Dirty Letters

Bloody hell. I couldn’t stop staring at her.

Julian had sent the photos of Luca nearly two hours ago, and yet I hadn’t moved from my spot. She was far more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. To be honest, given her peculiarities, I’d almost expected her to be a bit more average-looking. Average would have been absolutely fine, because looks aside, our chemistry was otherwise off the charts. But now? Now that I’d actually discovered Luca was a knockout? That just added so much fuel to the fire, and I doubted it could ever be extinguished.

She had the same long brown hair I remembered from that one photo she’d sent me years ago. Her green eyes were gigantic and glowing like beautiful orbs that let you see into her soul. I wanted to stare into them for hours.

Wow.

She looked like a better version of . . . what were those dolls named . . . the ones the sick girl in the hospital requested. I’d sent her a dozen of them. Blythe dolls! That’s right. With her gorgeous eyes, Luca was a real-life Blythe doll.

The guilt felt ten times worse now that I’d seen her. Not only that, Julian had snapped photos from the post office at the exact moment she’d received my gift. The joy on her face when she’d opened that box of Furbys was not something I would ever soon forget. Oh, beautiful girl. How great it is to see your smile, to see you happy.

Julian had sent over several photos along with an e-mailed report of his initial findings from Vermont.

Greetings from Montpelier!

Attached are all the photos I’ve taken since arriving up here.

Here is what I know so far. As you can see, your friend is quite the looker. That’s the good news. The rest is a little fucking bizarro, if you ask me, so hang on for the ride.

First off, she walks a pig on a leash. Yes, I said . . . PIG. A freaking pig. Not sure what that’s all about. Other than when she ventures out to do that, she mostly seems to just go from the house to the post office, then home again. So it’s been pretty easy to keep tabs on her.

Here’s the really odd part. There’s this old dude who picked her up once, and they went out together. I followed them to a pet store and back. That was it. Not sure if he’s her grandfather or a sugar daddy or what. I think he’s a Peeping Tom, though, because I saw him using these binoculars outside her house. A real perv. Strange shit, man. If you want me to look into him more, let me know.

The story gets even weirder. The next day, the same guy shows up at her house driving an old RV. She gets in, stays inside for a few minutes, then runs back inside her house. No clue what that was all about.

That’s pretty much all I’ve got for now. Couldn’t put this all together into something that makes sense if you paid me double or my life depended on it. Not sure how much more information you need.

Anyway, off topic, I sort of found a little side piece at a bar here last night. Name’s Vanessa. I’m thinking of sticking around in town for a bit if you want me to continue the job. That old dude is up to something. I just know it.

Let me know!

Julian

As strange as Luca’s lifestyle may have seemed to him, everything made perfect sense to me. I knew that guy was her eccentric therapist whom she often ventured out with, because she’d mentioned him in her first letter. And of course, I’d already known about Hortencia. So, oddly, none of this alarmed me at all.

I wrote back, telling Julian to hang out there until I let him know otherwise. I didn’t think he was going to find anything more of value, but he clearly had nothing else better to do—besides “Vanessa”—at the moment, so I figured I’d keep him there a little longer.

“Mr. Archer?”

Shit. Apparently my cap and sunglasses did nothing to hide my identity as I attempted to venture incognito to the post office.

“Yes.”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Sure,” I said, quickly scribbling my signature onto a piece of some girl’s mail.

“I’m a huge fan,” she squeaked. “You have no idea. ‘Luca’ is like my favorite song ever.”

Ugh. She had to remind me.

“Thanks,” I said before rushing away.

That was going to be another thing I’d have to contend with. How exactly was I supposed to explain to Luca that I’d written my most successful song—more like a rant—in honor of her while I was drunk and pissed one night? Who knew that thing was going to fly up the charts the way it did? I’d certainly never imagined when I wrote it that Luca and I would end up reconnecting.

I sighed. I supposed the song was the least of my problems right now.

Throwing my hood over my head, I picked up the pace so no one else would recognize me. After all, I had Luca’s letter in my hands and couldn’t get back to my car fast enough.

Ripping the envelope open, I eagerly began to read it.

Dear Griffin,

I’ve officially burned out three Furbys. It’s a good thing you got me so many, even if your eBay account was sacrificed in the process. I’m sorry about that, but it did make me laugh out loud for some reason when you told me it got shut down. Seriously, thank you for that surprise gift. I don’t think I smiled or laughed in years like I did when I opened it. And yes, I’m serious when I said I burned three of them out already. (Whoops.) I thought of you every second, by the way. 😉 I considered sending you a video to prove how much I appreciate your gift, but I thought that might freak you out. Would you want something like that from me? A video? That, of course, would require us to exchange numbers/e-mails. And that also could lead to—GASP—talking on the phone. And talking on the phone could lead to—GASP—seeing each other. And seeing each other could lead to . . . well, you get the point. I know you said you like the dynamic we have going right now and the mystery of it all. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE what we have. But I don’t know . . . don’t you sometimes want more?

