1 July 1863

5 Jul 1863

Dear Madam.,

It is with a profoundly dour heart and soul that I write this letter. I must extend my personal and deepest condolences, for your beloved Captain Daniel F. Beauregard, has been struck down on the field of battle near Gettysburg. He fought with a valiance that awed his men and impressed his superiors on countless occasions. Always leading from the front, he and his trusted horse, Jake, were cut down in Colonel Pickett's desperate assault against an impregnable position. His solemn death was not instantly rendered. I am hesitant to share with you that fact but I would be devoid of duty to his memory to obscure from you his final desperate moments. He insisted with his dying breath that I, who has been a trusted friend in these two years of unceasing war for our vaunted Southern salvation, tender to you the last note written by a hand etching his longing heart's scribe in subtle ink for you. Only when I gave him my word of honor that I would indeed see his last post delivered and his final devotional to you revealed did he wilt and then perish.

I have enclosed this, his final dispatch, as he asked me. Let me state as an officer and a Southern gentleman of Virginia I witnessed, while at his side as he succumbed, the confirmation that in the end his thoughts were of his treasured state of Louisiana and his beloved Andrea.

He spoke of you agreeably many times. I can say without deception that his thoughts these last few months have been only of you, his home, and the needs of his gallant soldiers. We spoke at length of your great beauty and kind soul, of your grace, your dignity and passions that kept him remorseful that the war could have, and now has, halted him from ever savoring again the sweet countenance of your existence. This he told me to tell you in the midst of our darkest hour on the battlefield, the final campaign which has claimed him amongst its martyrs.

I feel it fitting to note that our grand Confederate Army of the Potomac was defeated massively on the day he fell to the withering Yankee fire. A defeat on such a great scale compares, to me only perhaps, with the personal sadness with which a man so devoted and wanting of you is struck down heroically, never to have that passion requited again.

Our great nation's army is now on the run. I hear news that on the day of our defeat, the Yankee tyrant Grant has been successful in the siege of the river city of Vicksburg as well. The war is on all fronts, lost, but we shall fight on to keep them from our homes and out great women of virtue such as yourself. Till our last breath is expended, our final musket ball is fired and bayonet broken into splinters from the effort, I swear that women of your dignity and of your Southern virtues shall never be subjected to Yankee rule so long as we can fight.

I have enclosed Daniel's last letter to you, taken from his pocket on the bloody Pennsylvania meadow on which he succumbed. I have also enclosed a lock of his hair so that you may have something tangible to hold sacred his memory. I again extend my condolences for your bereavement and wish you all the best in the life God grants you to live. Love live the Confederacy.

Sincerely yours in shared sorrow,

Edwin D. Williams

Major, 3rd Cavalry, CSA

*

1 July 1863

My dearest and beautiful Andrea,

It buoyed my exhausted heart to receive your kind letter this morning. The days here of late have been so fraught with battle after battle. For several weeks now we have closed on the enemy at great cost to life and material, but our spirits are high all the same, as we are licking Lincoln's bluecoats wherever he stands and fights. I must confess though, we are all so tired of the death and the loneliness, tired of being so far away from those we love and miss. To receive your kind words and smell your scent on the pages gives me hope that someday all of this carnage shall end with our victory and peace renewed. Then, God willing, I shall once again return to your arms and enamored bed.

The thought of our last tendered romances I have held dear within me all these long months since that enchanted night we last saw each other in Charleston. It is a torment as well as a guiding star. Knowing that such pleasures can be known to me, that such a lips' delicious taste as yours exists is maddening as I sit here filthy and exhausted in our ramparts, so far from those lips' existence. Yet they call me to duty as we thrust forward into Pennsylvania toward victory, God willing, and our finest hours of glory. To know that I fight for Dixie and for the right to return honorably to you once again sends me forward with a vim and vigor that I must admit some of my contemporaries and even my heroic soldiers must certainly deem foolish. But having sampled the scent of your skin, to have pressed my lips to yours, felt your arms around me and known that glorious swoon and surge that you have brought within me gives me the hot flash of blood in my very soul, leaving me with the want to do my utmost to win this war hastily and completely...so that I may return unharmed and soonest to you.

