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Dear J.

We met when I was in the seventh grade, and you were an eighth-grader. That was twenty years ago. There was always something between us; we were intense, you a Pisces, me a Scorpio. Ain’t it the truth. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and I was scared. I didn’t know what to do with my body there in its wheelchair, didn’t know how to feel or be pretty in your eyes. But you were a kind high school boy, and said truly meaningful things like, “I really like when you wear that sweater, it makes your boobs look really good.” I am pretty sure we loved each other, in the sweetest, most longing kind of way. Time went by; we went on one date, to the movies to see Claire and Leo kill themselves for love, and you held my hand for the first time on the way home. It took another whole year for our first kiss, even after everything. I have never felt more special.

More time went by, we decided we were not for each other, met, dated, and screwed other people. But it was always there, that chance we had never taken, the secret refuge and promise of nostalgia. You always said you wanted to be married and a dad by the time you were 26, and you were. You are a great dad, even though you and his mom got divorced. Through it all we would touch base sometimes. We always knew the other one was out there, something good, something sweet, somehow ours. You used to call me long distance from overseas when you were in the service and you hated it.

More years went by, and I would hear about you, or see you on Facebook, and there was still that old pull. I asked you, out of the blue, to go out of town with me, and you wanted to, but had just started a new job, and couldn’t get away. But you wanted to, you said so, and I believed you.

You got a new phone this summer and texted me from your new number. We had maybe not really talked in ten years or so. You finally admitted that you had unresolved feelings for me, how much you wished we had taken bigger steps in our relationship, and how you thought of me so much. You said if we had gone out of town you would have taken your chance to make love,with me, and love and love and love with me. I asked you if you realized you are the person that other than my family has been in my personal interior life the longest, and wasn’t it great to know we still had each other in some way? You said you did, and yes, it was, and like me, you were glad and thankful.

We made plans to see each other shortly after that, when you were going to be in ____, an hour away, for a week-long work conference. We were going to meet here, at my house, alone and finally adults, on a Friday night. I cleaned the house from top to bottom and put on makeup. And all that day, you did not answer my calls or my texts. You did not come. You did not call or text, or make any contact with me. No excuses, no stories, nothing. I was sure it was because something happened with your son, or to you. You would never do that to me. Not the boy I knew, with those beautiful deep brown eyes. The one I had known for so long, and who maybe loved previous teenage me. I preferred to imagine you in some emergency, and was prepared to give you enough time to get in touch.

Weeks went by. No word. Casually, I saw a comment you posted on someone’s FB. With a sense of disbelief, I clicked on your name, because it meant that clearly you were right there where you had always been, and not forgivably run off the road, in a ditch and then in traction. And I saw your status, saying how happy and in love you were, and I saw your new girlfriend.

I just don’t understand. Did you decide it wasn’t worth it, that the chemistry was not enough, that out twenty-year history was not worth a returned phone call, or a straight answer? I will never know for sure, because I will never ask you, and because it doesn’t really matter. You aren’t who I thought you were. You are not the man you say you strive to be.

You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but I’m not really angry anymore. I’m not hurt that you treated me the way you did this summer. I am very hurt, though (and you deserve to know and hear this) that you did not respect me or everything that had been between us. I am sad that I feel now that I never really knew you at all, and that when I look back on all those sweet, fond, innocent, exciting, charged, tender, funny, laughing, sexy, patient, stolen moments, they are tarnished now, and kind of empty. You have stolen away the brightness and warmth that you yourself gave me, and that I had made a part of myself for so long.

Goodbye. You made this choice. I don’t need to know why. But I hope you stay gone. I won’t try to find you.

A.

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can i tell you that you have been on my mind this morning?

standing in the train on my way to work…the image of you was running in my head…i am no maniac, but i keep on seeing your face and your naked body…i am craving to touch and feel you again…though i know as you told me already, it is not possible…i feel a little pinch in my being now…it is called regret…

why didn’t i let go of everything when i was with you? i want you so close to me again…to grab you and your behind to pull you so close to me…to go down on you and to devour every inch and centimeter of your sex…to taste everything that is about you…i should not have minded the feeling of being tired that day with you…if i had known it was the first and last day with you, i would not have slept for even one second…i want to feel your weight on me again. pressing my face on your sheets as you bite my nape like a cat…

yes, we live in different continents…but for 20 hours we were together that day and i was in your territory…and we spent 14 hours making and breaking and creating love…stolen moments behind the souvenir shop on top of that magical cathedral and in every wing of the gallery…and the languid afternoon delight we spent in your kitchen…and up the stairs to that wicked bed of yours…in between wine and panna cotta…

and now i’m back in my far eastern world…alone again…all of them who will come after you are ghosts…they do not know how to touch me the way you did. they don’t know how i melt and die at the touch of your breath on my back. they don’t smell like you after hours of foreplay. their mouths don’t have your flavor. our flavors mixed together in your lips and your tongue. creating a distinct taste i can never have again…

when i met you for the very first time in person…that morning, outside my hotel, in an unfamiliar city…i did not pause to think. there was no fear or doubt in me. you could have been a serial killer for all i care…i let go of all my inhibitions and i enjoyed every dart of pleasure…all of our words and letters came alive that day. all of our potent threats to each other’s needs became tangible. i never thought it was possible for us to be together that day but it happened. period.

