Dear Babe/Dear Bastard

Kimberlee's still pissed that I'm calling her Lainey as a nickname but they didn't leave me much choice since I can't call her Ellie. I dibsed the Ellie-sounding name years ago.

So I was telling the truth about that. I'm tired after work and I'm tired of dealing with my mom. And she would lose her shit if I brought someone back to her place because she knows you and I are still together. And for some insane reason, she actually likes you, so she'd be super mad if she thought I was cheating on you.

Even with that stuff, though, things are going pretty good. It's not like I'm lonely. Some of my friends from high school are still around and I've made some friends and work and stuff because I'm a fucking delight. Everyone wants to be my friend.

And you know what, I probably could, okay? Find someone to fuck, I mean. Like, easily. I'm pretty sure this guy Archie, one of the forensic pathology interns, would be so down for it that I could literally stand up right now, walk to his desk, and tell him to follow me to the stairwell so he can eat my pussy and he would. No hesitation, he would be in that stairwell on his knees.

He's the kind of guy you'd make fun of. Like, not maliciously or anything, but you probably wouldn't like him. He's a little too high-strung. A little too neurotic. He's the kind of guy that, before you... you know, before YOU, that I would have really enjoyed corrupting.

I would have treated it like a project: flirting with him, making him blush, testing his limits and leaving him wanting more while also leaving him terrified and thrilled. Then it wouldn't just be flirting: I'd make sure it would just be the two of us at lunch in the break room so I could tease him. And maybe then there'd be one of those days that he'd have to stay a little late to finish filing and I'd be the kind, generous coworker who offered to help him. And then I'd fuck him, maybe in the file room or the photocopy room or something. Not on either of our desks, we both sit in the bull pen and someone would for sure see us.

But both of our mentors have private offices, and I know he's got a spare key to his...

Wherever we fucked, it would be awesome, and he would be totally mind blown. It would be the kind of story he'd tell to his friends and they wouldn't believe a goddamn word of it, but it would be true. And I would get laid, so that would be nice.

Now, imagine if I actually did that. If right now, I stood up and went to Archie's desk. If I told him I was doing a scientific experiment and would he please follow me to the stairwell so I could test my hypothesis that a tongue can go deeper into a pussy when the receiver is standing and the giver is on their knees, versus if the receiver was lying on her back while the giver went to town.

You'd want to hear about it. That was the deal. That's always been the deal, even before I moved here. We could fuck whoever, whenever, however, but we always use a condom with the other person and after, we tell each other every last little detail, preferably while your cock is inside me.

And I would tell you, but how could I really TELL you? You don't know Archie. You've never seen him. I could try to describe him to you, but you'd still probably picture me getting tongued by a comic book character in a sweater vest. You wouldn't really KNOW what his voice sounds like or be able to picture the expression on his face while he licked my pussy or wonder if he'd taken his thick black glasses off before he started eating me out.

When I fuck someone else, I want you to be able to be picture ALL of it. Every moment. Every sound. Every expression.

Because what it boils down to is that you are my "first." It's stupid and cheesy and disgusting but you are. Even if or when I'm fucking someone else, you are still my "first." My priority, I guess. Getting laid is one thing, but the idea of telling you about it after... that takes my breath away a little. That's the part that makes my heart beat a little faster. Sure, the sex would probably be nice, but the part that involves you... that's what I really want.

So thanks a fucking lot for complicating this whole thing with THAT, you bastard.

If you hadn't made me like love you, none of this would be an issue. I'd just find someone to fuck, get off, and be on my way instead of wishing it was something I could share with you. I wouldn't be worrying about you picturing Archie as a comic book character when he's Korean (and brings the most fucking amazing food for lunch some days... honestly, this whole story might be completely moot because I would literally blow him for a jar of his homemade kimchi. YOU would probably blow him for a jar of his homemade kimchi. It's the best kimchi I've ever had).

