Dirty Letters

It had been a long and arduous day in the recording studio. My bandmates had all left when the production coordinator snuck up behind me as I was getting ready to leave.

“Hey, Griffin.”

“Hey, Melinda.”

The last time I saw Melinda a few months ago, I was backing her up against the wall as we fucked in the sound booth. She was as attractive as anyone else I’d messed around with, in a bottled-blonde, silicone kind of way. But I most definitely wasn’t looking for a repeat. Lately, I’d had a hard time focusing on anything other than Luca’s letters, which was completely fucked up.

“A bunch of us are going to The Roxy tonight to celebrate wrapping up,” Melinda said. “You coming with?”

“Ah . . . not sure what my plans are yet.”

“I was really hoping you’d be there.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

“If not . . . maybe I could just come over to your place and we can hang out.”

My place? Um, no.

“I’ll have to see.”

Not really.

“Okay . . . well, maybe I’ll hear from you later.”

“Yeah. See ya,” I said as I moved past her and exited the building.

After I entered my car, I hesitated to start it. Thoughts of Luca were flooding my mind along with some pretty strong feelings of guilt. We’d always prided ourselves on being completely honest with one another, and yet I was hiding the biggest part of myself from her. I hadn’t even asked her about the books she wrote, even though I was really curious. That’s because I didn’t think it was fair that she should have to talk about her career when I was being vague about mine. But honestly, what choice did I have? If I wanted to experience things exactly as they once were with her, then I couldn’t exactly tell her that her trusty friend Griffin was now Cole Archer, lead singer of the band Archer, well-known to legions of fans around the world. Luca would freak the fuck out. My life was the antithesis of hers. She couldn’t even go shopping during the day, for heaven’s sake, let alone deal with the onslaught of people who would inevitably follow her around if word ever got out about us. I felt like I was backed into a corner here. If I didn’t tell her, she was going to find out someday and be angry that I hid this. If I did tell her, there would be no chance in hell she would ever want to meet me. At the same time, I honestly felt like I couldn’t go on without knowing who she really was. This woman was one of the most important people in my life. As these weeks went on, I needed to know more and more about what the faceless woman I dreamed about looked like. With the tour looming in a couple of months, I felt like I needed a little peace of mind before I’d be working nonstop.

After scrolling on my phone to find the name of a private investigator who’d once helped me before, I dialed the number.

“Julian . . . Cole Archer here.”

“Cole . . . it’s been a while.”

“Yeah, yeah it has.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I have a bit of a different need this time. Are you able to travel right now?”

“How far are we talking?”

“Vermont.”

“What’s going on up there?”

“I have a friend I want you to locate. I don’t want you to talk to her or approach her. I just want you to take some photos and follow her around for a couple of days, give me a feel for her routine, and also let me know if you feel she’s safe up there.”

“I assume you have her name and address?”

“That’s the complicated part. This girl . . . she’s an old friend, but we don’t actually know each other’s real names.”

“Some freaky shit going on?”

“Nah. Nothing like that. We met as pen pals when we were kids. Started using fake last names from the get-go, because those were the rules back then. We recently reconnected and simply never changed that habit. She doesn’t even know I’m Cole Archer.”

“Hmm. Okay. Well, what information do I have to go on?”

“I have her PO box. You’d need to hang out at the local post office until she checks it and then follow her home. I can’t guarantee how long it will take before she shows up, but I’ll pay whatever you want for your time.”

“It’s cold as balls up there, you know.”

“Buy out L.L.Bean and add it to the invoice. I’ll send you the address. How soon do you think you can do it?”

“I can probably head up there this weekend.”

I sighed, feeling a mix of dread and excitement. “Perfect.”

After I hung up, guilt started to really creep in. I hated having to do things this way, but I really needed to know more before I decided how to move forward. Truthfully, it was her last letter that finally did me in, where things started to feel like they were veering into another territory with us.

I pulled it out and reread it.

