release

She sits in my mailbox, this naked girl. A pocket-sized, café latte, angular woman, dark hair streaming down to her waist. She holds up her handcuffed hands to me. Her eyes are large, daring, consumed, almost freaky.

I know nothing about her.

You have found her.

She will come to your house, this naked girl, clothed. She has agreed to masturbate for you. In or out of her clothes, I do not know. You will watch. See how it goes. You will not let it go too far, you say. If it goes well, she says that she will be up for a threesome.

It is hot. The situation is hot. You are a hot man, especially when heated. A masturbating heating woman is hot. Watching one is hot. Being privy to this watching is hot. Sex is hot, when it’s real. Sex heats, burns, engulfs and enflames.

And who knows what will happen if we all end up doing this?

T, I let you go, you know, the same way I have had to let my life go. Let my life go to changes, to disruptions in equilibriums that can never be maintained. I have maybe been the first to break out, but I know we would have broken all the same. I know what I have always known, we could not stay in this place forever. And it is more than just a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You say to me once in the middle of another shared phone-call fantasy, and it’s funny, you say, I have no real interest in involving myself in another woman’s sexual life, in her every day thoughts and fantasies. And I think of how I understand this feeling. It was partly why I had no desire, in the end, to continue with N. I think of how this is just exactly what I would jealously guard from you. Just this desire to have you watch, you say, this desire to have you be there.

But T, you must know it is not fully true. You know you must, as I had to with him. You know you cannot sit back and watch a woman open her arousal to you, without being involved at some level. The second you respond, you have stepped in. You must have already if she has agreed to do this with you.

And it’s strange, I would be disappointed if you didn’t get involved in some way. I would hate for you to have posed completely, to have detached yourself like an artifical limb and enticed her there. I expect more from you. I cannot deny there is something lost, either way. It will be the final breaking of this delicate back that we have ridden together

I have nothing to tell you, really, there is no half-way. This we that we had, it broke upon his and her entry. That we was broken to begin with. What more could I ask you? Does she turn you on? Do you want to fuck her? Do you want to know her? How much? Wet-making and present-breaking questions. What more could I ask of you? To like her enough to fuck her, but not too much, not as much as you like me?? It is pointless. It is hypocritical.

The truth is you do not know how I will respond to her either if we do end up meeting. (Although I think the possibilities are more limited for me. You and she are fundamentally different for me, in a way that her and I can never be for you.) Still, you will have to know of her pleasure for me, just like you had to know of his.

I'm thinking too how you told me all you have given cannot help but make you protective of me. I picture you, looming over me like a benefactor who desires loyalty, dues paid, credit given. You have had to be patient, you have got to have me first, excited, nervous, fresh, at my most difficult and resistant and awkward. You have shown me this power, you have created this monster. Others will benefit. I will owe you always, but I will know too that this was all in me. And you know I cannot put yours or anyone's footnote at the bottom of my every page, again and again.

And maybe you don't know that in all you have given you have made me just as protective of you, though in a different way. Teacher's pet that I have become.

I let go of your exclusive sexual involvement with me now, your interest, your guidance, the zoning in for a moment of your cums and desires on me and into me. This same involvement that I admit I have hoarded so greedily and kept so close and secret to me. I let it go, maybe it will leave completely, maybe it will not. We will change, no doubt, we are changing. We will be just as good, worse, better, who knows?

T, this girl may blow your mind beyond your control, she may do nothing for you, she may end up being your girl, your love, she may start and run away. She will probably do something in between. These risks were always there, this I never had any control over. I never had you. I don’t know that I really want to have anyone that way. I cannot yearn for, I cannot fuck, puppets. You must do what you want. I want you to. I take comfort in what was had, this “good run”. This great cross-country sprint, in fact. I put faith into what might yet be had.

And I won’t even ask you much, you know, after that day. After any day really. I cannot hound you, because I cannot hound myself. I will hope that you will tell me to the best of your ability how you feel, towards her, towards me. I will wait, listen, see how I feel.

I will let go. I will in fact, play.

T, I’m nervous, I’m excited, I look backwards, I look forwards. And I kind of hope this works.