So a big part of this whole thing where you feel like I'm hiding something is that I just can't find the right person to do it with because I need you to like... know them. Somehow. And I don't know if that makes things easier or harder, better or worse, or even viable. And I haven't figured out a solution yet, so that's why I haven't fucked anyone.

The other part of it is that they've offered me a contract here.

Ignore that spot. I spilled water. It's just water.

I know it's only been six weeks but Krish said he was talking with the other mentors and they're impressed with my work. And so they talked to the director and paired with my letter of reference from Ben... I don't know if I ever told you this, but he doesn't usually give letters of reference. And that STILL has nothing to do with me fucking him—he gave me the letter before I even flirted with him.

But Ben's important and well known and like, a leader in his field or whatever, and having his endorsement means they're not even waiting until the internship is over to offer me a longer contract and

That's water too. Ignore it.

It would be a six month contract at the end of this one. So I'd for sure have to move out of my mom's place because I'm pretty sure I'd lose my mind if I had to live with her for an entire nine months. And I'd be here. In Toronto. For six months longer than I thought. And maybe more than that if they decide they want me permanently.

And that should be good, right? I should be excited. It's like you said, you're proud of me for being here and working with the best people and all of that. I should be honoured, right? Like yeah, there are some things that suck about this job. It's not exactly what I wanted to be doing, but it's also my first job after graduating and it's in my field, which is more than a lot of people can say. And the people are... okay. It would give me a lot of connections and help my career a lot.

I wasn't hiding it from you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. And I'm sorry it took me until now to respond. But I've been trying to figure out what to do and I don't know.

Krish told me about it two days ago, like literally just after I sent that pic of my tits to you and Danica. And I haven't told anyone because I can't

Being away from

You aren't

Fuck it. I don't know how to say this in a way that doesn't sound stupid.

J.P., I don't want to be away from you for that long.

I know what I would tell myself if I wasn't me, like if this was Syd telling me she was being offered an insanely good contract and she wasn't sure what to do because of a GUY, I'd tell her to stop being so stupid and take the job.

But I miss you.

I miss your stupid face and your voice and coming home to you. I miss the way you make me laugh. I miss when you smile and the left corner of your mouth flicks up just a bit more than the right corner. I miss sleeping next to you. Like yeah, I miss your dick—a LOT—but I miss just being beside you. And you know how, after we fuck, you just like... don't pull out?

I miss that so much. I miss being literally connected to you, with your chest pressed against mine, feeling part of you inside of me. I miss watching TV with you like that, with your cock casually in my pussy for no reason other than it just feels good. I don't know why we started doing that but I miss it so much.

There have been nights where I want to cry because I miss how your arms feel around me. Where I want to call you at 2 a.m. because I want to hear your voice. I miss the way you get a little French when you're overwhelmed, like right when you're about to come. I miss all this stupid ridiculous shit and it means that I don't know what to do because... job.

Career.

Opportunity.

But not you.

If you ever tell anyone I said any of this, I'll tell them I was forced to write it at knifepoint.

I miss you, you bastard.

Love,

Nellie

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: RE: Please read by yourself, there are no tit pics for Danica in this email

Dear Babe,

I'm gonna call you tonight and we'll talk more, but I needed to say:

1. Whether you take the job or not doesn't matter. I'm so fucking proud of you. The rest, we'll figure out.

2. I might have a solution in mind for your concerns about me not being able to picture things properly. Actually, I might have a few solutions in mind.

3. Thank you for putting the picture of you getting your pussy licked in the stairwell at work into my mind and giving me a raging mid-afternoon erection. Boy is it ever a good thing I don't have a client coming in for a meeting in ten minutes.

It's actually five minutes now.

Love,

The bastard who loves you. Most ardently.

From: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

To: bcameron@stanu.edu 

Subject: Career advice

Hi Professor Cameron,

It's me, your favourite student of all time, emailing you in a very professional and appropriate manner for career and/or personal advice. Hope you're enjoying the Cali life!