…and now you tell me now that it is impossible to happen again. now you answer my yearnings with cruel cruel words. you tell me that to desire is better than to have. but i am not a masochist. i am a 31 year old woman in need of a man. it just so happens this man is you. and our needs do not meet anymore…

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You are the only considerably older man who is legitimately attracted to me. In a pretty sure you’d take me in the back and fuck me kind of way.
At first I thought you had taken a sort of fatherly interest in me and my life and my potential future accomplishments.
Then I got a little older and you took a maybe exaggerated interest.
I have the feeling you were always the sort of man who got what you wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, flirting with you is fine, if you think that the friendly chatting and laughing we occasionally do is flirting.
And if I was a different person I just might take you in the back and fuck you.
But here is the thing. Even though he’s married, I would still much rather fuck your son. Even though he’s married, I’m pretty sure he would be absolutely heartbroken, disgusted, horrified, devastated if I did fuck you.
I don’t actually want to fuck you, so it’s not a problem. I don’t get off on the idea of doing an older man. I’m not particularly attracted to you. I’m not particularly unattracted to you either. Someone might argue this is one of those life experiences you are supposed to go for.
You did call me a vixen that one time.
Is that supposed to make me feel good? Or feel guilty that I somehow made you think I was being flirtatious with a man who is old enough to be my father. Who’s son I have a thing for.
Shudder.

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Dear P,

Your taste…remains in my mouth.
Your face…embossed in my eyelids.
Your scent…lingers through my brain.

My wicked sensations from yesterday still throbs between my loins….

Our stolen moments come in between seconds…

And this guilt irks my every breath.

Let me have peace
let me breathe guilt-lessly again.

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Dear D,
For years we were friends, your girlfriends did not like me and I felt the same about them. It was me you snuck over to talk to late at night,and all we ever did was talk- but I knew that even if you had been w/ one of them, it was me you chose to be with before you went home to sleep. then we had our chance together- but I had just been burned and I thought you were just having a summer fling. Although we had dates and time together that was comfortable and fun, our one night together (which is not something I do or did even in my youth) I did because for me it was true making love. I let myself go and chose to give you me, even if you did not feel the same depth of feelings that I did.

Then, just as I was packed and ready to head back to college, you stopped over with the most beautiful roses, and told me that you cared for me- more than a fling. I was shocked and scared- and I disappeared. Flash forward 25 years, and a simple, hey, do you remember me email thru classmates.com (which I only put my profile on looking for you), and here we are almost a year later. You are married, and as you told me in our first few exchanges, you think she is the one. At the time I read that, I was happy for you, after all we were friends just catching up and our friendship seemed so easly to fall back into.

Today where am I? I find that I can’t wait to see your emails in my inbox, we have shared that we both have alternated looking for each other for the past 15 years or more, and once you let me know you had feelings for me now, I am lost. As a friend, I should support your marriage and I should be happy for you. As someone who is struggling w/ her feelings toward you- I am finding it painful. I wish we could just see each other, spend a little time together, to see if what appears to be happening is real- or is it the safety of memories and distance that has moved our email communications in the direction they seem to be taking recently.

Maybe once you see me in person, not just picture, you will change your mind, and we can discuss this mess, laugh about it and move forward in our lives and continue the friendship w/o these complications. You say you have never even considered this before, and that is a part of the person that I am falling for- so why would I want to change that part of you? I should not want you to change that very important-and rare- part of who you are.

D, I am struggling with this falling sensation, I am feeling guilty to the innocent people who don’t know they are involved in this mess. I am sorry for sending that first email, the consequences of that decision have far exceeded anything I expected. What I’d give for some peace of mind now-

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Sometimes moments in movies actually just encompass truths.

I’ve got to give props to Holly in The Wedding Singer.

She just comes out and tells Robbie “Listen, I know you’re shy and I know you’ve been hurt, so I’m going to make this really easy on you. If you come upstairs, you’re gonna get laid.”

I know the correct emotion is to think she is ridiculous, but I think she is kind of badass. Might as well just say what you want, and who knows. Didn’t work in this case, but maybe it will work next time.

Sometimes it seems like boys are just dense and don’t get it. There are totally instances in which you’d get some if you picked up on cues, but you aren’t picking up on cues, so you are gonna get the abrasive truth. Hope it don’t intimidate you too much.

Just call me back, and you will totally get laid.

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The first time we made out you made me so late for a show. I was meeting up with some of my favorite people and yet I couldn’t make myself leave your house.

I had to go all the way home and change my pants. I don’t usually get quite that wet making out with people. As if you made me a teenager again for a moment. No more grey jeans around you.

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