Dear Bridget, I Want You(28)

Fucking.

Not making love.

I needed my head examined.

After two hours and no sleep in sight, I decided the only way I was going to be able to get any rest was if I got everything I was feeling off of my chest. Flicking on the light, I carefully set the framed photo of my beloved Ben on my nightstand and then opened the drawer and dug out a pen and piece of pretty stationery. I would write down my thoughts to clear my mind. I had no intention of actually giving the letter to Simon, so there was no reason to filter anything I said.



Dear Simon,



In your letter you said that you noticed my eyes when I looked at you and thought I might be attracted to you. Well, there has never been a more true statement. From the first time I saw you in the emergency room, I was drawn to you. While you were busy digging a fish hook from my ass, I was relishing the feeling of your big hand touching me and imagining what it might feel like for you to…

I stopped and sucked on the top of my pen, rereading what I’d written down. I knew exactly what I’d imagined that day, but yet I was too much of a prude to pen the words. How could I, a woman who was too prudish to even write down my sexual fantasies, possibly fuck a man like Simon? I gave myself an imaginary smack in the head and forced myself to continue. If writing this letter was going to be cathartic and allow me to get some rest, I had to at least be honest. So I continued.

While you were busy digging a fish hook from my ass, I was relishing the feeling of your big hand touching me and imagining what it might feel like for you to fuck me from behind while I was bent over the exam table. I also imagined your finger in my ass. Which is actually pretty strange for me, since I’ve never done any sort of anal play. But there, I said it. That was my first thought of you. Basically, in the first ten minutes of seeing you, I was imagining your dick inside of me and your finger in my ass.

I laughed after writing that last sentence. Never in my life did I talk like that, but it was definitely fun writing it down. It was freeing to say these things, even if I’d never have the nerve to say them out loud or give the note to Simon. I thought he should know that, too.

By the way, Sexy Simon, as long as I’m telling you my innermost thoughts that I’d never have the nerve to actually share with you—random thought: Did you notice that never and nerve have all the same letters? That’s pretty interesting since nerves probably lead to a lot of nevers. But anyway, back to you, my Sexy Simon. After that first encounter in the emergency room, I came home and masturbated to thoughts of you. It had been the first time I’d used my vibrator in years—since my husband died. You awoke something inside of me that I’d thought was dead.

So, yes, I’m attracted to you. In fact, attracted just doesn’t seem to be a strong enough word to describe what I feel when I’m around you. There is nothing more that I would like than to come to your room right now. But there are just so many reasons I can’t. And all those reasons lead back to one thing: I’m scared.

Scared you won’t want me once you see my body. I’m not twenty-two anymore, Simon. I’ve given birth. Gravity has started to show me who’s boss. I don’t spend hours doing yoga or at the gym like I probably should.

Scared that I don’t know how to fuck. I know that probably sounds ridiculous. But it’s true. I’ve had sex and made love—but fucking is a whole different ball game. What if I get nervous and turn into a starfish? How will I ever be able to face you again?

Scared my son will walk in. Yes, I know, there are locks on doors. My fears aren’t necessarily rational, Simon.

Scared that I’ll be cheating. (See above ^^ statement on rational.)

Scared that I’ll grow attached to you and you’ll leave. Even though, deep down in my heart, I know this has already started to happen, I fear that moving things into an intimate relationship will only make it harder when you leave.

So there, that’s my truth—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I’ve never been so honored or felt so beautiful because you want me. But I’m afraid it can never happen.



—Bridget



Wow, I hadn’t expected that to be so therapeutic. I reread my letter twice and then took a matching envelope from my stationery set out from my drawer and folded the paper inside. For good measure, I even got up from bed and spritzed a little perfume on it. Then, I turned out the light and settled back into my bed. I was a heck of a lot more relaxed than I’d been before writing it. Except…I had one more thing I wanted to say.

Sitting up, I flicked the light back on and grabbed my pen.

P.S. While I won’t be able to join you in your room, I’d really appreciate it if you could video yourself jerking off. It’s my most recent fantasy that I pleasure myself to, and things would go a lot quicker if I could just have a video of you doing that instead of having to imagine what that looks like in my head. Thanks!