Dear Babe/Dear Bastard

Author's Note:

When Nellie gets the internship of a lifetime, she isn't expecting how hard it will be to be away from the boyfriend she never even wanted. This series of letters, emails, and text messages between Nellie and J.P. tells the story of a couple as sassy as they are in love, but is an open relationship too much for Nellie and J.P. to handle... especially when they're so far apart?

This story was written for the Letters of Love 2022 Story Event. While this letter can be read and mostly understood as a story on its own, it is part of the Nellie series and takes place after the events of A Very Nellie Fantasy.

This story contains people in an committed but open relationship and actively discusses them wanting to have sex with other people. If that's not your particular brand of enjoyment, you may want to skip this one.

Dear Babe,

By the time you read this, the intensity with which I miss your sweet, sweet ass will have grown four score and perhaps even seven.

Each minute, I count the minutes, and it's usually just one minute because that's how long a minute is, but it's the only way I can cope with the knowledge that your glorious, thick ass is so very far away. Minutes pass, and then more minutes, and then even more minutes, and each one of those minutes brings me so much closer to the minute I'll see your butt again.

The perfection of your beauty is burned so strongly into my mind and private album on my phone full of your nudes that I can almost see it: the shapely roundness of your curves; the expanse of smooth, pale, entirely kissable skin; the tiny little freckle that you probably don't even know you have because it's right beneath the curve of your butt cheek, almost tucked between your legs. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but every time I nestle my lips 'twixt your nethers and lick the ever-loving fuck out of your pussy, I kiss that little freckle. It's like saying hello to the next-door neighbour of an old friend as I'm on my way to visit: in this example, your pussy is the old friend. Not that you have an old lady pussy or something. But it is definitely friendly.

At least, 'tis friendly to me, my sweet, scrumptious, beautiful, sweet, sexy, hot little lovebug.

I miss so much about you, my darling, but that freckle is high on the list if only for what it represents. Seeing that freckle means I am in the one place I love more than any other place in the world. A place where my body and my mind are surrounded by you and that ass that just don't quit. A place where I can indulge in the taste of you, the scent of you, the sound of you (even though it's usually muffled because your thighs are pressed against my ears. But you're louder than a souped-up sports car someone is using to overcompensate for something. Spoiler alert, babe, I can totally hear it when you think you're being quiet enough that I can't hear you moan my name. I hear it. Every. Single. Time.).

That list of things I miss also includes the beautiful petals of your delicate lady garden. What I wouldn't give to feel the sweet, slick canal of your womanly cavern encircling my throbbing, velvet-wrapped steel meat rod. How I would simper at even the tiniest taste of the nectar from your honeypot dripping on my tongue.

What I mean, my dear, is that I yearn for the day when I can once again have my ding-a-ling in your vajayjay. I know the moment when my one-eyed snake finds itself sheathed in your love tunnel, I will likely erupt, and that the empathetic kindness you're so known for will stop you from laughing at my premature completion of our copulation.

Basically, my love, what I'm trying to say beneath all this euphemistic bullshit is that the next time I see you, I'm going to shove my cock in your pussy so fast and so hard that I'll probably fill you up with a huge load of hot, thick cum before you're even close to finishing. So we should make sure that I say hello to your freckle while you sit on my face and grind your clit against my tongue, mostly so you don't laugh at me when I finish way too fast.

I won't be able to help it, babe. Fucking you is my favourite place to be.

I miss you.

All my love,

J.P.

P.S. You also have nice tits but I'll write more about them another day.

From: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

To: jpm@marchand.ca 

Subject: You're a bastard

Dear Bastard,

You're disgusting.

Love, Nellie

P.S. Your handwriting is shit. Was it seriously worth all the effort to write that and then scan it instead of just typing an email like a normal person?

P.P.S. I absolutely knew about the freckle.

P.P.P.S. That did not turn me on at all but you should send me a picture of your dick anyway.

P.P.P.P.S. Aren't you at work? How long did you spend looking up synonyms for genitals? There's no way you wrote that whole thing by yourself.