I know it's been a while and I don't want to take up too much of your time, so I'll try to keep this short. I've been offered a contract at CCFS Labs in Toronto. I got an internship there and a big part of that was because of your reference letter, so... thank you, again. It's a six month contract with potential to sign on permanently after.

I know what you're probably about to say. "Nellie, that is a very prestigious opportunity, you should absolutely take it." And even as I'm typing this I realize how stupid this next part sounds but if anyone will understand why it's a big deal, you will.

Long story short... My boyfriend suggested I email you.

Yeah.

His name is J.P. I don't know if you remember me telling you about him before but we started dating just before Christmas last year. He's an annoying bastard and even worse, a lawyer. He's aware of the personal mentorship I had with you last summer and thought if anyone might be able to help me decide what to do, it would be you, because I'm not sure if I want to take the contract.

It means I'll be in Toronto for another 6 months on top of the 3 I'm already here. It's not quite what I want to do in terms of specialization. The people I'm working with are nice but I'm not a huge fan of the office politics. And then there's J.P. Or, rather, there's NOT J.P.

Because he doesn't live here. And he can't just move here. And I don't want to not see him for that long.

What do I do?

Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope.

Regards,

Nellie Belanger

*

From: benjamin.cameron@notgmail.com 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: Re: Fwd: Career advice

Nellie,

So wonderful to hear from you. I hope you don't mind me responding from my personal email for reasons that are likely obvious.

Let me offer my congratulations on your internship and subsequent contract offer, despite the quandary you're finding yourself in as a result. I stand by my letter of reference and faith in your abilities; whatever you choose to do, you will excel at.

I must say, you are one of the most fascinating women I have ever met. A somewhat selfishly bittersweet congratulations on your relationship as well. I do remember you talking about J.P. and insisting many, many times that you would never date him. That he's aware of your "mentorship," as you called it, and still suggested you reach out to me is interesting as well.

This entire predicament seems slightly too complex to dive into via email. Would it be inappropriate of me to suggest a phone call to both discuss your career opportunities and for you to update me on your psychologically intriguing life?

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Ben

*

From: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

To: benjamin.cameron@notgmail.com 

Subject: Re: Fwd: Career advice

Hey Ben,

Thank you soooo much for using your personal address. It took me so fucking long to type that email in a way that didn't sound completely suspicious.

A call would be absolutely wonderful. My number hasn't changed. Call me tonight?

In case you would like to spend some time preparing your thoughts re: the J.P. situation ahead of our call—me being in a relationship with him doesn't mean things have to be "bittersweet," FYI. Like, in case you were interested in mentoring me again once or twice or many times, once you're back. He's actually really looking forward to meeting you.

I think you'll like him. Aside from the part where he's a bastard and a lawyer.

Kisses (in inappropriate places),

Nellie

J.P.: About to go to bed babe. How'd your call with Ben go?

Nellie: Good. He says my phone sex skills are exceptional.

J.P.: As the person who has honed and developed your exceptional phone sex skills, tell him "you're welcome" from me next time you chat with him.

Nellie: I will.

J.P.: How did it actually go, though?

Nellie: Good. He was useless, as suspected.

J.P.: lol. How was he useless?

Nellie: He didn't tell me what I'm supposed to do. Something about how "it's a decision I have to make for myself no matter how many pictures of my tits I send him."

J.P.: How many pictures of your tits did you send him?

Nellie: 3

J.P.: Hmm. That should have done it. Maybe there was something wrong with the pictures. You should send them to me to review.

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie sent a photo.

J.P.: How very peculiar. Maybe he's more of an ass man? Maybe take a few pictures of that and send them to me to review.

Nellie sent a photo.

J.P.: Mmm. I love you so much.

Nellie: My ass loves you, too.

J.P.: You're not bad yourself, babe.

Nellie: Asshole.

J.P.: I think you'd have to bend over and spread a little for me to see that.

Nellie: You've gotten four pictures from me already. I'm on strike until I get something in return.

J.P. sent a photo.

Nellie: ... that's your face.

