I am really confused. I have so much I want to say. I am so articulate at night before I fall asleep at night and in the morning in the shower. During the day, however, all my language slips away like a hallucination and I am left crowded with thoughts but void of words. The dilemma is that I love you. It’s so odd to just say it like that. But it’s true. I keep trying to smother it. “I’ve just got a physical attraction.” “A crush.” “I’m just bored.” “It’ll wear off.” But here’s the thing. It’s not a new ardor. I loved you long before now, I missed you often for lots of years, and I have come to the conclusion that I will always love you. No matter what. That is unquestionably one of the scariest things I've ever written. You said something to me about passion the last time I saw you alone. I didn’t get it. I thought you meant you had no passion for me. That, of course, I could understand. But, I’ve begun to think; maybe you thought I had no passion for you. That, I’m afraid, is completely untrue. I’m just afraid of being too unconcealed about it. I’m afraid of scaring you off. Not just away from whatever it is that is between us, that I could handle, but from my life altogether. You’ve told me more than once that you could just drop me. Well, I never want to give you any motivation to do so. I told you I expect nothing from you. That the way I feel about you is unconditional. This way everything I get from you is exceptional. Even twenty minutes at a bar with you pissy and disgruntled with me is at least mine alone. And when you do something that is intentionally for me then I feel incredibly appreciative. Anything that is just mine is a gift. It also means that I can insulate myself from the sting of you not returning my feelings or my lust. You do (did?) seem to share at least some of my lust. Well, that’s another gift for me, too. And, if it were just a case of drunken horniness on your part and feminine silliness on mine, not expressing too much depth of feeling would definitely save me a huge amount of face. I am still struggling to express myself. Me at a loss for words? How novel. But you do that to me. Not only do you distract me. But, apparently, you also bewilder me. I miss you. I feel as though I haven’t really seen you or spoke to you in a very long time. You’ve been to the house twice and I avoided anything at all that could have been mistaken for impropriety. It’s made me feel lonely for you. It may be too late for this letter. I have no idea what you think or ever thought of me or of our affair. What you ever wanted. How you felt about anything. For all I know, you have a woman you are currently pursuing and I am a bad footnote for you. It may never have been time for this letter. You may have never really felt anything for me sexually or otherwise and I was just over-ambitious and now I’m projecting. I think my repeatedly failed attempts to get you alone lately have been informing this particular point of view for me. Well, here it is. On top of everything I’ve said to you in this baring of myself, I still want you. Very, very badly. The thought of you makes me wet and, my god, you smell good. When you sing it makes me so excited. I kept thinking that after our disastrous encounters (which I must confess were great fun even if they were both physically damaging and frustrating for me) that this sexual hunger for you would dissipate. That maybe it was all just the initial heady rush of desire and trouble. Nope, not worn off. I really want to fuck you. Hell, I just want to blow you properly. I really, really enjoy doing it. And I really, really do it well. But I can’t even try if I can’t even get you hard. How am I ever going to rub your cock all over my face & throat? Taste your cum on my lips? Your cock and I have never really been properly introduced. I have never in my life been as turned on as that first time you kissed me in the car. Never. Ever. I could hardly drive after I backed out of the driveway. Hell, I could hardly back out of the driveway. I keep thinking if I could just get you alone, relatively sober, then I could just fuck you stupid. I’m not just looking for a cum. I’m looking for a sweaty almost painful orgasm. For both of us. Well, okay, certainly for me. I just want you to cum period. What the hell is that like? I’d give anything to just see you truly excited just once. Anything. I fantasize sex with you time and again. Masturbate to you in the shower. Think about little things like licking your ear or just putting my hand on your ass a lot. Okay, you are my sexual fixation. I do have to ask myself if it is because you are my white whale or if I have trouble not giving up on something I’ve wanted for almost a decade. But I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t really matter to me why, just that I know what I crave and I hate to pass by something that I really desire with out trying my best to attain it. I’d adore being your ‘band camp girl’ and just have simple uncomplicated casual sex everything said above notwithstanding. Am I delusional? Or are you bored with my advances and with me? Was it stupid to write this letter? Are you done with the sexual aspect of us? My god I hope not, but are you? I think that question is truly my goal in writing this little confessional. I thought I’d just put it all out there and see what you had to say about that. What do you have to say about that?