Yours Truly (Petekey)

Letter #6

Written by: HellaBrendon

Lover,

I do not believe in gods, and yet I often find myself thanking them that we may exist at the same time. That we may exist in flesh and bone, with blood that courses through our veins. Are you of the opinion we are destined to die?

An intimate knowledge of my own mind allows me to wonder through it freely and, I must confess, there is no part of my mind which has not been occupied by my thoughts of you. Often times, these thoughts are the kind I wish to share. But many times, they feel sinful.

They are sinful, my Romeo. Thoughts of flesh on flesh, of hands roaming under clothing and through hair. It has been a long time since I have been so entirely afraid of my own pleasure, dearest Romeo.

But it has also been so long since I have seen you last, and I am plagued by the constant thought of when I may be allowed to see you again. I can only write well when I am in pain or in love, but really what's the difference?

And though my thoughts of you may be deemed unholy and inappropriate for the places in which I find myself, I cannot wish them away. I do not want to. Thoughts of you have moved in and taken occupation in my mind.

The party I imagine – you and I, between sheets, in a bath, next to the lake – is one that causes discomfort in my lower half that I would not give away for anything in all this world. It feels like a well-kept secret.

You are my secret, Romeo. You and your scarred hands, which I want running over the smooth skin of my thighs, of my shoulders, of my back, of my.... arms. I long for you in ways I have not longed for a person before.

Romeo, my Romeo, please allow me the liberty of leaving your breathless? Allow me to teach you of pain and pleasure and altogether perfection. Allow me to lean you back, to touch you in ways you have not been touched, to teach you the difference between us.

Allow me to show you the rougher edges of my specimen, allow me the perfection of your hands on my sharp corners. Let me feel you, soft and subtle and open to new things. Can't you imagine it, my Romeo?

Can you not think of anything but my mouth on you – my lips against your neck, the curve where your neck and shoulders meet, my lips trailing down the perfect planes of your chest, kissing you in places you have never been kissed?

Be my whore, Romeo, for a night. For several nights. Let me finish you, over and over again. Let me teach you what it is like to doubt yourself on accounts of what is right and what is wrong. Because I am wrong, Romeo, but you may forget it when I make you feel so right.

Let us do things we have never done – indulge each other in activities we have not dreamed. Let me run my hands over your skin. Have I ever told you how obsessed I am with touching you?

Let me kiss you, Romeo, in every place you have ever thought about being kissed. I feel, in every part of my heart, soul, and mind, you are the epitome of physical perfection. There will never be anything so perfect as being surrounded by you.

It may, or may not, drive me entirely insane, to know you in ways that men are not supposed to know men. Oh, Romeo. You make me want to know men. The roughness of your stubble in places you have missed, the very thought of your scent.

I may not last very long when I am with you. All I can possibly pray is for the opportunity to ravish you again and again, to teach you how sweet sin tastes when my name is all you can have on your lips.

Allow me to erase your thoughts of anything or anyone else, allow me to replace them with me. Can you picture it, Romeo? Being surrounded in nothing but me.

I want nothing more than to be entirely subdued in you. Your taste, your mouth, your smell. I have never wanted anything so much as I want you, Romeo. I want you around me and beneath me and above me. I want you, Romeo. I want you here and there.

I want you everywhere that I may possibly have you. I don't know if I will be able to care who hears your screams, if I will even want to hear anything other than the sound of my name on your breathless lips.

Will anything ever be so sweet as the feeling of your hands on every part of my body? Will anything ever taste so sweet as you on my tongue? Please, Romeo, allow me to have you on my tongue. I lust for you in ways I could never explain.

Let me cover you in marks that spell my name, so that no woman may ever touch you without knowing that you belonged to me first. Because you belong to me, Romeo, all of you. Inside and out, you are mine and I am yours.

Allow me the liberty of holding you down, of pinning you to my mattress and bruising every inch of your skin that I can see. Let me hold your hips until they bruise, bite your collar bones until they will never heal, let me fuck you under the moon until it disappears.

Let me indulge in you, lover. Let me make Shakespeare jealous of my love for you, of your love for me. Let me make you unholy, stain you with so many sins you can no longer count.

Let me ruin you. Let me destroy you. Ravage you. Love you. Let me be rough and let me be gentle. Let me try and try again and again until I get it right to remind you that you are walking perfection. I have never desired for something so much, Romeo. Never.

Give it to me, Romeo. Give yourself to me. Let me have you. You can have me, for now and forever. I hope that you will not be able to feel anything but me for several weeks thereafter. I know I will not be able to think of anything but you.

Allow me this one thing, Romeo, and I may never be able to say no to anything you ask of me. Ever.

Let me treat you like nobility, Romeo. Allow me to wrap you in silk and pearls and every delicacy you could possibly imagine. You deserve the stars, my love, but regrettably I'm not able to procure them for you.

All I can possibly give you, that you may allow me to give, is my love and deepest affection. We are the two sides of a coin, Romeo, and many may think it impossible for me to love you the way you do. Sometimes I, too, am in doubt.

If you will not allow me to shower you in money, and I may not shower you in physical affections so as not to disrupt your unwavering purity and honour, allow me to make you feel as loved and deserving as you truly are.

There are few places where we may be able to go alone, but there are several places I would love to see, with you beside me. Forgive my sin, Romeo, and the lustful thoughts I have of you in my daily practices.

Let me make it up to you by whisking you away to another world, where we may be condemned to touching each other with our gazes instead of our hands. Do me this, lover, and allow me to shower you in gifts unmatched.

Meet me at the library in town, where I will purchase any book you so desire, where I will take you apart and put you back together a thousand times over under my gaze.

Allow me to understand the map of your mind, your soul, and your heart. Read to me, lover, read of me. And escape with me to worlds and worlds away next week Monday. I will wait for you, albeit impatiently, inside the largest library in the town centre an hour before midnight.

Do not argue with me.

Yours truly,
Mikey.