Sweet Andrea, oh from the Lord Almighty you must surely have been sent! I ride Jake into the grinding teeth of hell's cannons every month. I see good men, some just mere boys, fall to the sabers and cannon of our hated foe by hundreds. You cannot imagine the carnage I have witnessed these last few years on the field of battle and I implore you not to try to do so. I am numbed to all I have thus experienced, as all good soldiers must so be sturdied lest they wilt in the face of the enemy. But still, I see the toll of our certain victory. And that toll is so high it is ghastly.

The warm thoughts of you and I, safe in our bed chamber that glorious night, almost a year ago as I write this, convince me that I have suffered already hell in its utmost fury, for so torturous it is for me to be far from your exalted presence must mean I died already the instant I parted from your finger's touch. Desiring you as I do and having no means to return to you without disgrace and consequence is a hell in itself. It surely must be hell, for there are no angels such as you here, only the anguished, the unyielding sounds and sights of war, and the many, many miles of weary marching in a wrong direction...one that separates me so much further daily from your graces and beauty.

Alas, I hope you carry within your breast a mere particle of the savored memory I have trembling within mine own heart of our tender caresses. In my mind I still see you, so lively and enchanting amongst the gardenias and dahlias lining the streets of Charleston on that blessed June weekend. Damn this war for not allowing us more time of blissfully strolling the streets under those blue Atlantic skies! I see those wonderful eyes in my dreams, alight in the glint of the sun that shines still on that fort which flies our colors to this day.

It is one of the most glorious days I can recall. To see our flag fly over free Southern soil, liberated by my uncle General Pierre Beauregard I am all too proud to say, to taste the salt air over a beautiful parcel of Dixie with that exalted beauty that is you, Dear Andrea, on my arm shall surely be the pinnacle of my life should I fall to the whim of the enemy.

It was an ultimate day for me, and I dare hope, for us. That it led to the dreamy and feverish night that followed only encapsulates the memory in a pouch of my very soul seared shut by the heat of our bodies and only to be reopened by the heat of your breast's fevered heartbeat pressed against my cheek once again.

I recall our heads light with wine as we dined on that delicious shrimp and grits. Do you recall that Gullah negress tying your hair in bows? I do succinctly, for I recall them falling from your long tresses upon me as you lingered over me, conjoined in the throes of passion, quivering within. I bade you to your room after we had supped lest I press the matter I felt pounding within me past the point of chivalry and hopelessly into the ribald carnality that ravaged my sense of honor. But gloriously came that rapping upon my door. I knew it was you! I could hear your breathing, rapturous, enthralling and stirring, through the wooden walls, that low moan of building rhythms that I knew to be more than mere sighs of longing. Then finally, the creaking of your mattress ceased and I heard your feet on the floor.

The door opened and then came that luxurious sound that filled me with such an ebullient glee I confess I forgot any notions I may have had of maintaining a modicum of modesty or piety. Any such conception flew asunder, blasted apart by those sweet, feminine raps at my door in the waning hours of daylight.

I had already put out the candles and there I lay in the cool breeze the Good Lord so rapturously sent through the balcony doors thrown open to let that bay breeze cool my sweating skin. The stiffness beneath my trousers you brought forth with those sounds of lust, even though stifled by the walls between us, but audible and glorious in their feverish pitch, was such that I found those trousers impossibly discomforting. Thus I lay nude, blushing as I covered my excitement beneath the heavy sheets as the raps came softy at my door.

In the dim light of the streetlights only just then lighted by the city, my fair maiden, my heart-pounding muse, beloved Andrea, entered my boarding room. I sit here at my desk in the officer's planning tent and can see you as clear as I see my friend Major Williams cleaning his revolver on his bunk a scant few yards away. You in your heavy gown, supple and full, those tiny bare feet taking halting steps toward me. And in that light I could see you had taken your hair down.

