The Love Letters: A Novella (14 page)

Why? Because he was real, and he was there.

I told you I couldn’t do this! I’m selfish and immature, and I’m not great at relationships. I can’t do this, Zach – I can’t function on the other side of the world with an invisible boyfriend. I can’t live with hypotheticals. I can’t pine for a ghost. I can’t survive without my prince.

La vie est un interlude au salut? Then why the fuck do you love me?

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Alex sounds like a dick

I love you because . . .

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Alex was a dick

Because why?

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Alex quoted movies? Douche

Parce que tu es mon salut.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Mostly Dumb and Dumber

Et tu es mon prince.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: He only fucked you once?

Tu es partout.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Barely. Pencil pecker.

Tu es tout.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Oral?

Messenger. Now.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: As if.

Let me grab my vibrator.

April 23, 2003

Ma femme,

Thank you for the package – I’m pretty sure the Hot Pockets are inedible, but the Oreos and Twizzlers will be devoured before midnight.

Guess what? Camp Hammond has a movie theater! Granted, it’s a remodeled shipping container with thirty folding chairs and a screen the size of a white board, but it’s something to do on a Saturday night. Fisher and I have a date to see the moving pictures – tell me, if I let him buy the popcorn, do I have to put out?

We need to discuss your birthday. At exactly 11 a.m., 5-3-03, you need to be in the apartment. Don’t go for bagels. Don’t oversleep. This is an order.

Hey, take a trip to Bryant Park and see the tulips – life will make sense.

Zach

April 30, 2003

Zacharie,

A movie theater! Camp Hammond is what we like to call in the PR biz, a trendsetter. Soon, the Navy will have an arcade room with pinball machines on one of those giant ships. Oh, and a good rule to follow is: popcorn + large diet coke = fondling allowed during movie. I hope Fisher took it easy on you.

I followed your suggestion and went to Bryant Park yesterday. I bought a magazine and an iced latte, and then parked my ass at a little bistro table. It was amazing, Zach. How did you know I would love it?

Spring in New York City is a romance novel begging to be written. I guess I’ve always been too self-absorbed to notice. But I get it now – it’s color invading the gray period. Spring is a reminder that there’s hope.

Thank you for making me smile.

XO Nat

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Important *

Happy birthday! Answer the phone when it rings.

Zach

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: OMG

Zacharie,

I’m so fucking proud that my ADD didn’t kick in, leading me to wander down to Starbucks for my free birthday coffee at precisely the time you called. Holy shit! That was amazing. AMAZING! How is it possible that your voice is even sexier than the one in my dreams? And how do you do that thing where you make me feel sentimental and horny all in the same convo?

Whatever you did to get that satellite phone, it was totally worth it – even if we only had like 6.5 minutes to talk and most of that was static and “can you hear me?” I love you, Zach Parker. Thank you for giving me the best birthday present ever.

My plans . . . nothing major. Molly scored reservations at a trendy restaurant in Chelsea known for its caviar bar. Since it’s my birthday, I made an appointment to pamper myself at the salon with a massage and facial. And then I’ll stop by Betsey Johnson and buy the very sexy blue dress I’ve ogled in the window.

Don’t wait up, mon prince . . . caviar makes me crazy.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: 6.5 Minutes

Mmm. I want to give you a massage and facial.

Have a great night, birthday girl.

Zach

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Technology woes

Zacharie,

My typing fingers need a break. Concerned, Molly asked if arthritis ran in my family – little did she know that I was typing and masturbating non-stop for the entire weekend.

One week without Yahoo messenger. Doctor’s orders.

XO Nat

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
RE: Is this a challenge?

Natalie,

Do you think I’m incapable of making you orgasm by only writing letters? Challenge accepted.

May 7, 2003

Seductress,

Your dirty mouth needs training. Follow my instructions precisely.

Immediately, you will research anything and everything you can find on deep-throating. After you’re comfortable with the various techniques, you will then take the largest dildo you own into the shower with you.

With your body relaxed and your pussy satisfied, you will then lie on the bed with your head extended over the edge. Close your eyes. Say my name. Open your mouth.

Relax.

Slowly insert the large silicone flesh, taking an inch, and then another. Allow your throat to respond to the burning sensation – fight to suppress the gag reflex. Pain can be extremely satisfying. Pain is liberating. Pain reminds us that we're alive.

You will cry. You will be sore. Your throat may sting for several days . . . but then you will try again. Within a few weeks, your throat will be conditioned to take in the thickest cock. You will be primed and conditioned.

What better way to reveal your trust and devotion than granting me complete control of your naughty mouth?

Z

May 15, 2003

Zach,

I’m ashamed to write that I was thoroughly confused by your last letter. Look, I enjoy some history. Mostly stuff from the ‘20s with pinstripe gangster suits and flapper dresses. And I’m not sure you know this, but Canadian history is more than just beaver hunting and hockey.

So I researched Nixon, Watergate, and the elusive Deep Throat. Are you Deep Throat? Wait . . . is your dad Deep Throat? That seems like something Raymond Parker would do. Personally, I think Deep Throat is someone no one would ever consider. I’m putting my money on Cher.

After I researched anything and everything on Deep Throat, I took a warm shower with my dildo. (side note – I hate the word dildo. I always think of the singer Dido. I prefer floppy dick.)

And then the phone rang.

Floppy dick in hand and dripping wet, I hurried out of the shower and dried off. Grabbing my fuzzy robe from the hook, I then went to the living room to find the cordless phone. It was wedged between two cushions along with a deck of Uno cards and a sleeve of Chips Ahoy. I missed the call. It was Chloe. I flipped on the television and called her back – holy shit, she wouldn’t shut up. Chloe went on and on about some band she watched perform in Toronto, and how she really wanted bangs. Seinfeld was on television – the one where they go to the Chinese restaurant and have to wait hours to eat. I made a peanut butter sandwich sans jelly. Cartwright! I watched another episode of Seinfeld – the one where George takes a nap under his desk. During the third episode of Seinfeld – the one with Elaine and Puddy and vegetable lasagna – I grabbed my notebook and a pen from the coffee table and made a To Do List. Chloe moves in next week and I need to hide all my sex toys, buy another set of dishes, get a key made, and build a clothes rack from Ikea.

So by the time I finally got in bed, the first attempt to shove a floppy dick down my throat was thwarted by sleep.

The next time you want me to do something kinky, don’t make me read boring articles about a presidential scandal forty years ago.

XOXO Nat