Renee's Two-Martini Mea Culpa

This is my Letters of Love 2022 Story Event event entry. Both the sender and recipient are to be found in my story, American Lavender. Hope you like it!

Dear Tom,

I have a confession to make.

That night in your room, I noticed Julia's top on the floor.

Don't worry, I'm not angry. In fact, I'm touched that you both made an effort to spare my feelings, and after all, you had already said no to me that afternoon. Thank you for being so careful not to rub my nose in it that you had said yes to her -- I mean that.

I bring this up now because I recently had to let Julia go for harassing a guest -- another single male, as you will have guessed -- and in the heat of a nasty moment I confronted her with what I'd seen in your room. She told me everything, including that you had opted not to pursue a relationship with her once your stay here was over (a wise choice on your part, as you surely see by now!).

I just want you to know, Tom, that I get it.

I'll explain just how much I get it -- and why -- in a moment. But first, since I already brought up what I saw in your room that night, I might just as well continue with the oversharing. You see, it's unseasonably hot here -- not just warm, but hot for the last weekend of the summer, and the B&B is less than half full. So I took the afternoon off and helped myself to two martinis from the bar, and barricaded myself in the Lavender room. Your room, and yes, I still think of it that way lo these two years.

When I say Julia told me everything, I do mean everything, Tom, so you can guess the mood it puts me in being in this room after a pair of stiff drinks. I've got the do-not-disturb sign on the door, and I'm writing this in the lawn chair out on the balcony, topless. I'm not really sure why I don't just bare all, as there's no risk of being seen -- except, I suppose, by the ghost of Penny, but my understanding is that you and Julia finally got rid of her? In any event, I've still got my skirt, stockings and even my work shoes on -- for the time being, anyway. You know me well enough to know what a big step this is for me already. My breasts have never seen the sun before. They love it! I love it. I haven't felt this free since the day Steve moved out. Maybe even longer than that, really.

Which brings me to why I'm writing to you. I hope the above wasn't too much information, but I want you to know the frame of mind I'm in as I write this. And after all, you already know I was open to exploring bigger and better things with you. I still am, but more importantly, as I said above, I get it. I get why you said no. There was Julia, of course, but it wasn't just her, was it?

No, I blew it that day at lunch when I said I didn't remember that night at the library and then in my room, didn't I? I'll make no excuses, Tom, I know I hurt you when you brought that up and I couldn't remember it. I could see it in your eyes at the time, and it didn't take long for me to realize that must have been why you turned me down. (Well, that plus Julia, plus you're a gentleman and a true friend and you knew me well enough to know it was no time for me to be hooking up with anyone else mere hours after I was finally rid of Steve. But at the time, all I knew about was that something had happened to us at the library that meant a lot to you, and like a fool I couldn't even pretend to remember it. I do hope you at least appreciated my honesty for whatever it was worth!)

In any event, I do remember your words that day at lunch when I didn't remember. "One of the most soul-baring conversations we ever had, and then we went back to your room -- " that is, my room, "and"...and I had you so upset you couldn't even tell me what came after the "and". Of course I had sex on my mind right then -- and I do again now, as you have surely guessed; I'm quite wet as I write this! -- so that's where my mind ran to, but I was pretty sure we didn't have sex. There's no way I could forget that! Regardless, since I could see I upset you, this time I didn't forget.

A soul-baring conversation at the library...I never did stop trying to remember that, Tom, honest. I failed, but I tried. That's why I was delighted when I got a call from my mother a few weeks ago saying she'd found a few boxes of my stuff from my Claxton days, buried in the attic, and would I like to come see if there's anything I wanted to save? I was really hoping my journals would be there and that I had written something about that night that meant so much to you.

As you have likely guessed by now, I did find a long entry from senior year that was all about that night! I also remember telling you I didn't recall that Steve and I broke up that year, but as God is my witness, the minute I saw my journal in the box of junk at my mother's place -- with a lavender cover, appropriately enough! -- I remembered. I remembered writing page after page about my frustrations and regrets and my longing for Steve and how it wouldn't go away, even before I'd opened the journal. I also remembered the phone call I got from him just before spring break where we were back in love again before we hung up. Honestly, I think I buried that memory because of my severe regret that I didn't stick to my guns on staying broken up! I hope you understand.

