LETTERS

I woke to find myself 20 years old....then I made the mistake of moving, and groaned in pain.

Curses went through my head - curses at ever cheerful aerobic instructors named "Dawn", with their tireless energy and their "make it burn!" while they smiled their Osmand smiles. Anyway, I slithered out of bed, stripped off my clothes and headed for the shower; only to find that there was no water, none whatsoever. This was the first in a string of events that would eventually prove to make this day a real pain in my ass.

The next event followed a few seconds later, as I stumbled from the bedroom to call the landlord. Upon my less-than-graceful exit from the bedroom I discovered that I was looking at fifteen or so of my closest friends and family. I was still groggy and just stood there, stunned - naked as the day I was born - flaunting a morning erection. I wasn’t able to really comprehend what was happening until I saw my mother standing in the center of the group. She dropped the cake...and nobody yelled surprise. White as a ghost, I studied the faces of my well-wishers, intently scanning their amused, and in a few cases, shocked expressions. Mother, the eternal kind and gracious hostess, stepped forward to take the situation in hand. Unfortunately she stepped right in the cake and landed on her big, fat ass. Think! Quick!! What would Emily Post do? I’m not sure... I don’t think she ever addressed public nudity, as I remember. Oh well, screw tact, they’d all seen me naked before anyway, some more recently than others, so I strolled through the crowd and thanked everyone for the lovely, yet early, surprise party - it was not quite yet 7:30 AM.

Mother was horrified, but what’s new? I couldn’t help laughing at her. There she sat - with her skirt hiked up around her midriff in the center of my living room covered in cake - looking like some strange sort of clown. All in all, I’d say the party was a roaring success. Strangely, Mother didn’t see it that way and insisted that I "stop acting like some kind of bohemian and go and put on some clothes." That’s my mother; she’d bring a covered dish to an orgy.

After my brother Darrell left, my mother was more irritable than ever. I was eager for college to start, anything to get away from the Snow Queen. I was convinced if I could relocate, my broken heart would mend. At eighteen I’d have no problem finding a lover I wasn’t related to. After all, it’s incredibly unhealthy to be sexually involved with ones’ brother - or at least that’s what Emily Post says.

Dorm life sucked, and not even literally. That pretty much sums it up. Most of the guys there had enough testosterone to choke a baby whale and I didn’t really make many friends until I met Mike. He was my new roommate, and as luck would have it, he was gay too. It didn’t take long before we just ended up pushing the beds together and announcing to our few friends that we were an item. It was nice to be an item...but as often happens, Mike and I grew apart.

Well, I should have known better; after all he was a psych. major. After joining S.A., or sex-addicts anonymous, he informed me that he could not continue to wallow in co-dependency with me while I denied my disease. I informed him that just because you do something all the time, it doesn’t automatically make you good at it - and if he ever wanted to be a good fuck, he’d best keep practicing. Three weeks after we moved into our new apartment he moved out. I was beginning to see a pattern in my affairs of the heart.

Since Mike’s departure I pretty much decided that I would just cool it and abstain from sex, as every experience I’d ever had was either painful or bizarre. Such was the case with my only other sexual partner, who came before I had met Mike. Ah, romance! I didn’t even know his name. The whole thing happened in the first week of my freshman year and took place in the commons restrooms. I’d heard lots of guys went there for sex. I don’t understand why in this day and age men go to restrooms to find sex. Couldn’t they just find it in a bar like a normal person? Anyway, my curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to check it out. What followed would be the first sexual experience I’d had with another person since my brother Darrell left.

I remember I was terrified as I swiftly pushed open the door and strode purposefully to the stall at the far end. A man followed right behind me. I was so nervous, I didn’t stop to look back. Scurrying to the cubicle I locked myself in and sat down in a terrified state. Oh dear God! What in the hell was I thinking? My heart was pounding, my stomach in knots, I had no idea what I was I supposed to do. Somehow I sensed that puking would be a major faux pas.

I looked down and saw it - the glory hole. Somehow it didn’t look so glorious. What was I gonna do if some man stuck his dick through it? The answer to that question came seconds later as the man who had followed me into the restroom entered the adjoining stall. Peeking through the hole, I watched as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his large, erect member. In one motion the man shoved it through the hole, jabbing me in the jaw. Funny how I remember that; I also remember his smell - pungent, musky - it was the smell of sex, and what an incredible turn-on! I had never given head before, but I figured this guy certainly wasn’t shy so I wouldn’t be either.