Oh my sweet dearest Andrea! Just to feel that soft hair between my fingers would be such a delicacy once again! But to feel it fall loosely in my face as you leaned over me to kiss me without a word spoken as you came to me from that doorway...if I should feel those magnificent tresses ever again in such a manner I would so fervently commend my Lord and Savior the Pope himself would sanctify even this lowly Gentile I surely believe!

Oh those minutes of slow kisses shared as we trembled, unsure of what to do further. My courage in battle has never faltered or been questioned. My bravado amongst my peers during my youth was legendary in our parish. Yet aside from meeting lips with lips and eyes with eyes, any testaments to my audacity were laughable in the face of my beloved. There was but one brave piece of me and it was hidden. Then to feel your hands caress my chest, to kiss my hardened nipples in such a manner that brought a hot, rich flush to my face that seemed to speed around every hair of my skin...sheer bliss. So yielding, so soft were your hands and mouth. My body had never known such a thing as that delicate tingling of my nerves was possible. The nerves all firing at once already, you sent everything into a frenzy that much monumentally further with the peeling away of the sheets from my body. I see your smile now as plainly as I see my hands shaking as I write.

You caressed my cock with those soft hands, with those lady's fingers so delightfully foreign compared to my own hand's rough and private handlings when happily hidden in the rare privy we encounter as we march north. Never before had a rising of such rigidity been aroused and never since. Your admission to unnatural caresses of your own maidenhead as you did so touch me only tempted me that much further. My dander was rising with delicate hug of those fingers around my noble essence. Fearing the humor's waste the church chastises us about, I sat up to take your mouth to my own. When those soft hands that raised me so fully pushed me bodily back onto the springs, I admit to surprise at your impetuousness. But the enjoyable feel of you worshipping my hardness with kisses upon its entire length and girth were so beyond the scope of my known existence. Such succulence and warmth, the raw wetness and wrapping of the tongue along its tip after you pulled the encasement back away from its head was almost unbearably pleasurable. It was a breakthrough for me as a man, an unimaginable path to glory I suspect few men have ever had the pleasure of savoring at any time in our civilization's history. The rampant suckle of that mouth, dear Andrea, I can see your face enraptured as you drew me into your mouth, the inadvertent eruption of my loins catching us both unawares. My cries, sharp and almost frightened as I released, startled you and you almost leapt backward thinking you harmed me. Partly because of hearing the calamities that befall a man who does not purge his emissions fully and thus render himself an invalid due to the souring of the milk within and partly due to the overwhelming ecstasy the spasms from within the wild cock now passed upon me, I reached forward without decorum or modesty and massaged the prick further. Your continuing efforts as you gathered yourself and reasserted yourself to the task of emptying the veins within my ebbing prick with fresh ministrations of your mouth brought forth such a joyous prickling of my quivering nerves I confess I ground my fingers into the mattress springs and dug my toes in as well.

The effect was maddening! You have no idea how the memory such a enlightening teaching of the extent possible of one's carnality has driven me to fearless closure with our enemies in the pursuit of a rapid cessation to the war. I have charged cannons knowingly firing canister shot aimed at my officer's insignia with only the memory of that glory as my battle's bugle.

Though my eruption seemed to deter the rigidity of my prick, seeing you slide those straps over those smooth soft shoulders and having the gown fall in slow thirds of your body to your feet called the matter back to attention yet again. I have never seen such a precious gem so polished by angels as you in the dim light of a South Carolina inn with pleasures surging like warming liquor throughout my every bone and pore. Breasts large with those round nipples taunt, kissed by a fresh breeze that I felt on the damp cock as it passed me to caress you. To see those full netherlips, framed in your thigh's wool bedding yet sends me now racing to the dealing of death to our enemies, in as great a number as my troops may inflict.

Do you love me, Daniel? You asked.

And how could I not scream the affirmative reply from the highest mountaintop? Dear beloved Andrea, goddess and queen, yours is the voice that soothes the sound of the dying and the roar of the guns nightly from my ears as they yet ring from the thunder of the day's tumult as I retire lest the clamor of the bloody day's events haunt my dreams. Yours is the voice that calls me to duty, to perform my missions to the best and beyond my abilities. Yours was the one voice I heard in my ear as you found me a firm fit within you and the only voice I ever care to hear in such a luxuriant tenor for the rest of my life.