And that was before I'd even opened the journal again. When I did, it didn't take long at all to find the entry on that night in the library and what came next. Once I read it, everything flooded back, Tom. I swear I could even remember the clothes we were both wearing that night, and how I spotted you on your way downstairs and waved for you. Remember how you didn't notice me and Jerry Marshall had to call out to you and point to me? I remember now. I remember how I told you all about Steve's and my last night together and how I broke down in tears and told you all about how despondent I felt, and how you held my hand and did your best to reassure me that you would always be there for me, and unfortunately I remember I was so self-indulgent at the time that I didn't even care, and I am truly sorry for that.

And yes, I remember you walking me back to my room, and crying in your arms, and this time I know I remember I did care, a lot. I know this because I wrote all about it in my journal. I haven't got it handy and I am, ahem, not dressed to go down to my office and get it, but I remember just what I wrote because I've read it a dozen times or more in the past few weeks.

"Tom gives wonderful hugs, and he made me feel safe in the most utterly vulnerable conditions I've ever been in in my life. I think he might have designs on me, but last night he asked for nothing and gave all he could to comfort me. Say what you will about the man, he's a true friend."

And you were and are, Tom. I hope you can find it in your heart to believe the same of me. If not more than that, then at least know I now remember how wonderful you were when I needed it the most. I hope, if you ever need a friend as desperately as I did that night, that I could be the same for you.

And yes, more, if you should ever find it in your heart to be open to that!

I doubt you want my excuses for forgetting about that night before I found my journal, but I would like to explain myself all the same. Because I have a PhD, you know I'll always be prone to overthinking everything -- it's just what I do! Two things, Tom. First of all, it was an extremely painful time for me, and when I did get back on my feet, I wanted to forget all about it. Perhaps I did too good of a job of that -- if it's any consolation, you're not the only one I hurt as a result. No, I hurt myself, too, by being fool enough to let Steve back in my life, and you know how that turned out!

Second, and I don't claim to be an expert on gender differences, but I think maybe those kinds of deeply intimate bonds are a bigger deal for men than for women, because it comes more naturally for us than for you. I hate myself for saying so, but it may just be that although you were wonderful that night, to me it was simply what girlfriends do for one another. I know you respect women enough that you won't take offense when I say you just felt like one of the girls that night. Whether you like it or not, I hope you can see I mean that in a good way. And I am truly sorry I didn't carry that memory with me the way you did, regardless of the reasons why I didn't.

I know it's been two years and I hope this hasn't reopened any old wounds. My whole point is to heal any wounds that remain, and to let you know I understand why you turned me down. Now, I have noticed you've never mentioned anyone new in your life in our correspondence since your visit here, and the overthinker in me wonders if that's just to spare my feelings. If so, I want you to know you're free to share anything you like with no hard feelings from me. But I also want you to know this recent trip of mine down the rabbit hole of memory has me more aware than ever of what a wonderful man you are, so please know that I remain open to the possibilities just as I told you that night!

That night, just steps from where I'm writing this, topless, in the afternoon sun. Now my blouse is on the floor right about where Julia's was that night when you ever-so-chivalrously asked if you could give me a hug. I'm looking over my shoulder at it right now. My bra is on the armchair just inside the sliding door, the one Penny sat in on that fateful night -- I wonder did she see me when I came in to talk to you?

I hope you don't mind if I let my mind wander -- I mean, what harm can a little fantasizing do? -- and imagine setting down my pen on the little tea table here, and standing up. Give myself a good stretch, so my bare breasts stand out big and proud and soaking up just a bit more of the sun they've never seen before, and then turn and step back onto the nice clean carpet. Kick off my shoes and unzip my skirt, and leave that on the chair as well. There is, of course, one part of me that still hasn't ever seen the sun. Maybe now it will, I decide, and I pull my panties off and kick them over by my blouse. The stockings last of all, as I don't want to get a run in them on the hard balcony floor.

Then it's back out into the sunshine, wearing nothing but a smile -- only just long enough to say I did it, as there are a few people down on the beach, and at the right angle they just might catch a glimpse of me, but in the mood the gin and the memory of you have me in, that sounds more fun than embarrassing. Besides, now I'm in a mood to play and I'm not that daring, even when I'm drunk. So it's back inside, but I leave the balcony door wide open and the curtains rippling in a breeze that feels as sensuous on my bare skin as everything else does in this heady moment.

I'm just about to lie back on the bed -- the same bed where you did what you did with Julia and with Penny -- when there's a knock on the door, and somehow I know it's you. My whole body feels utterly electric with naughty joy as I open the door, making no effort to cover anything up.

"Hello, Tom. Come in!" A rather obvious double entendre considering how I'm (not) dressed, and we both burst into giggles. But there are no more words for the moment -- what is there left to say after all these years?