I felt the saliva form in the corners of my mouth. Given the surroundings, I was glad to find that my sexual desire was still there. Too bad my morals were pushing into my consciousness....but damn it, if I was going to do this I was going to do it right....so I just dove right in. I opened my mouth and darted my tongue across the head, thanking God I learned something from the porno movies I’d watched. I began to take more and more, shoving my face as close to the hole as I could...and I gagged. I remember thinking maybe this wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped...damn! His hips began to thrust a little, and I realized that I was in control. What a rush! Choking back a giggle, I realized that any satisfaction this man achieved would be solely dependent on my efforts.

I began to pick up the pace and heard an occasional soft moan, telling me that at least he was enjoying it. I put my hand around the base of his shaft to steady it as I went faster on my strokes - although to be absolutely honest it was also to keep me from gagging again. His precum was almost a constant drool down my throat and it wasn’t long before I began to feel something almost like a twitch; his whole body tensing. Amazing how much you can tell about a man when his dick’s in your mouth. I heard voices in the background, someone was entering the restroom. Hit by a moment of panic, I was about to stand up when the floodgates opened. Rivets of cum splattered across my face and into my hair as I was on my way back up to the toilet. My hand clamped on his hose, stopping the flow of spunk on my jeans and shirt.

As I stood in my stall, mortified at showing my face in public with some guy’s jizz all over me, I almost cried. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper in a vain attempt to clean off as much as possible. The people who had entered must have used the restroom, or had found the stalls in use and left. That was a spectacular relief. I felt a hand at the crotch of my jeans...I looked down and saw his muscular arm reaching into my stall through the hole. Well, at least the guy was willing to give as good (hopefully) as he got.

I felt him pull out my cock while I waited for the plush feeling of his lips to wrap themselves around me. He spat on my dick and began to stroke. The next few seconds were confusing - confusing that is until I realized that his ass was slowly descending down my swollen pole and not his mouth! I was in shock! Dare I continue? I’d always been a hopeless sap in thinking that anal sex was a true act of love, not just lust! Then again, it didn’t feel all that bad.

My mysterious stranger planted his ass up against the glory hole; clearly he wanted me to do all the work. I was a little miffed, but if you think about it, fucking a guy through a glory hole isn’t the easiest, or most graceful, act in the circus. I quickly plunged into his ass and just as quickly, I pulled almost all the way out, drinking in the warmth of his tight hole. Obstacles be damned - this felt wonderful! So wonderful, in fact, that my mind let go for the first time and I really began to enjoy the experience.

I could have sworn that once or twice felt him wince in pain, but I didn’t feel too bad for him - after all, he’s the one who didn’t think of lube! I went about my business like an animal, wishing I could grab his hair or something to fully impale him onto my throbbing fuck rod. Plunging with all my strength I was clearly close to cumming. I let out a loud moan, not caring if anyone else was in the restroom or not. I plastered his ass with my man juice and he clamped down and took in every ounce I gave it and seemed to want more. He pulled up and I heard a vulgar sloshing noise. I couldn’t believe that I had just fucked some nameless, faceless, even ageless man in a public place. For all I knew he was some forty-something married guy playing out his repressed desires.

I waited for him to clean up....there was no way in hell I was going to be the first one to leave. I put a piece of toilet paper over the hole and waited for the stranger to leave. It sounded like he was writing something on the other side of the wall. Whatever it was he wrote, it was short because the he walked out of the stall and left the restroom in a flash. After I was sure he was gone for good I slipped out of my stall and went into the one he’d just occupied. I studied the graffiti on the wall—there was tons of it. Most of it was just dates and time that people wanted sex. After a moment I determined that the man had written, "Let’s do it again sometime."

"Let’s not," I thought and hurried out of the restroom, quite sure that I never wanted to engage in this type anonymous sex again. I wasn’t built for it - I was a relationship kind of guy and my reaction to this recent sexual encounter proved it.

I stood at the counter drying dishes with Lorna, straining my mind, trying to find a subtle way to start the conversation. I decided to take the direct route, diving right in. I knew that in know time I would be enveloped in that frigid sea that substitutes for my mother’s humanity. Finally I broke the silence.

"Mother, why did you throw me a surprise party at 7 AM?" I asked warily.

"Because dear, I know how busy you are at school. I didn’t want to disrupt your schedule."

"Oh,I see, and throwing a birthday party at 7a.m. won’t disrupt me, huh?"

"Don’t you start with me Richie. I will not have you pushing my buttons. You always have to ruin our visits for me."

"Oh I see, it’s my birthday, but I don’t even get an opinion, is that it?"