I dedicated myself to your pleasure the moment I saw your body unencumbered by folds of cotton and instead exposed to my caress and kiss. Not wizened in the means of projecting myself within a woman in such a manner that she should find pleasurable, I nonetheless knew enough to allow you to mount me in such a manner that the full measure of my flesh's devotion to satiating your own as thoroughly and even beyond that divinely measured bliss I felt would be successful. Your womb was a haven from all of the ire of the world. A hundred nights have I dreamt of such a place of paradise for me to find and know without debate. Such a paradise shall never be known to me except when comes that longed for and I pray, eventual, day I find myself within the reach of your flesh again.

Seeing you astride me, hair swaying as your hops grew feverish. Breasts swaying until you bade me to grip them and massage them, which brought forth a wet feeling around my cock that was palpably beyond the moistness felt when I first savored inside you. The sight of sweat gleaming on you, the clenched teeth released into low pants of fierce tambour that I could never cease lusting to hear. And the clench of that womb! Like a sensual fist that pumped me from within, not unlike the private massages I admit I find myself engaged in when the privacy allows, but found instead within you gloriously and not hidden to myself when the matter can be attended to in a clandestine spell.

That glorious shudder! That look of pinnacle attained! Glory be to God for that exultation I conjure when I recall you locking mid-hop, pausing in a scream that degraded into a shuddering spasm that shook your body all over. I felt that silken wet fist within you opening and closing rapidly, your hops, before rhythmic and all encompassing of my member, then cut short into slight, twitching dances of your hips. Each miniscule motion brought a further rocking of your body and tensing before you collapsed forward into my eager embrace, mixing sweat and kisses that could scarcely be corralled into a mere conjoining of our mouths. Soon enough, the bed began to creak again as we found that rhythm still attainable and agreeable.

I could have observed that look of climax rise to your brow repeatedly and forever. I managed to see it but four more times before yet again I felt the seed, refreshed by the pump of your tight womb, begin to well inside me. Perhaps you sensed it, perhaps you were far more sensible than I, but as the spasms and cries of rapture again overtook me, you had the good sagacity to thrash on my prick with those wonderful squeezings to fully purge me of the ejaculations. Such a thing is a splendor I shall not forget. To feel you accept it, to get full-filled and empty me into your body as a token of our mutual affections had a keen effect upon me. The prick now withdrew and shied away, its firm reason culminated. Then there was only that naked us, spent, sweating and cozy beneath the quiet roof in South Carolina...so far removed from the dripping canvas tent I huddle beneath here in the hostile area of Pennsylvania I question whether I am truly yet unknowingly dead or merely daydreaming.

The battle is now being carried to the enemy in his territory. With the Benevolence of God Almighty, the brilliance of General Lee and the audacious tact of my commander, Colonel Pickett, I reckon fully we shall carry the day and route Lincoln's invasion of our proud land. It is our hope that we can defeat enough of these damnable Bluecoats to cause Grant to end his deplorable siege of our Mississippi town of Vicksburg and be sent here to engage us. If the noble Forrest can interdict Grant long enough for us to carry this area without his intrusion, it is hoped we shall march to and capture New York and Washington and put both horrible pits of Northern sewage to the torch to pay them back dearly for invading our sovereign land. God grant us the day of complete victory and long live the Confederacy.

And Andrea, may he bring me back to you safe, so that we may marry and bear each other so many more of those intimacies we enjoyed so fervently that kind night.

Should I fall, please know my thoughts were always of you and I wish you should find a suitor capable of the feelings of yearn for your being, that warm, feminine dearth of soul and flesh whose memory I carry into the battles I've fought and those yet to be waged. I must sign away now, my love, as the bugle for the officers to muster and plan the day's charge has sounded. All my Love to you, my Dearest.

Love always and God Bless You, my Beautiful Andrea,

Daniel Beauregard

Captain, 3rd Cavalry, CSA