against me, grinding it into my crotch. I am already solid as granite. I groan softly into your ear. I feel your body shudder. My fingertips trace the outline of your panties. I softly bite the back of your neck. Your breath quickens. You twist your head around in an attempt to get your lips on mine. I step under your arm and push your body against the door with mine. Your lips find success and you hungrily kiss me. I kiss you back roughly - one hand on your hip and the other behind your neck. I grab your hair tightly and pull downward. Your chin moves up revealing your soft neck. I desperately kiss and bite your neck. 

Our passion reaches a deafening volume. I reach my hands behind your back and unhook your bra. Then I turn you around. I pin your hands over your head, knowing you are too aroused to stay put without restraint. I reach under your blouse and slowly move it up your back. I take the time to rub your shoulders as my hands reach the top. My head dips down and follows the bottom of your blouse. I leave a trail of kisses behind the garment as I remove it. Your skin feels hot against my lips. This invigorates me. I release your arms and step back. You press your body against mine recklessly. I groan as you grab my groin, squeezing roughly. My desires battle. I want desperately to make this moment last, enjoying our romantic foreplay for hours. But I also need very badly to fuck you now.

It's touch and go for a while. I bend you over the bed and slowly remove your jeans. As I slip them over your thighs, I gently kiss the small of your back. Your moans cause my dick to quiver. Then I catch the first whiff of your cunt. Your nectar shoots lasers through my senses. My cock throbs with a dull ache. I slip my finger under your panties and draw it softly over your sex. You are so wet that it easily slips into your slit. You moan loudly as I draw my fingertip over your clit. 

We slide into bed. Somehow my clothes come off. I climb between your legs and bury my face in your panties. The sounds and smells of your arousal consume me. I hungrily suck your clit through your panties. You buck your hips wildly. I slide your panties down over your legs and move my lips towards your cunt. I kiss your thighs all over. You thrash on the bed begging me to stop teasing. I lightly slide the tip of my tongue over your lips. My body shudders involuntarily at the intense pleasure of tasting you. I take my time, enjoying your cunt with long slow strokes. I spend a couple minutes pleasuring you. My lips and tongue gently, softly caress your clit and lips. Occasionally I can't resist dipping my tongue deep inside to taste you.

I slide my body up yours and kiss your neck. It gives me perverse pleasure to paint your body with the amazing smell of your pussy. I love to experience the thick aroma while we fuck. I reach down with my fingers and lightly touch you. Your body responds and I play my symphony on your clit. Small light circles, letters, and linear strokes of varying speeds and sizes draw frantic moans from your lips. I feel you get close. I stroke your pussy with more intensity. You cry out my name as your body shakes with rapture. I carefully remove my fingers from your clit. I can't help it. I draw them to my mouth and hungrily lick off your cum. 

We spend the next several minutes in romantic embrace. I run my hands all over your body. We bask in the afterglow of your glorious orgasm. It's a soft and romantic moment. We kiss tenderly and profess our love. Your hands find my cock. You rub it softly. I lay back and sigh. Soon you bring your mouth down and lick the shaft. I feel warm pleasure as you slide the head of my cock into your mouth. You grab my balls and manipulate them to work my stiffening member in and out of your mouth. I am overcome with euphoria. I want to be inside you, and yet I also want so badly for you to not stop sucking me. I lay back and surrender to you, letting you do what you will to me. You tease the head and shaft some with your lips, causing me to to throb again. You start to suck me deep and rhythmically. I feel your hand make a circle around the bottom of my shaft with 2 fingers and thumb. Like waves you move your hand up and down the bottom few inches of my shaft. The skin of my cock moves with your fingers in contrast to the way your wet mouth glides over the top. You slightly tighten your grip as your hand moves up, then release slightly as your hand moves down. This gentle milking motion drives my pleasure towards climax. I don't know how you want me to finish so I tell you as I start to get close. You continue to suck and stroke me, your head and hand moving up and down together. I tell you as I feel myself start to come. You remove your mouth from me and move your hand up to stroke the entire length of my cock, pumping slightly faster, and still squeezing gently on the way up, as if to milk the cum from me. A second later I ooze a stream of cum. You continue to pump my shaft, slowing down and releasing the pressure as I writhe in sensory overload.

