To My Readers

My dearest Reader:

This letter is dedicated to you, my adoring fan. Or my first time reader. I admit it honestly, I'm a slut and I love you all. I fancy myself rather like Lestat from that famous Anne Rice's "Vampire Chronicles". Or like Roxie Hart from Broadways' "Chicago".

I suppose it's more like Roxie, really. You know... "They love me for loving them and I love them for loving me." I want you to read my work. I want you to enjoy it. I want to lay myself bare and naked for you to scrutinize and get off on. Mostly this is for my first fan, Don. I enjoy being able to make older men get horny because of what I write. But I want all of you, every single one of you. And I want you to love it once I have you, to enjoy every damned second of it.

I love the gift. After all, the seduction of you, that's what it's all about. That's what I do. When I can seduce you completely, you get hard, or wet, or both. Or I enrapture you so completely in my dark, hidden little world that you can do nothing but helplessly fly through my words as they wrap around you to the conclusion of you and the tale at hand.

Seducing you, my darlings... That's what I'm all about. Like I said earlier, I'm the slut for you, I'll play the role willingly. You just have to tell me what you want. I try to do as I'm bid in my stories, but like anyone with a muse out there knows it's hard to just do what others would like to read. The stories spill from me like fluid as I'm making love to you all on paper, and with a life of their own.

It's a public lovemaking. I strip myself of everything in a little coffee shop and I bend over the table, feeling everything wash over me. I feel your praise as sweet caresses over my skin while my pen scribbles and I'm a shell of myself drinking tea and focused soley on my work. But you should know that while your praise makes me hot for you and hunger for more, your displeasure strikes me like a cat-o'-nine-tails. It rakes me over hot coals and rubs salt in all my wounds.

I would do anything for you, just to feel the warmth of your enjoyment and know I'm the cause of your masturbation. I enjoy finding I'm fuel for your fantasies and knowing that some of you actually want to do the real me. Writing this to you is just one of my attempts to let you enjoy yourselves with me. I want to bare myself to you all. I want you to know all my secrets. I want you to know the gentle touches that I know when I'm wrapped in a story as it unfolds from my pen.

In that light, here's my first secret: not one thing in my stories is ever pure fantasy. Not only are they all based on my own experience, but the fictional stories- well, loves, they really happen. When I'm writing them, I feel every single inch of myself at one with the characters. I feel everything, know everything. When they have sex for you, it's really me performing naughty things for you. It's me there on your computer monitor, cavorting with men, women, aliens, my boyfriend... I'm up there for you all to see, so you can watch me having sex through them for you. And with you, when I manage to drag you in with me.

I hope I hear from all of you soon. I can't wait to bring you further into my world. I can't wait to fuck you. I can't wait for you to join me in all sorts of naughty goings-on. And remember, if you love me, then I love you. I'm baring my soul to you here. I trust you'll read more of me, and keep my secrets as you discover them. Stroke my ego and stroke myself when you enjoy my work. But remember- I don't mind when you don't spare me the cat. If you do it politely and with a lover's tenderness, that is.

Sincerely, and with much love always to you, my dedicated initiates to my world, and those seeking to join your ranks,

Your Columbia

PS- The editors think this is too short. I suppose I should talk more about my expectations. I expect to be scathed. I expect brutal honesty. I EXPECT to be read and then commented on- at least reflect on it quietly for a minute after you've jacked off... Or fingered yourself. Whatever. Sorry, darlings, I know I sound brusque. Your Colombia had a lousy and overdramatized day at work. Hence the lack of new submissions, the situation has been the same for weeks.

But I promise, more are on the way! Even a new poem. (It is a little sick, but Uncle Walt Whitman would be proud. I think e e cummings would be too.) I promise you all, I still love you. Love me back, input your opinions... and you shall receive. Because I adore you. And your wish- it's always my command.