J.P.: You didn't say what you wanted a picture of.

J.P.: Babe.

J.P.: Babeeeeeee.

J.P.: Babbbeebebebebe.

J.P. sent a photo.

Nellie: Nice.

J.P.: K, before you get too distracted by the glory that is my cock, did talking to Ben help at all?

Nellie: Yes and no. He made good points about both options but he did say he'd still be a reference for me either way, and that if CCFS is ready to hire me because of that, then other places would be too. So that helps, I guess. At least I won't completely ruin my career if I don't take it. So now it just comes down to what I want to do, which I still don't know, so like I said. Useless.

J.P.: Did he have anything to say about the open relationship thing?

Nellie: The call was for me to ask him for career advice.

J.P.: And show him your tits.

Nellie: Yeah. For... advice reasons.

J.P.: Advice about our open relationship reasons?

Nellie: Maybe.

J.P.: Babe.

J.P.: Come on. You promised.

Nellie: I know I promised. That doesn't mean it's easy.

Nellie: Yes, I asked him.

Nellie: He said something to the effect of you weren't wrong and that I need to better communicate with you and that the reason I want you to know who I'm sleeping with is because I care about your feelings or something.

J.P.: So... he said I was right and that you love me?

Nellie: He didn't not say that.

J.P.: Aw babe. Did your hot psychologist Daddy fuck buddy tell you that you loveeeeeee me?

J.P.: Babeeeeee.

J.P.: Babe.

J.P.: BABE HE SAID YOU HAVE TO COMMUNICATE BETTER WITH ME.

Nellie: You're an asshole.

J.P.: Yeah, but you love me.

Nellie: God knows why. But... yes. So we'll have to figure something out, I guess. If I don't take the contract then maybe I just wait until I'm back home so I can hook up with someone you've met. Otherwise maybe you come here and meet some of my friends or something.

J.P.: You really wanna go six more weeks without getting laid?

Nellie: No. It fucking sucks. But I don't have any other ideas.

J.P.: No ideas? None at all?

Nellie: I don't know. I'm too tired to think right now. I came twice while I was talking to him.

J.P.: Only twice?

Nellie: It took longer than anticipated to convince Ben that phone sex was both super hot and a good idea.

J.P.: How many tit pics did that take?

Nellie: Just one.

J.P.: And you only sent me three?

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie: He said he was looking at this when he came.

J.P.: I can see why.

Nellie: Well, enjoy. Going to bed now. Night, bastard.

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

J.P.: Are you going to be home this afternoon?

Nellie: Probably. Why?

J.P.: Have a surprise for you.

Nellie: If you lied about being at a PD course in Montreal and you're actually coming to visit me unannounced, you better get a hotel. No way am I going to fuck you while my mom's sitting here listening.

J.P.: As much as I truly wish that was what the surprise was, it's not. I really am in Montreal this weekend.

Nellie: Boo. So what's the surprise?

J.P.: It will literally no longer be a surprise if I tell you.

Nellie: How many tit pics for you to tell me?

J.P.: None. I'm not telling you.

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie sent a photo.

Nellie sent a photo.

J.P.: Look, I'm not gonna stop you from continuing to try, but I'm not telling you.

Nellie: Asshole.

J.P.: That won't work either.

Nellie: Answer your phone.

Nellie: Right now.

Nellie: Jean-Paul answer your fucking phone.

From: jpm@marchand.ca 

To: nellie.bellie@notgmail.com 

Subject: Stop freaking out, babe

Dear Babe,

If you're reading this, it means it's 3:10 p.m. and the email I scheduled has successfully been delivered. Go me for figuring that out.

Well, actually, go Danica for telling me about it for reasons completely unrelated to this, since she was tired of getting emails from me at 11 p.m. and asked me to start scheduling to send the next morning instead.

The reason you're getting a pre-scheduled email is because I'm an hour into a three-hour session and can't get to my phone to presumably answer the myriad of calls and texts you started sending me about 10 minutes ago.