*

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: RE: You're a bastard

Yeah, Danica helped me. She knew a surprising amount of synonyms. That wasn't even like a quarter of the ones she told me.

See attached. You better enjoy this, Louie almost walked in on me taking it in the staff bathroom. WTF is he doing using the staff bathroom, you ask? I don't know. He's got a private bathroom. Maybe Carol put him up to it or something. Oh God, maybe he was sending Carol a dick pic.

Thanks, babe. I didn't need to picture that.

Love you,

J.P.

*

From: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

To: jpm@marchand.ca 

Subject: RE: You're a bastard

How is it my fault you have a dark and twisted mind that makes you picture your boss taking a dick pic? And was that thought before or after you took the pic? Because your dick looks especially hard in this one and if you're developing an exhibitionist streak I'd kind of like to know.

So... you sat around with Danica all afternoon coming up with genital synonyms? Danica, your hot legal assistant coworker? Hot Danica that you keep refusing to ask to have a threesome with? That Danica?

Are you fucking her?

If no, why the fuck not? If yes, I want details.

Nellie

*

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: RE: You're a bastard

Yes, I sat around with Danica talking about dicks all afternoon.

Yes, Danica, my hot legal assistant coworker.

Yes, the very same Danica I keep telling you we can't have a threesome with because fucking coworkers crosses a line.

Yes, that Danica, who, by the way, was still sitting at my desk when you sent that last email.

She says hi and no, we're not fucking, but she's very flattered that you want to have a threesome with her and she thinks you're hot, too.

I'm inclined to agree.

Sext me later?

J.P.

*

From: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

To: jpm@marchand.ca 

Subject: WHY ARE YOU USING YOUR WORK COMPUTER FOR THIS

Idiot.

Let me know when you're home from work and not around other people and maybe I'll send you a pic or two to jerk off to. I was about to send you one I took sneakily in my cubicle. But it was down my shirt so you probably wouldn't have liked it anyway.

*

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: RE: WHY ARE YOU USING YOUR WORK COMPUTER FOR THIS

Send it anyway. I'm still saying no threesome but maybe if Danica sees the glory that is the heaving, swollen bosom I get to go home to every night except for these three months worth of nights while you're in a far-off mythical land doing your gross serial killer internship, she'll start putting the pressure on, too. And with two incredibly sexy women begging to share my cock between them, who knows what might happen?

Probably nothing, but you should still show me your tits. And Danica. She wants to see them.

J.P.

*

From: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

To: jpm@marchand.ca 

Subject: For Danica

Download Attachment

And it's not a serial killer internship. I work in a forensic lab, asshole. In the far-off mythical land of Toronto.

*

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: RE: For Danica

Danica said thank you. Then her face went red and she reminded me we have a client meeting in ten minutes and excused herself to "fill her water bottle up." Which is a good idea, so I'm gonna go do something similar. Talk to you tonight.

Love,

J.P.

Nellie: Sorry I missed your call, I had to work late. wyd?

J.P.: wyd? A whole day of you ignoring my calls and witty texts and all you've got is WYD?

Nellie: what more did you want?

J.P.: well considering I sent you a literal actual handwritten love letter yesterday, I was hoping for something a little more touching than "what you doing?"

Nellie: considering how fucking cheesy that was, you're lucky you get to do any "touching" at all.

J.P.: You loved it. And as much as I'd love to do some "touching" with you right now, I can't.

Nellie:???

J.P.: Adrienne and Brad roped me into going to this charity stand-up thing. So I'm listening to this "comedian" tell "jokes" that are all in the "so what's the deal with airline food" vein.

Nellie: That sounds awful.

J.P.: It is. But apparently I looked like I needed to get out of the house or something. I think they forget that I survived on my own before you and I got together and I'm surviving perfectly well now.

Nellie: Are you?

J.P.: Yep. Surviving and thriving, even. The kitchen sink hasn't had dishes sitting in it for weeks and my shower drain isn't clogged with hair every time I go to use it.