"Darrell! I will not have you berating me today. You’re just like..."

"Mother, my name is Richie, not Darrell," I roared, heaving the dish towel into the sink and storming to the living room window were I sat letting my anger envelope me in a cloak of silence.

"I KNOW that dear, I did NOT call you Darrell." I stood solid an silent, refusing to answer.

"Damn it, answer me young man, I’m your mother and I deserve a little respect!!"

"Well then how about giving me a scrap of respect in return? I’m not stupid, and I’m not deaf! You called me Darrell.", I kept my back to her intentionally, just to make her loose her mind.

"Darrell! I did not call...Richie...oh dear. I’m sorry." Mother fumbled in a nervous high pitched tone. I could tell that the water works weren’t far away as she scurried over to the sofa to get her purse. Instead of pulling out that ridiculous handkerchief she used when she was trying to be melodramatic, she pulled out an envelope. I still didn’t acknowledge her. She could come to me, by God! I was more than a little surprised when she did, handing me a letter.

"Here Richie. This came for you. It’s from Darrell...open it."

I took the letter and stared at it for close to a minute, my thoughts wandering to the other unopened letter in my desk drawer.

"Well go on...open it. It’s the first we’ve heard from him. Maybe he’ll tell us where he is," she urged. She wasn’t thinking about me, and I knew it. If being nice is what it took to get news of her beloved Darrell, well then, she’d bite the bullet and do it. I knew better than to get used to it. Letter in hand, I walked over to the desk and put it in the bottom drawer with the other one.

"What are you doing? Why aren’t you going to open it? Richie? Richie?" She was escalating to a near screech. "Richie I insist you open that letter right this minute!" She was now into that all-too- familiar tone signaling me she meant business. She was not unlike a pack of wild dogs - I couldn’t let her sense fear. I stood my ground.

"Richie," she snapped moving to the desk, "if you don’t open that damned letter, I will!" With that she ripped the drawer out of the desk, sending its contents cascading out across the floor. Looking down, she picked up first a picture and then two letters. Without missing a beat Mother recognized Darrell’s handwriting on both unopened envelopes; she glanced at and then dropped the framed photograph - it plunged to the floor, shattering on the tile.

It was at this point that Mother lost her mind - and it wasn’t very pretty. There was a lot of screaming, followed by uncontrollable crying and ending with her storming out of my little apartment in an absolute frenzy. My Mother never could deal with controversy; life to her was far more manageable if she could control the situation by being the one to throw a scene. There was no better excuse for pitching a fit than her discovery of the unopened letter that Darrell had left in the safe deposit box. She couldn’t understand why I had not read the letter, and, to be truthful, neither could I.

Later that night, after four long and exasperating phone calls from Mother, I padded into the living room and sat at the desk. I opened the drawer and removed the letters. It was time to face facts - I’d have to deal with reality at some point, and the day’s events spoke to me very clearly....they said "Richie, open the damn letters!"

I carefully unsealed the most recent one my mother had brought to me and it was empty. That was just like my brother, stir everything up and send me an empty letter! Disgusted, I threw it to the floor and turned my attention to the other one. As I picked it up something caught my attention - a tiny piece of paper that appeared to have been in the first letter, laying just a few inches from the discarded envelope. I leaned over and picked it up, it was a small scrap of paper, no bigger than what you’d find inside a fortune cookie. There were only three words on it.

My mind raced. What did this mean? I studied the scrap of paper again...nothing. I set it on the desk next to the other unopened letter and stood up. I would have to read the other letter in the morning. I was too tired to cope with this, and there was something about Darrell’s little note that had me on edge. There had to be more to it, that much I knew; I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

That night I dreamt of my hot afternoon with Darrell and my many nights with Mike...I also dreamt of my "restroom experience". Visions of the seedy sex in the commons’ bathroom plagued my sleep. In my dream I was watching myself pleasing this stranger from above...spying on myself. I wonder what Mike would say about that dream? He always knew the answer to EVERYTHING, although to be honest, most of the time his conclusions were wrong.

I was jolted into consciousness by sudden comprehension and understanding. Sitting there in the darkness of my bedroom my mind traveled back to that restroom wall where I read that man’s message - "Let’s do it again sometime". I scanned my memory of the stall and remembered something written a couple of inches above the message...funny, I had just assumed that I didn’t know the man in the restroom. Now it all made sense, the message on the bathroom wall was the same three words that Darrell had sent in his cryptic note...the man in the restroom was Darrell! The message...