Wayward Letters

All characters are of 18 years of age, or older. All depicted matters are fictional, and do enjoy.

The morning is a fresh, brisk Sunday morning, and you begin it like every other. The slow waking from the prior night, appreciating in the back of your head that the week is over. The peaceful and relaxed routine of the morning follows smoothly. The weariness and troubles of life are abated, at least for this small moment of time. With your bedroom behind you, you enter the kitchen quietly, still waking up. After some food is gotten into your belly, and the morning sun slowly warms the air, you chew through the last of your morning chores as some music you put on ambiently plays in the background. Despite whatever may be, life is good.

With a beverage in hand to slake your thirst, you do attend to the mail, seeing if anything has been sent your way. The air is a tinge chilly, and the ground still clutches onto the previous night's cold, and you can feel it in your feet. Missing the cosiness of your inner abode, your relaxed self invests a little more energy getting this done swiftly. Flipping open the mail, your hand scrabbles about, finding nothing in - ah!... something is there after all, tucked away at the back, and rather than the plastic or coarseness of junk mail, you find something surprisingly smooth and firm. Quality material. Withdrawing it from the very back of it's little nook, you close the mail and straighten up, holding the strange envelope in hand.

Quality indeed. The slightly glossy material shimmers in your hand, and has a floral pattern along the edges - a dark gold against the black. Tucked away in the corners are the details of your address, and as you corroborate the writing with your address, you make note of the handwritten letters and numbers. How very odd. How very unusual and novel indeed.

Taking the matter inside, you sip from your beverage and return to the cosiness of your inner abode. Warmth, comfort, home. Placing the now-empty cup back in the kitchen, your mind toys with what to do now. There *were* other things you had planned for the day.. but this was too unusual. You had to see what it was. Sitting down, you feel compelled to not mess up the envelope in opening it, and you wonder if you had some implement that could suitably open it without wrecking the envelope.

A moment later, the envelope is open before you, and your fingers withdraw a hefty degree of folded paper, alongside what seems to be a folded note. Peeling off the note, and flipping open the fold, your curious and attentive self leans in, eyes scan the handwritten writing before you.

I know it has been a bit. But I haven't forgotten. How could I? But you already know that. Look.. I want to be able to speak about these sorts of things - in the way we used to back when you were here.. There's been so much I've been wanting to get off my chest.. And I can't come to you now in person. Maybe you'll get a kick out of it like before, you kinky devil. But this time, you'll have to suffice with this, instead of me. Take care, you fucking gorgeous bastard.

You turn to the folded papers. Something tells you you shouldn't. Something in you licks it's lips. Your curiosity burns. This is going to be interesting at the very least. Your hand hovers for a moment, and then your fingers pinch the folded edge.