This is a letter that I meant to send to a friend I hadn't talked to in a while, chronicling all the sexy times he missed in the year we couldn't talk. It wound up being a little bit too racy for me to send to him with a clear conscience, so I'm posting it here. Maybe someone will enjoy it.
All persons mentioned in this are over 18 years of age. I'm supposed to say that this is a work of fiction and that any true names have been changed to protect the innocent, only it isn't and I haven't because I'm too lazy and the names are pretty commonplace.
I always hoped I would get a chance to tell you everything you missed in that year and a half that you were away. It's a shame, you missed the most sexually adventurous part of my life. What I have to tell you belongs more between the covers of a Penthouse book than in a missive to a man I used to fantasize about.
As you know, I had been living with Tim, a tall, skinny man who has perhaps the most gloriously perfect cock that I've ever seen. We had been engaged for four years at that point, but the relationship wasn't going particularly well. The sex was always fantastic and would last for hours. He was very vanilla, but he could fuck for hours. We would do it in just about every imaginative way. He would fuck me in the front yard right up against my truck, against walls, on the kitchen table, on the side of the road, in the private airport in my parents' back yard, not much was off limits. He even liked to fuck my tight asshole, sliding his gorgeous cock in slowly, letting me get used to his girth and then fucking me until I'd had at least two orgasms and my pussy was sopping wet. He used to finish me off with one of my toys, making me cum so much I would scream for mercy, my body trembling, lungs gasping for air, but he knew no mercy. He would slide that huge cock into the warm folds of my pussy and fuck me until I came again. He would then slam his cock in me, his balls slapping against my ass as they emptied a huge load of cum into my cunt.
We couldn't talk though, and that's always the death kiss of a relationship, isn't it?
On top of that every month brought another wave of disappointment. I would walk up to him and soberly announce that I wasn't pregnant. We would sit and stare at each other, unsure of what to say or what to feel. As every month passed by it got a little more depressing.
The real complication started when I met her. As you know, I've always been uncomfortable around women. I'm not the best at talking to them and I can never find a good excuse to break the ice. I worked at a record store, which helped some. I could help hot women find whatever they needed, but it rarely went beyond that.
Walking into the store one day I passed this car that caught my eye. It caught everyone's eye. It was old, gaudy, and stood out in a crowd. Whoever owned it had taken an orbital sander to the entire car and then obviously taken several cans of spray paint to it. The result was a rainbow hodgepodge all over the car. Who would do such a thing? It was quite literally the gayest car I'd ever seen. I wanted to see who owned it. I saw the car a couple more times but I'd been unable to catch the owner. Labrys sticker on the back window, it had to be a woman, it had to be my type of woman.
I went to work and it was mostly boring for the next two hours. Then she walked in. This woman was gorgeous. She had the most piercing green eyes I've ever seen in my life. They were beautiful. Her name, as I would later find out, was Ginger. It was a fitting name for her, for more reasons than her brilliant auburn hair. She was a spicy woman, sweet with quite a bit of bite. She was my height and my build. She could have passed for my sister. My much hotter sister.
She walked right toward me, asked for a couple things, and I helped her the way I helped every customer. I didn't know what else to do. She obviously had her eyes on me, she asked me a few more questions that she could have figured out herself and she knew that. Was this girl interested in me? Not possible, she was smoking hot! I don't attract women who are smokin hot. It's just not me. I panicked. I fled into the backroom and out the back door, where my assistant manager was enjoying a cigarette. He's quite the ladies man, so I figured he would be able to give me advice. I lit up my own cigarette and explained what had just happened.
He waited until we had both finished our cigarettes and then he slapped me on the back of the head, called me an idiot, and told me to go get her number. I blushed more fiercely than I have have in my entire life.