Dear Griffin,

I’ve started this letter five different times. Each time resulted in me tossing a crumpled-up piece of stationery into the wastebasket next to my desk. Actually, that was sort of a lie—not all of the five made it into the wastebasket. I have pretty shitty aim. But anyway . . . the reason it’s taken me a few tries to pen this letter is because I’d been trying to hold back on answering some of your questions so you don’t think I’m a nutjob. Though I’ve already told you about all my fears, my struggle with bacon, and that I talk to a pet pig on occasion. Alas, perhaps that ship has already sailed anyway. So here goes . . . the naked truth on oral sex, orgasm, and masturbation . . .

I have had an orgasm before. Unfortunately, not with a partner. I’m not sure if my inability to climax during sexual activities with a man is partner related—meaning the men just didn’t do it for me—or it’s a physical issue with me. But I can orgasm, just not while in the presence of any of the men I’ve been with. In fact, I find bringing myself to climax to be pretty easy. I have a nice collection of vibrators—the LELO INA Wave rabbit being my favorite. It gives dual internal and external stimulation. But honestly, I can get there with my hand in a pinch.

My head fell back against the headrest, and I shut my eyes. Jesus Christ, the vision of Luca touching herself made me fucking nuts. For a quick second, I thought about unzipping my pants and rubbing one out right here in the car. But the last thing I needed was to get arrested jerking off in front of the recording studio. Or worse, a fan to come by and video me while I whacked off—that shit would go viral in a heartbeat. My jeans were getting snug. I needed to remember not to read Luca’s letters anywhere but in the privacy of my house in the future.

I took a few deep, cleansing breaths and opened my eyes. There was no way I could drive at the moment, so I figured I might as well enjoy myself and finish the letter for the sixth damn time.

Oddly, the paragraph I just wrote wasn’t the one that I debated on writing. The next one is . . .

I never told you, but I have a secret nickname for you: Mee-Mee. The story behind it is pretty embarrassing. But screw it . . . here goes nothing. I was almost thirteen when you sent me your one and only photo. I spent a good deal of time looking at it. In case you weren’t aware, you were really, really handsome. I had a big crush on you to begin with—and that was before you’d sent that picture. But once I got a look at how gorgeous you were—it took things to a new level for me. Remember, I was a teenager with raging hormones. Anyway, one night I was lying in my bed staring at the photo you’d sent when I slipped my hand into my panties for the very first time. It felt so good, but I didn’t own a vibrator yet, obviously, and I needed more stimulation. So I had to improvise. This is the part that gets embarrassing. Do you remember those little Furby key chains? The vibrating ones that McDonald’s gave out in their Happy Meals years ago? I’m sure you can see where this story is headed now. Anyway . . . I had a few of one little Furby in particular. Yep, you guessed it . . . his name was Mee-Mee.

Well, I got the bright idea to give Mee-Mee a try inside my underwear. I held him against my privates and let the vibration stimulate my clit. I’m pretty sure I had no idea what I was doing—but boy did I hit the jackpot. That night I had my first orgasm ever—one hand holding your photo up to look at and the other pressing Mee-Mee against my body. So basically you were a big part of my first orgasm.

Was that TMI? I hope not. By the way, my dad never did figure out why I’d suddenly become obsessed with going to McDonald’s. Needless to say, Happy Meals made me pretty damn happy for a while after that.

Incidentally, I suddenly crave some chicken nuggets, apple slices, and a milk box. How about you? 😉

Okay, last question—oral sex. Yes, I’ve both given and received. While it was pleasant on the receiving end, it didn’t end with an orgasm. Maybe the guy wasn’t that good at it? I’m not sure. But I can tell you, I studied for my first giving event—did you know there is a whole For Dummies porn series? Blowjobs for Dummies cost me $29.99 for the fifteen-minute video. But I’ve been told it was a very good investment.

Think I answered all your questions. My turn!

Tell me your darkest fantasy.

Your favorite pen pal,

Luca

P.S. Pretty sure I still have one Mee-Mee somewhere in a box in my closet. If you’d send me an updated picture, I might dig him out . . .

P.P.S. Pretty sure LELO will be needing new batteries after these last few letters.