Letters to S Ch. 01

So she's hot. We've established that. She has a nicer body than me, extremely pretty eyes, a lovely smile and cute freckles. I know you've always loved those freckles on her.

I don't have freckles. But that's okay, I don't need any. I feel secure enough in this relationship as it is. I love you, first of all. I trust you. And I've got a nice smile too, and pretty eyes, and I have larger tits than she has. Take that, ex-girlfriend.

I'll admit that I had doubts, back at the beginning. I mean, you were engaged to the girl after all, I know you loved her a lot. We're not engaged, which is mostly my own doing. I'm pretty sure you would have asked me by now, if I hadn't made it clear that my answer would be something along the lines of "Shut up, you're crazy!" I don't want to get married just yet. If you know you're meant to be together, you might as well live together for a few years first and make sure that this wonderful gut-feeling of having found the one was actually right. So far, my gut feeling has been right on the money, and that means that a few years down the road, when you do ask me that question, I'll probably say yes.

But I digress. I was talking about her, not our potential for marriage. Although it makes me wonder if you had that same gut feeling back then, when you asked her. I tease you about having been so innocent, but that doesn't mean you were an idiot. You grew up with her, you knew her very well. I think, if I may speculate here, that maybe it was yourself that you didn't know well enough.

You've changed so much since I first met you, but I don't think that I've brought out anything in you that wasn't there in the first place. I've never asked you to change who you are for me. I don't want you to. But I have asked you to keep an open mind, and to give some new things a try, and you've risen so magnificently to that challenge.

It was either that, or a completely dysfunctional relationship that wouldn't have lasted long.

I remember you telling me about your sex life. She was the only girl you made love to, before me, and you were both inexperienced. It never got any further than straight-up missionary. It makes me wonder whether she'd approve of the way you've changed since then, or whether she would think I ruined you. It can't have been much fun, having sex only with the lights out, always in the same position, under the sheets.

I know your parents like her a lot. I think they like me, although they were disappointed when it didn't work out between you and her. Your family and hers still have meals together quite often, which is weird, especially if you bring me along. They haven't met my family at all, and so I sometimes feel like an outcast, my only link to them your hand on my thigh, under the table. I haven't gotten much further with your parents than pleasant conversations, which is slowly driving me nuts. I avoid talking about religion or politics, biting my tongue whenever that comes up. She does not have that problem. She'd never have an abortion if she was pregnant, and she votes Republican.

And I sit and look at their smiling faces and in-depth conversation, and all I can think of is how I'm not wearing any underwear and how I'm glad that gay rights haven't come up, because I probably wouldn't manage to shut up about that topic.

I know you've told me not to give a damn what your parents think of me. But I can't help it. I know you moved out for a reason, I know you've had your share of arguments with them, and I know the polite peace is a precious one. No matter, it still makes me sad to see your mother beaming at your ex across the table because she said the right thing again, and I can read in your mother's eyes that somehow, she still wants it to work out between the two of you. And everyone else at the table knows it too, and it's so damn awkward.

I really despise your ex during those meals. It gets better afterwards, when we all take a walk, and the adults huddle together and go one way, and we go the other. I've walked next to her, and we were both suddenly shy, timid somehow, but we managed to have a conversation. Not about politics or religion, we both wisely stayed far away from that. We talked about her horse instead, and how she loves to ride it, and how nature is so nice around here. It was a silly topic, but it was something we could share with each other, something we found we had in common, and suddenly she wasn't so bad after all, despite being so different from me.

It makes me wonder how that works inside your head -- having such strong feelings for two girls that are different like day and night, and the only thing that we found to talk about was horseback riding. It makes me wonder how the hell I ever managed to get my hands on you, considering how she was your type.

Yet I did, somehow, and helped you discover a new side of yourself in the process.

And I like that. It helps. When I sit at the table and have to listen to their outrage at un-christian behavior, I like closing my eyes and remembering the pleasant sting of my flesh as you spank me. When I hear them compliment your ex on her choice of outfit, I like to think about how you'll compliment me later, when I'm on my knees sucking your cock. I do try not to be too focused on her and the relationship she had with you... but yeah, it does feel good to know she never did that for you.

I asked you once; if you'd want to go back to the way you were before you met me, when you were still with her, all vanilla and innocent. You basically just laughed at me, shaking your head at my silly notions, and later you tied me up and tortured me with special care and love, pinching and flogging and fucking me silly. And that was just the answer I needed.