Nellie: Sounds like you're enjoying the bachelor life again. What do you even need me for?

J.P.: The sex, mostly.

Nellie: Wow, so romantic.

J.P.: You just made fun of me for being too romantic, now you want some romance? Which is it, babe?

Nellie: Don't call me babe. I was hoping you'd FaceTime me and we could talk for a bit before you romantically take your pants off to show me your dick but I GUESS I'll have to make do by myself.

J.P.: Why don't you go out and find someone to hook up with?

J.P.: Nell?

J.P.: Babe?

J.P.: Babe.

J.P.: baby.

J.P.: babeeeeee

Nellie: Because I don't want to. Now fuck off and watch your stupid comedian so I can masturbate.

J.P.: LOL I know you think all lawyers are morons but I can smell a lie from 402 kilometers away, babe. I know you want to. You haven't gotten laid in weeks. That's gotta be a record for you.

Nellie: It is. But I'm tired.

J.P.: That's the best you can do? "I'm tired?"

Nellie: I'm working crazy hours and trying to learn as much as I can from people who are LITERALLY the best in the industry. Why is it so hard to believe that I might be a little too tired to go out and play the pickup game?

J.P.: Because the Nellie I know and love is a frequent and enthusiastic connoisseur of all things sexual who views the pickup game as a relaxing pastime rather than a chore. Frankly, the fact that you're not interested in sex makes me wonder if they're putting something in the water in Toronto.

Nellie: Not interested? I have phone sex with you like every other day.

J.P.: I bet we could put together a class action lawsuit. Or you could just tell me what you're hiding from me.

J.P.: Babe.

Nellie: Sorry can't hear you, I'm fingering myself.

J.P.: Fingering yourself has nothing to do with being able to hear me. We're texting. You can't hear a text.

J.P.: Nelllliiieeeee

J.P.: Come on, babe. I know it's not that you can't find someone to fuck you. I can personally vouch for the fact that you're hot as fuck.

Nellie: Maybe I just don't feel like it, Jean-Paul.

J.P.: Oooh, "Jean-Paul"? Which nerve did I strike?

J.P.: I don't believe for one second that you can't find someone to fuck, so it's gotta be something else.

J.P.: After all that talking we did when you were trying to decide if you wanted to take the internship, I thought you'd be fucking someone new every other night. From day one of us getting together, you wanted the option of fucking other people. So maybe we should do a little more talking about why, exactly, you've changed your mind about it.

Nellie: Oh my God. There's nothing to talk about. I just don't feel like going out right now okay? And look who's talking. YOU haven't gone out to fuck anyone, either.

J.P.: I will.

J.P.: Once you do.

Nellie: That's stupid. You're stupid.

J.P.: Babe, trust me, as much as I would love to have someone other than myself play with my dick for a while, I'm not risking our relationship on that.

Nellie: How is it a risk if it's what we've agreed to, hypocrite?

J.P.: I don't want to fuck someone only for you to realize it isn't what you actually wanted.

Nellie: Oh, of course, you know better than I do. It couldn't possibly be that I do want this and I'm just a little busy shadowing the best forensic scientists in the country by day and living with my mom by night?

J.P.: I think those are convenient excuses so you don't have to tell me what this is actually about.

Nellie: Stop lawyering me.

J.P.: Ooooh, there's the "lawyering" response. I'm getting closer to the truth now, aren't I?

J.P.: Alright, tell me when I get it.

J.P.: A) You know sex with someone else is going to pale to how great sex with me is so you're lacking the motivation to put the effort in.

J.P.: B) You've tried to go out and replace me with any of the number of things you've threatened to replace me with since we've been together, including but not limited to "any dick you wanted," "your vibrator," "a nicely shaped root vegetable," etc., and found that you could not actually replace me.

J.P.: C) You miss me so much that you're too distraught to try

Nellie: D) You're an asshole.

J.P.: E) You're hiding something from me.