You move up my body and hold me in a tight embrace. We move our hands over each other, living in the moment. Gently we touch, smile, and kiss. Eventually we jump in the shower. We laugh and joke as we wash ourselves clean.

Forever Yours,

feelmydesire



A Love Letter for You 03



My Love,

I missed you terribly for so very long. I never imagined I could have you back. I'm so glad I was wrong. I think about all of those moments when I drifted back to our time together and smiled. Now here you are. It's amazing to me that I get to hold you as we fall asleep every night. I cherish that I wake up every morning beside you.

After all that time longing for you it's just incredible that I can just reach over and touch you. It feels at times like it should be a dream. I cherish you. I'm never letting you go again. 

You are the most beautiful woman I've ever held in my arms. Our love catalyzes an appetite I've never felt before. Just kissing you and pressing my body against yours awakens an insatiable longing. I ache for you. Your breath on my cheek, your hand on my hip, your teeth on my nipples -- those moments turn me into unrelenting steel. I love running my hands over your body, kissing and touching you, rallying your senses to fevering heights. Hearing your breathing telegraph your hunger for me. 

I love to please you. When the savory smell of your drooling cunt reaches me I feel desperate to taste you. As I go down on you I delight in the moment. I Enjoy the succulent feel of your flesh against my face, lips and tongue as I touch your stomach, hips and thighs on my way to relish your taste. Nibbling and teasing, I prepare for that first lick. I dip my tongue into your tiny hole and am instantly rewarded with your nectar. I slowly draw my tongue up your lips and glide the tip over your clit. I feel the heat radiating from your pussy as I slowly build rhythm. I take my index finger and tease your lips. I run my finger from just below my tongue down to your hole. I push slightly and penetrate you. All the while I alternate between teasing your clit and licking it hard.

I'm getting aroused writing this. I sit here daydreaming about what it will be like to hold you while you read this. I'm probably snuggled in behind you, kissing your neck, with my arms comfortably wrapped around you. I am imagining your breathing getting heavy and uneven. Maybe I'll even manage to get a soft sigh from you =) I'm squirming a little in my seat now. The scene in my head is so vivid I can already taste you.

I turn my finger over and start to lightly stroke you in a "come here" motion. My tongue is now almost entirely focused on your clit. I perform slow, constant strokes over your clit punctuated by long licks that dip down into your hole. I love the feeling of your hands on my head while I go down on you. I feel like you are thinking, "Oh FUCK yeah, whatever you are doing, don't stop!"

I think about changing position. Maybe I'll kneel at your head and stroke you with my fingers while you suck me. Perhaps I'll ask you to lay on me and suck me while I continue to lick you. I love it when you lay on me and grind your cunt into my face -- fucking me wildly while swallowing my dick. I've had intense buildups close to orgasm many times that way -- it's incredible.

I stay between your legs and continue to build tempo. I can feel the waves of your pleasure building stronger and stronger. You grip my head tighter and tighter with your hands and thighs. My tongue is now lashing your clit and a good pace -- fast but controlled. Uncontrolled moans escape your lips.

Tighter and tighter...

I lock my lips on your clit and suck. My tongue goes into overdrive. I can tell you are very close. The tiniest of encouragement and you will fall over the cliff into orgasmic bliss.

Tighter and tighter...

I pull my finger from your clit and start rubbing your lips -- first one then the other. I slowly rub your slit from the hole to just under your clit. With a completely separate rhythm I rub your cunt with my fingers while I continue to suck your clit and flick it with my tongue in high gear. I am so aroused by the sounds, smells, tastes, and touch of your impending rapture. I share your pleasure. I moan with you. The intensity of your pleasure infects me. Your excitement is irresistible. I push two fingers deep inside you and push them against your G-spot. The waves crest and crash over us both as deep primal pleasure racks your body. I push my tongue flat and hard against your clit and feel the contractions of your pussy on my fingers as the orgasm travels through your body like electricity. I know you are hyper-sensitive right now, and it takes every bit of self control I have not to hungrily drink up the river of fuck juice flowing out of you.

I work my way up your body and into your arms. I love holding you as you enjoy your post-orgasmic bliss. I lightly run my hands all over your body, hoping to extend and intensify your pleasure. God I love you so much. I love that I please you. I love that you let me love you. I love that you love me back. You are my entire world. I look forward to an eternity of pleasing you and loving you.

Forever Yours,

feelmydesire