Open Letter to a Lost Lover: Jeff

Dear Jeff,

My visions of you are where my heart lies. I want only you. You should know that by now. You should assume that I think about you every day; you haunt me like a merry ghost - I am all the more happy to make love to your memory, if that's all I am given. No, that is not true. I am not content with just my imagination. My imagination, as you know, can run wild, but none of it can compare to the thrill that is you. You are my darling, though I feel like a child saying such. You brought me back twenty years to when I was a teenager. Only unique people can transport one like that. But now I'm wondering where you have gone.

It's true we started out as friends, but I sensed something dangerous and exciting in you almost at once. Your flirtatiousness intrigued me as it was edgy and not blatant: just my cup of tea. Though we were many years apart (I was 35 and you were 62), we had many of the same personality traits and interests, many of the same values and opinions on everything from politics to sexuality. Although, I cannot boast a treasure chest of "values" because you had been married for nearly forty years and I had the sadistic desire to become a distractable plaything for you.

When it came to your married life, you mentioned that you and your wife had not been intimate for over ten years. I basked in the spotlight that you swept over me; in your eyes I was young and attractive, not something I feel so easily these days. Of course, you may have been lying - a man's words should be taken with a grain of salt, but even that, at times, does not make me hesitate. For all I know you may have made love to your wife each night while during daylight hours entertaining my own starry-eyed visions of forbidden romance. But I did not detect a liar, and I still don't.

I sensed that you had an unstable home life and my submissive nature bubbled to the surface. I wanted to make you happy, to ease all of the stress you felt in your work life and your home life. I had a feeling you had a blue soul. I'm not a nurse, but I wanted to heal you in ways that you never before entertained; my lips are not limited to slurping up a spaghetti noodle and my hands and body are not for the sole purpose of sweeping the floor or going for a swim. Physically, I am capable of many different things with many different body parts, and I wanted to show you my talents.

But it was your marital status that held me back, I admit. I was raised a good girl, a farmer's daughter, so to speak, so getting this close to a married man was something completely virginal to me. My heart and my mind were constantly battling each other. On one hand I knew what was considered "right," but I also knew what I wanted. And I wanted you. I should've thrown caution to the wind, and I can't help but think of that saying, "It's the things you didn't do that you regret, not the things you did do."

I suppose you got tired of waiting for me, which I understand; men are not often known for their sexual patience. I got tired, too, of waiting for myself to come around. Maybe you didn't think I desired you as much as you did me, but I've always wanted you more than you realize. Jeff, my dear, on the slim chance that you read this, please read me loud and clear: I love you.

Women have a tendency to romanticize. I know I certainly do. I keep wishing how it could've been instead of maybe looking at the reality of how it actually was. I often imagined you during my day and night hours, you and I reserving a hotel room for a weekend to go a little wild. In such a place we could forget about the worries of life: work, relationships, errands, money, family; we could just enjoy each other with flattened bedsheets, passionate lovemaking, nasty kisses, sharing showers, and most of all breakfasts which I wanted to eat off of your skin.

I should've let it all go, let go of my good girl aura that was hammered into me as a child. But, at heart, I've always been my mother's daughter; she would've disapproved of you and I, and that's exactly why I wanted to taste you - and that, also, is what gave me hesitation. I wanted to gulp from the fountain that made your two children, the mother of them being your wife. You'd be just like a dispenser, letting me nurse on you whenever the feeling arose. How I wanted you then and how I want you now.

But, for whatever reason, you left. I am not an angry, bitter woman over it; perhaps I was seeing only what I wanted to see. I had my rose-colored glasses on. I dwell on our parting only in a romantic, longing way, but I am not mad or hostile; I only want you to be happy. If you and your wife rekindled your marriage, then it was my pleasure to be a small part of your life, no matter how brief our affinity for each other was.

I do not write this letter in the hope that you will respond; there's a better chance of catching a comet. I am simply writing this to focus things for myself, to cleanse my soul. I shall never know the reason as to why you left. Reason is such an unreasonable word and idea. It implies logic and thought, and romantic love has nothing to do with either of those things. Tossing out logic and thought, I am left with my body, my hormones, and my fantasies, all of which you've taken hold. Virgin obsessions are lasting ones.

So, I shall be on my way. There are no more words to find. I keep hoping our paths will cross again, but I know that is unlikely - you cannot repeat the good stuff; it's all original. Should you ever need a woman to call home, you know how to contact me. I will not pretend to be a prideful, self-respecting woman; I'm a fool for you. I was and I am and will continue to be for as long as memory continues to serve me. Be well, Jeff. Please be well.

Your Girl,

Mandy