I had to stop reading the letter for a moment.

Shit.

Fuck.

Shit.

A feeling of dread filled me. Not to mention, I was hard as a rock. Strange combo. I knew where this was going, and it was messing me up inside. I took a deep breath in and continued.

I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line in even bringing this up. But it’s been weighing heavily on me lately. I really would love for what we have to be about more than just the letters. I’m crazy about you. There, I said it. Feel free to pretend I didn’t. I’ll just take your lack of acknowledgment as a hint to not bring any of this up again. (Who’s the one installing the security cameras now, huh?)

Okay, now that I have gotten all that off my chest, I’ll answer your questions. You wanted to know if I am a screamer or a moaner. Both, actually—but mostly when I am pleasuring myself, because that’s when I am most comfortable and not worrying about what others think. I also live in a very secluded spot, so no one except Hortencia is going to hear me scream. That works out if you want some privacy, but it’s not exactly convenient if you’re being ax murdered or attacked by a grizzly bear.

In answer to your other question, I’ve actually never done it in a public place, but I think if I did, it would be in California. 😉 By the way, that’s the second winky face I’ve drawn in this letter, and I’m starting to creep myself out a little. No more winky faces.

Please tell me I haven’t scared you off with my video suggestion above.

Your favorite pen pal,

Luca

P.S. Do you prefer shaved, runway strip, or full carpet? Asking for a friend.

P.P.S. That friend might be named Luca.

I let out a deep breath and rested my head on the seat. Fuuuuck. What now?

My spying on her was goddamn unfair. I couldn’t seem to go on without seeing her, and yet I wasn’t even affording her the same opportunity with me? What I’d done felt like stealing.

I have to tell her the truth.

But when she found out who I was, it was going to ruin what we had. I lived for her letters, for her nonjudgment. Luca was literally the only person left in this world who truly saw me for me. The thought of that ever changing . . . well, I couldn’t fathom it. At the same time, now that I’d seen her, I wanted nothing more than to smell her, taste her, be with her in the flesh. Although it was never about the physical with us, I couldn’t exactly just forget her image now. Luca, Luca, Luca. What am I going to do with you? I needed just a bit more time to figure it all out.

It took me a few days to decide how I wanted to respond to her.

After returning from the studio one afternoon, I bit the bullet and ultimately attempted to buy myself a bit more time.

Dear Luca,

If this letter arrives a little later than the others . . . it’s because I’ve been locked in my room for days wanking off to thoughts of this little porn video you’d like to send me. Which begs the question: Are you trying to kill me? There are other ways to kill people besides axes and grizzly bears, you know. Proposing such a thing when I can’t exactly touch you would be one of them. Pretty sure that’s a crime of torture. I’m glad you’ve been putting the Furbys to good use, even if three were sacrificed in the process. They clearly weren’t designed for long-term usage.

I’m definitely skirting around the issue, aren’t I?

Okay.

Here goes.

One of the things that has always defined our relationship, I think, is blind faith. Would you agree? Do you have blind faith in me? I can honestly say I have blind faith in you. Even though we haven’t met, I trust you with my life. I don’t think I can say that about anyone else on this earth. So, that said, I need to ask you a favor. I need you to trust me when I say that the best thing for right now is for us to continue things as we have been. You’re very special to me, Luca. And I want to be able to be the right man for you. I’m sad to say that currently I’m not. Sometimes when you follow your dreams, you realize they aren’t free, and the cost is far greater than you’d ever anticipated.

But I’m trying to figure out how to change things, sooner rather than later. I do desperately want to meet you, touch you, and do many other things with you (and to you). When the time is right to take the next step, I promise to let you know. And I hope it will all make sense.

Can you do that for me? Can you put blind faith in me on this? Don’t answer that question now. Take time to think about it. Think about ME and ask yourself if you really believe that I would ever intentionally hurt you or steer you wrong.

On to another pressing matter, specifically your vagina and my preferences as far as it’s concerned. Believe me when I tell you that I will take you any way you give yourself to me, whether bald or hairier than the aforementioned grizzly bear. I will love every second of going down on you and giving you the best orgasm of your life, better than any Furby ever could. I dream about it every day, Luca.

Later, gator,

Griff

P.S. Do you prefer Cavalier or Roundhead? (Uncut or other.) Asking for a friend.

P.P.S. That friend might be named Mee-Mee.