J.P.: Did I get it, babe?

J.P.: Babe?

J.P.: Nellie. Come on. Answer your phone.

J.P.: Just got home. Stayed out drinking with Adrienne for a while after the non-comedian finished and we accidentally closed out the place oops. Work's gonna be a fucking shit show tomorrow. But okay. Listen. I'm just drunk enough to type this out, maybe a little too drunk for it to make sense.

J.P.: Picturing you with someone else is so fucking hot. I don't know why. The idea of someone else making you moan and come all over their fingers or mouth or cock or whatever puts this image in my mind that I just can't...

J.P.: I'm not saying we have to have an open relationship. But whether we do or don't fuck other people doesn't matter to me, okay Nellie? It doesn't fucking matter. What matters is that you've stopped talking to me about it. Open relationship means open communication and you not telling me something is... It's kinda shitty. It feels shitty.

J.P.: I miss you so much Nell. I'm proud of you like you wouldn't fucking believe.

J.P.: See that's how you know I'm kinda drunk, I really meant that AND sent it to you.

J.P.: But it's true. I'm proud of my super smart girlfriend who got one of the most prestigious internships in the country and who's working with the best in her field. I'm proud that you're the only one whose parents didn't have someone "put in a good word" to get you there because you refused to even tell your dad you were applying. I'm proud that you fucked the guy who gave you your reference letter for reasons that had nothing to do with the reference letter—I still can't wait to meet this Ben one day. I am so fucking proud of you for going after this and fucking rocking it.

J.P.: But I miss you. A lot. And it's driving me crazy that I don't know why this main thing you've wanted as long as we've been together—and that was a huge driver behind you NOT wanting to get together at first—is something you've suddenly changed your mind on. I don't want to be the guy who stops you from doing what you want. I never have. And I've told you that. So if that's what this is about... but how would I even know if you're not talking to me?

J.P.: Or is it the opposite of that?

J.P.: Fuck. I'm too drunk to go down this path.

J.P.: Oops I fell down the path anyways. Did you change your mind about me?

J.P.: I hope not. If you were anyone else in the world, I'd brush it off, but you... fuck, Nell. Just talk to me, please.

J.P.: I'm sorry.

J.P.: I gotta be up for work in a few hours. Goodnight babe. I love you.

J.P.: Morning babe. Sorry for the 3 a.m. texts. If you could go ahead and delete me being a whiny bitch from your memory, that'd be great. Have a good day, I love you.

J.P.: Hope you're having a good day. Have a message for you from Danica when you have a sec.

J.P.: Goodnight, babe. I miss you.

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: Let me know you're alive please

You don't want to talk. I get it. Just let me know you're okay/alive/haven't fallen into the harbour/one of your new coworkers didn't pull a Dexter on you.

Dear Bastard,

There are not enough words in the dictionary

You must allow me to tell you how ardently

Four score and seven

Fuck it.

I was trying to copy your stupid cheesy "hand written love letter attached to an email" thing but I can't, okay? I can't fucking do it. I'm sorry. I've been sitting here for almost an hour trying to figure it out and it's not working. And it's not like I have a Danica-esque person around to help me. So I'm doing the handwriting part and the attached to an email part but that's it. Just, buckle in and... this is the only time you're going to get something like this from me.

Probably.

I'm sorry I made you worry. I was scared to message you. I had to think first.

I haven't changed my mind about us. I haven't changed my mind about you. I also haven't changed my mind about our relationship being... you know. Open, or whatever you want to call it.

And I'm not lying, not completely. This internship has been hard and stressful and I'm tired at the end of the day. Living with my mom again after all this time has been really, really fucking hard. She's trying but I know she's still pissed I'm talking to Kimberlee and Dad, so that's already awkward. And like, I know I wasn't living in Montreal but it was a hell of a lot closer to them than I am now and... It's weird enough that I have a literal baby sister, but I didn't expect it to be so hard to not be there to visit her. It's almost as hard as knowing they gave an actual living human baby the name Elaine.