A Mysterious Missive

Although Laura tried to work from home as often as possible, she was still needed in the office a two or three days a week. She had already left for work when Sebastian got up on Tuesday morning, so he ate breakfast alone and afterwards went to check the mailbox. Mrs Smith, his elderly neighbour, was in her garden, prodding at a flowerbed with her trowel, and they exchanged greetings over the white picket fence that separated their properties.

There were a handful of letters in the mailbox. Most of the envelopes were made of white recycled paper and had little plastic windows through which Sebastian could see his aunt's name printed on the letters inside. The last envelope, however, was made of stiff, coarse paper that was yellowed as if from age. It had his name and address handwritten on the front in an elegant, unfamiliar cursive script, and there was something off about it. Sebastian couldn't remember the last time he'd received a letter from someone other than his bank. He turned the envelope over and found that it was held closed by a red wax seal, in which was imprinted a pair of winking eyes.

Examining the front again, he realised what was wrong: there was no stamp or postmark.

“Mrs Smith!” he called, hurrying back to the fence. “Did you see anyone come by this morning? Someone other than the postman?”

The old woman straightened up onto her haunches. “No dear,” Mrs Smith replied in a frail voice. “Not a soul.”

Disappointed, Sebastian thanked her and left her to tend her garden. He returned to the kitchen, left his aunt's letters o the table, and used a butter knife to gently prise the seal away from the envelope. It came off easily and in one piece. Inside was a folder letter, written in the same hand as his address, its paper similarly yellowed. It read:

Dear Contestant,

Congratulations on being selected for the Cobham Challenge!

Each year, one virgin student is selected to test their sexual
prowess over the course of the school year. This year, you
have been chosen.

Points are awarded on a discretionary basis. If you best the
current record, you will receive the Cobham Cup. Expect to
receive a weekly letter with a running total of your score.

Good luck, and have fun!

The Cobham Committee

Sebastian blinked in astonishment, then re-read the letter before putting it down and drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter in contemplation. His initial instinct was that it was a hoax, which led him to wonder who was responsible. He picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands, looking for any clues he may have missed, but it was to no avail. Whoever had sent it — or, more accurately, written and delivered it — apparently knew he was a virgin, though Sebastian supposed that could have been a fairly easy guess. He thought maybe it was just another way to humiliate him, like Courtney's dare the previous year. But there was no one there to laugh at him.

This led Sebastian to entertain the possibility that it was real. He could not deny that there was a certain appeal in what the letter proposed. After putting the letter back inside its envelope, he took it upstairs to his room. He noticed nothing amiss when he retrieved his yearbook from the box in his closet; Laura had done a good job of disturbing its contents as little as possible.

Sitting with his feet propped up on his desk, Sebastian leant back in his chair with his yearbook open in his lap. He sighed as he turned the pages, surveying all the faces he had lusted after and thinking about the possibility of bringing those fantasies to life. Yet the Summer of Lust was nothing compared to what the so-called Cobham Committee proposed. There were plenty of girls at school besides Courtney but, like her, none of them had shown any interest in him.

Sebastian snapped the book shut and sighed again. His face felt tired. He washed it in the bathroom and stood leaning on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. “What should I do?” he begged his reflection.