Now, it occurs to me, Tom, for all the years we've been the best of friends, you have no idea how I look naked (and vice versa, for that matter). If you're still reading, rather than describing my body in any detail, I'd like to invite you to just imagine it in any way you like. I'm sure you'll understand if I do the same. Remember, you do have a standing offer to see the real thing if you should change your mind.

In the meantime, I hope you'll indulge my imagining that you already have.

Your hands feel utterly delicious on my newly-suntanned breasts. I let you play with them as long as you want, enjoying your adoring gaze on my body as much as your caresses. When at last you draw your hands away, I throw my arms around you in a fierce embrace that you return. Though you're still fully clothed, I can feel you getting hard against me. That's only one of the things I love about this moment, along with the thrilling press of my breasts against your chest, your arms around me, the utter safety I feel even as I'm naked as the day I was born -- no other man could make me feel that way, but you do.

I could rest in your arms all day, but the vague yet wonderful awareness of your erection has my own hunger growing. As I pull back just far enough to unbutton your shirt, your right hand finds its way between my ravenous thighs and you feel for yourself just how intense that hunger is. I can't help but let out a loud gasp of joy as you slide one finger inside me, and I have to grab on to your shoulder for a moment for balance while I continue voicing my utter pleasure. But I won't be deterred from continuing to undress you, though I do regret your having to pull your finger out to pull your shirt off once I've got it unbuttoned.

The disappointment doesn't last long, and you are once again stroking me joyfully as I unbuckle your belt and unzip your pants to set you free. It snaps to attention as I push your pants and boxers down, and I give it a playful squeeze or two. But that's all I can concentrate on for the moment as you're working me up to an orgasm.

I may well yell loud enough to be heard out on the beach, as your fingers don't quit. But in this moment I'm unashamed of my joy. "Thank you!" I whisper as I catch my breath. I take both your hands in mine, thrilling to my own dampness on the right one, and draw you back to the bed, where I lie back with my legs spread and my knees propped up.

Feel free to imagine just what my pussy looks like. I'm certainly imagining a delightful awe on your face as you gaze upon it. I'm also imagining just how long and hard and thick your penis is -- but please, don't think I could ever be disappointed with the real thing no matter how far off-base my imagination is! What really matters now is, it's there before me, ready and willing, and I welcome you into my body with a tender look in both of our eyes as you settle on top of me.

Your first thrust into me is deep, hard and hot, and I let out a moan of immense appreciation. But then I grab at your buttocks and hold you still buried all the way inside me. Before things intensify, I just want to savor this victory. Friends for all these years, incredibly successful work-colleagues for a while, we missed our chance way back when because I fell for that moron Steve and then I made an offer at the worst possible time...and yet here you are! In my arms. In my vagina. In my heart once and for all.

I don't know just what your style in bed is. That's one thing Julia didn't tell me, and quite rightly so, of course. But it does mean I've got to let my imagination do the humping, the thrusting, the drawing guttural moans out of my mouth along with phrases I'd never imagine myself saying anywhere else. Whatever your real style is, Tom, I have no doubt I'm only just touching on how wonderful it would feel. I see us both in an absolute lather as you hump away at me. I hear your passionate heavy breaths and even feel them on my face and neck, although I imagine I'm drowning them out with my own responses. I hope you're not thinking I'm as demure in bed as I am in public, Tom. But I think you know enough about women to know none of us are! In any event, Steve used to criticize me for being too loud in bed. Somehow I just know you wouldn't consider that a bad thing!

I certainly hope not, anyway, because I see myself coming hard and loud, two or three times, before I see that loss of control in your eyes and you come to a stop once again, as far inside me as you can reach, and arch your back and look deep in my eyes as you lose control. It's beautiful. You're beautiful, and in that moment you make me feel beautiful as well.

What do we talk about in the afterglow? I wouldn't even try to speculate on that, my friend.

I wonder, will I have the nerve to mail this letter once the gin wears off? I sure hope so, but I really don't know. What I do know is, I still haven't finished undressing, and now I'd better do that. I'm already going to have to get my skirt dry-cleaned, no doubt about that, but I'm also going to make good use of that bed.

Listen, if there is someone else or if it's all just too weird, I will understand if you don't reply to this letter. I hope it finds you well regardless, and I hope you can forgive me for forgetting that night at the library. Either way, please know there's always a room available for you at the B&B, and that I have no hard feelings about Julia.

Love,

Renee