Bonds of War

Dear Professor Samuels:

I have had some success acquiring the letters from 1865 that I mentioned in our last correspondence. However, I have had some difficulty authenticating them, and, for reasons you will see, hesitate to publish them, even if I can authenticate. The cache was held by an odd little man in Duluth with a rarely open antique store and museum. It included a few notes from an unsigned scholar and a couple of photographs. I think it best if I just replicate the letters - between a Union soldier, George Rallings, and a young woman, an Emily Smythe - and you can reply with your opinion. I've placed them in dated order, though, as you will see, there is some uncertainty about the timing of receipt and reply. Where I am unsure of the wording, I have made a best guess in brackets for ease of comprehension. The first letter is dated from February 1865, and I believe the last is from late Spring.

From George:

Dearest Emily, War is hell, my shoes fell apart before Appomattox and I had to hike barefoot, all the way to Virginia. My feet were so sore. Luckily Herbert in the next tent had some ointment and gently rubbed it on for me. Remember me to your mother. I hope to be home in spring. [there is some illegible text that follows and then it is signed] Your beloved, George (Virginia, 1865)

From Emily in reply:

"My Dear George, How we've missed you at the farm. You have been so brave in this hellish war of brother upon brother. And so fortunate to have met Herbert. I too have missed you, in my bed at night. I hold your night shirt to my face to catch your smell and think about you and how I long for your touch. [Some illegible text here, and then] Stay safe and return to me, Your dearest Emily "

From George:

"My Beloved Emily, Virginia in the Spring is like nothing I've ever seen. It warms here so much earlier than back home. Herbert says the orchards smell of [honeysuckle, I believe] and promises to take me [a'strolling?]. It is still cold at night though. So to stay warm we lay [close]. [Some illegible lines] As much as I miss you, it warms me to be held. Your George"

From Emily:

"My sweet George, Your last letter arrived late, due to some problems with the [train line], so I don't know if the evening chill of the early spring has yet passed? It is wonderful that you have found a friend. I wonder though, as I sleep alone each night, if I should be jealous and wish to be held by you myself. If I could be your Herbert, I would keep you warm each night with my [body]. I would press my bosom against you. You could take my teat and nurse yourself to health each night. Tell me you want me George, and I will be yours. Your fondest beloved, Emily"

From George:

"Hello Emily: I've received your letter with it's [appealing]* imagery. Herbert is concerned that it over-excited me. He said that sleeping in an aroused state is harmful to restfulness and makes for poor soldiers. Fortunately he was able to help me out and I slept as soundly as a baby. Keep well Emily. From George"

*It was difficult to determine if the word in use was "appealing" as I have marked it, or "appalling", but given later context I have gone with appealing.

From Emily:

"My fondest, dearest George: Your letter warmed and energized me. The idea of my excited George, in his bed time skivvies, burning with desire for me, needing release. Well, I can only hope you knew what to do! Perhaps that is what you meant by Herbert helping you out? If you were here with me, I would help you out myself. I would use my mouth and my hands and ensure you [were relieved] and could sleep soundly. I would stroke and caress you, even the most private parts of you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, my dearest, much missed and lovingly remembered George. I belong to you, Emily"

From George:

"Hi Emily: Very quickly, all continues to be well here. They say we will march [text is water-faded, but assume "South" here] soon, and perhaps things will be less easy and I may not have as much chance to write. You'll be pleased to know that [Herbert] is also well. With the influx of soldiers from the West, we have had to bunk up two to a cot now. But we are comfortable enough. And staying warm and unexcited has become less of a problem. Herbert loved your last letter. I was unsure what you meant by mouth and hands, but he shewed me. Stay well, George"

[Note that from here, apart from some grease stains, the letters are better preserved]

From Emily:

"Dear George, keeper of my heart and soul: I was so thrilled and excited to receive your latest missive. I am amazed, and a bit concerned, to hear you are forced to lay at night with another man. I hope your thoughts of me, of my heaving bosom and warm soft thighs, do not cause you to discomfort him. I am afraid it will be a struggle for me to limit your excitement as the thought of you has excited me so. Why just yesterday I took your letters and undershirt to the barn where I could be alone and must admit my hands strayed to where I would not dare mention to Pastor John. I hope you will think of me though. Of my sticky-sweet hands and needy exertions, and return to me soon so that I might give you a taste of what I have for you. I would allow you to delve and to sample whatever you might want. I can only dream of your probing me with your warm tongue. I even shouted out for you at the moment of triumph, there in the barn. I burn for you, Emily"

From George:

"Em: Thank you for your letter. Sounds like you are well amused. Our march to the South is now less likely as Richmond has fallen and there is talk of surrender. It is possible we may finally see an end to this hellish conflict. When word came down, there was much celebrating. Herbert and I danced and hugged. And then we found some quiet space to truly express our joy at the prospect of peace. And peace is a kind of love, Emily, one that can only be expressed physically. With a soft hardness given and taken too. With thrusts of passion in the backside that truly set one afire. And so, satisfied to taste the sweet sweet outpourings of romance, I am finally a'joyed. I have hated war, but have also finally found my true meaning. George."

From Emily:

"My passionate man, my ultimate love, my dear, dear George. So pleased I am to be in receipt of your letter. Yes, 1000 times yes. Please return to me and I will. I touch myself so intimately thinking on it now. You, shucked of your skivvies, burning with desire to place your hardness in my rear. Whatever you want dear George, whatever you need, I am prepared to give you all. I will disrobe for you and let you place your eyes and your hands on my teats. I will take you in my warm, wet mouth and prepare your hardness. I will slurp you as one does the candy lollies at the spring fair. I will grease myself with the dairy butter produced that day, and I will open my buttocks to meet your thrusts. Lay your strong hands on my hips and take me George. Take me however firmly as you desire. I am prepared to be your woman. To be whatever you need. You can strike my bottom with your hands, you can cover me in your excretions. You can ask me to clean you with my mouth, my love, for I am the lowest of the low next to you. In eternal lust, your Emily"

[I remain uncertain if this last letter is genuine, as the writing is much altered from prior letters, but it is on era-appropriate stock]

From George [?]:

"Hey Em, I was surprised to receive your last letter. It may be that our alignment of expectations has drifted apart as with the front wheels of the Franklin's carriage last year. I must thank you, however, for some fantastic ideas that I have shared to Herbert, who is eager to try them out. He has prepared me a special collar, as one might give a dog, that I should wear at night. It warms me deeply, Em, to place it on. And now, with the swallowing of excretions added to my experience, I feel I have truly found my place. It may be some time before I return. If at all. G"

That was the last letter in cache. The anonymous scholar I mentioned at the start of this letter has written out a summary of research into the two correspondents, that I replicate here. But please note that these are not authenticated at all:

"Re George Rallings: I now believe George did indeed survive the war. There is some indication, however, that he did not return to Maine, but rather went to live on a farm in Maryland."

There is also a Daguerreotype photo in the cache of a naked man, in some sort of elaborate neck gear crawling on all fours from 1893 that I suspect may be George, but no definitive identification is included.

"Re Emily Smythe: At the conclusion of the war, she left her family's farm and went to Portland where she established Miss Minnie's Fifth Street Brothel, which we know survived the 1893 Portland brothel burnings. She became known for more extreme services. According to notes found in [I can't make out where here] she was known to often beg patrons to quote, 'treat me the way George should have. Spank me. Make me take it in the rear. Cover me in your excretions.'"

She may have married a preacher later in life and traveled the Midwest with a revival show, as there is evidence of a woman of the same name doing the Midwest circuit."

As you can see these letters are both interesting and disturbing. I remain unsure what to do with them and whether they should be published. I would be incredibly grateful for your input on the question.

Kind regards,

Desmond Tribble.