around seven years ago, while my divorce was still pending, an old friend wrote to me. she said that she was very sorry to hear about my 'situation' and wondered if we might meet as, she said, as her marriage had recently failed too.
at that point i probably hadn't seen J.B. in almost twenty five years. though childhood friends (and more) we had lost touch over time - though i had never forgotten her. she, as quickly became clear from her letter, had not forgotten me either.
after one or two further niceties she sought to remind me of some of our 'adventures'. as previously recounted J.B. had introduced me to the delights of erotic literature - and its potential to inspire the flesh.
she wrote that she often masturbated with the wooden handle of a skipping rope - her memory my fucking her with the same being so strong still that she often came as it was still barely tipping into her cunt.
'i have tried to recreate the sting of the rope itself on my arse... but it has never quite had the right weight to it.' she noted with some regret.
'i did try to interest my husband in such... activities.. but he strongly disapproved. so it was pale sex most of the time - though i did stray once or twice (out of necessity). two rough men in twenty years and that's not much to show for all those dark desires of mine. and that was all it was - rough sex. i encouraged them to use me - and they did... but there was none of the... refinement i really longed for. i gagged on their cocks and took them up my arse but that's only a small part of it.. as you know.
these men were strong (unlike my husband) but lacked.. imagination. You always had such an.. exquisite... imagination...'
J.B. spoke of other things. the long evenings spent in the local woods where i learned almost a lifetimes worth of tying and teasing... there was an old and fallen tree, long blanketed in moss where she lay down and i would fix her limbs to the limbs of the old tree and then take a switch of willow and sting her white thighs and breasts with it.
sting.. then soothe with cool licks and kisses... then sting again. i practiced my knots with some dilligence, and learned to be very patient.. to allow time for the flesh to meet the arousal of the mind...
'lying there,' she wrote. 'straining against those bindings... i knew that you would use me... i knew that nothing was.. forbidden.. everything was possible... even before you touched my clit i could see myself... after... cum dripping from my holes... my lips painted with it... and all my wetness spilled...
it was almost as though the anticipation was the greatest aphrodisiac of all....'
J.B. explained that she was playing even as she wrote. that she had inserted the handle of the skipping rope before she had even sat down - knowing the effect her letter would have on her. i smelled the paper then and i knew from its scent that she was telling the truth.
'i miss the taste of you,' she wrote.
'pale men and rough men.. i've had my fill of them. i crave imagination. i long for... awakening... again.'
i met with J.B two weeks later. old friends... new adventure.
