Damn, wish I was your lover
– Sophie B Hawkins
I’d rock you till the daylight comes
making sure you’re smiling and warm
Christian’s relationship with Alison now settled into a steady tempo for the next few months. He had to work 9-5 but could get weekdays off from time to time and would travel up to Sydney most weekends. She worked most weekends and had university commitments during the week, but would try to shift her schedule around to get down to Canberra as often as she could. It was less than ideal, but they both tried their hardest and were lucky that they lived in the two closest cities in Australia; three hours at most by car. But to supplement their travel, they both wrote to each other at a furious pace.
They wrote at least once a week. Sometimes the letters would arrive on or after the days when they had actually met up, which made amusing reading, learning about what one had promised to do to the other after they had already done it. Alison told Christian she read and reread his letters several times, especially when she was alone because of the way they made her feel.
The letter writing and reading was normal for two people in love, but the effect of Christian’s letters had on Alison was quite extraordinary. Not only did it become the first thing she would ask for when she came home, but each new letter’s arrival would also herald the onset of happy Alison for at least the next 48 hours. She would be positively buoyant if she opened one early enough during the day but almost insular if she didn’t see it till she got home at night. Either way, she was ecstatic with each new arrival.
There wasn’t a day that Alison didn’t rush home, hoping Christian had sent her another letter. They couldn’t see each other often enough and, in her flat situation, the shared phone wasn’t really an option for intimate conversations. So, she had to content herself with his next letter; and all his previous ones. Some of them got quite a workout.
Alison knew she was, by nature, very competitive, but writing erotic letters to a lover was a big step for her. She was nervous the first time she sent Christian a letter describing her lust for him. She felt quite inadequate in her erotic writing skills. It was something that she had thought and read about but never dared to put down on paper. But after reading all the amazing, graphic erotica that he had been sending to her, she wanted him to know she that wanted to do all those things he had written with him and more. Alison meant every word she wrote and every word she ever said to him. And she wanted to say them repeatedly, so he knew how much she meant each one.
… I can’t wait till I’m kissing and rubbing my breasts over every square inch your body only then returning to your moist, soft lips, licking and blowing on your ears, moving my tongue slowly over your dick from the base to the tip, time and time again, taking you in my mouth and hand, moving it steadily, waiting anxiously for signs that you are enjoying it and then pure heaven when you come into my mouth. I get to taste, devour, and swallow every last drop. Collapsing in your arms, warm from the excitement, kissing and talking about everything and anything, waiting for our bodies to repair anticipating the next time we are in rapture. I can’t wait to see you till I can do this and more.
Not long after Christian and Alison started dating, Princess Diana died in a car crash. Tragic, but by the end of the first week Alison was well and truly over the 24/7 media coverage. However, some of her flatmates were obsessed with it and the tv seemed to be on the news all hours, updating everyone on the fact that Diana was still dead.
One evening, after reserves, Alison came home to find the coverage was on yet again. Alison sighed, but as it was late, she didn’t complain. Then she noticed a letter waiting for her on the bench and hoped it was another from Christian. It was, and Alison felt the same tingle of excitement that she usually got when she was expecting another installment of “When Christian fucked Ali.”
She settled onto the couch next to the girls and went into her own little world. She barely acknowledged the weak attempts at greetings by her morbidly curious flatmates. The letter had Christian in a tuxedo and Alison in a slinky evening dress at a party, sneaking out to a balcony and him bending her over the balustrades. Again, the detail and imagery were very explicit, and Alison felt her heart quicken and the temperature rise.
As she read more, Christian described the sensation of him entering her. Alison’s hand wondered down between her thighs as it usually did when she was reading any of his letters. It was easy enough to slip her hand into the fly of her uniform, where she could already feel the dampness of her pants.
“Alison!” Christian grunted as he emptied himself into her.
“Alison.”
Alison closed her eyes, touching her clit through the cloth.
“Alison!” a female voice called.
Shit, Alison had forgotten where she was. Petrified that she’d been caught with her hand in her pants, she sheepishly replied, “Yes?”
“Do you want a cup of tea?” Fiona asked. “You look so tired. You know you had your eyes shut.”
“Oh, um, did I? Oh, er, no, no thank you.”
“You should probably go to bed.”
Alison agreed.
The next time a flatmate almost caught Alison was a few days later. She was sitting in the sun on the flat’s balcony trying to study. She “needed” a break, so she brought out one of Christian’s older letters and was reading it for the second time that day, and she quickly became aroused.
Her back was to the flat so nobody could see her. Alison slid her right hand into her shorts and pressed gently on her engorged vulva. The pressure caused the blood to surge, and she closed her eyes, imagining that it was Christian’s hand doing the work, just like in his letter. She pulled aside her wet pants and her finger was just about to probe inward when she heard the apartment door opening behind her. Alison pulled her hand back quickly and went stiff as a board.
Inside, Camilla had seen Alison on the balcony, surrounded by textbooks. She wasn’t sure if Alison knew she was there, so she tapped on the glass to say hello and see if she wanted a cup of tea. Alison heard the knock on the glass door telling her that someone was right behind. She turned to see Camilla waving at her. Alison waved and mouthed “hello” back. Then Camilla’s eyes moved toward Alison’s left hand and she said, “Oh sorry, I’ll leave you two alone.”
Confused, Alison looked back at her hand, only to realise that she was still holding Christian’s letter. Camilla had never seen Alison look as embarrassed as she did at that moment. What did Christian write this time Camilla wondered?
The bar is open, everyone is relaxing. The last night before we go home. I walk in, wishing at that moment that I was anywhere else. Happiness is not on my mind.
You catch my eye, half a smile, unsure if that is allowed. I nod in response, but all I feel tonight is numb. I make my excuses and leave. A single word repeats itself in my mind, ‘despair.’
I walk alone to the lines; the stars and moon provide all the light needed to find my way. I pause outside my tent and sigh, looking for the longest time at the show the heavens have put on tonight. So much beauty amongst the darkness.
A figure approaches, but the last thing I want right now is conversation. I turn away and hope they pass me by.
‘Sir,’ it is a young woman’s voice. Familiar, but not a friend. ‘Sir, I-I just heard the news.’ I turn, I know this soldier. ‘I just wanted to see if you needed anything.’
I am about to thank and dismiss you, but I stop. You are looking at me strangely, respectfully distant, but somehow also intimately close. Despite the evening’s warmth, you are trembling. I see you clearly for the first time: your blonde hair; blue eyes; your Grecian nose. Why have I not noticed you before? You are beautiful.
The look in your eyes tells me that your offer is earnest, but there is something else, too. You are close, showing no signs of subordination to rank. If we were anywhere but here, this would be okay. Then it strikes me, it is you need who something. You need something from me!
‘Private Benaud I,’ you cut me off with a gentle hand. We have stopped listening to the voices in our heads telling us ‘no’. The only sound now is our beating hearts. The world becomes dark.
We step back into my tent, and I sit down on my bed, drawing you to me. I am staring up at you, amazed. All despair has gone now and only you remain. The word in my head now is ‘fraternise.’
We kiss, lips apart, as if we have done this a thousand times before. My hands are on your waist, easing down your trousers, slipping them silently to the floor. I fumble with your pants, pressing against you. You gasp.
As they fall away, you climb onto me, unbuttoning your shirt as you begin to rise and fall. In the gloom, I can see pale flesh and breasts where your buttons have come undone. I am inside you and the only word now is ‘yes.’
So much beauty in the darkness.
Leave a Reply