I’m still young, dammit. We both are.
Anyway, you’ll be glad to hear I stared at my laptop like an angsty writer for four hours last night. Seen as though you were at work, I thought I’d attempt a story or two. Long story short, I had no story to share. Seriously, I stared at it the entire time, doodling in my notebook above anything else. On the plus side, I drew a few cool dragons I’m sure you’ll approve of.
The thing is, I liked how no words spilled forward. I know that might seem strange, and maybe I am a broody and moody writer, but it felt nice to stare at the screen and commit to the act of writing. So much of writing doesn’t actually involve writing. It’s thinking, and tweaking, and editing, and going over one sentence after another until you find the perfect one.
At least for a moment, before you realise it’s awful and needs tweaking again.
Ah, the wonderful way in which my mind works. I imagine you read this and yearn for my body. There’s nothing sexier than a angsty writer who wastes away the hours and pretends it’s worthwhile, is there?
Don’t worry, you needn’t answer. I know the truth. I know you love me and my angsty ways, and when I next see you (in a little over four hours) I’ll be sure to give you what you crave (this is where the wink face would go in a text, I believe).
I think I just made myself horny, go figure. Oh well, back to work I go.
The boy you love,
Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x
February 28th
Laying in bed, amused and laughing
Dear Aus,
I’ve just finished reading your last letter and had to reply. Your actions the other night - practically ripping my clothes off as soon as you saw me - now make sense. Trust you to turn yourself on whilst writing a simple letter. Trust you to turn yourself on after describing how angsty and arty you are.
Don’t get me wrong, I happen to like both you and your moody-and-broody ways, but do I get as hot-and-bothered over them as you… ? I think not.
Oh, and for the record, I think it’s you who spend your days craving me, mister. All I have to do is dress myself a certain way in the morning and you’re guaranteed to spend the next nine hours an unfocussed mess (this is most certainly where a wink emoticon goes).
Anyway, your letter brought a smile to my face, which I needed after the day I had. It wasn’t bad per se, rather never got going. I woke up early for some reason, despite not needing to be at The Shop until noon. It never got busy once, but at least one person was always in.
I didn’t find enough time to do any of the jobs I wanted to, but wasn’t rushed off my feet, either. The entire day slipped by in slow motion - not unlike my recent laptop staring and general procrastination.
And in perfect harmony, the train decided to not only be late, but sit stranded on the tracks somewhere near Bradford. By the time I got home I couldn’t even bring myself to cook a proper meal. I was all ready to give in and slide under the covers, but there your letter stood…
I needed it. I needed this smile. I hate going to bed feeling half-cooked and underwhelmed, although you know that all too well, don’t you? Why, if you were here right now I might just have to undress myself a certain way and tempt you into a massage and some… fun…
That always guarantees the day to end in style, and don’t for a second pretend you aren’t aroused right now. I know you too well, mister, and there’s no way you can say no to a massage - either when I give you one, or you cater to me. So, here’s to you and your wayward mind, as I’m sure you’ll spend the rest of the day thinking about that massage.
The girl you love,
B x
March 5th
In bed, not at all seduced
Dear B,
Although it’s true I enjoy a good massage (both giving and receiving), I find your portrayal of me quite wrong. You make out like I’m some crazed sex lunatic who yearns for only one thing, but you forget I’m not Joey, missy. I love you and your body, and the way you undress at night, but I think I’d surprise you with how long I could resist you.
Why, I have a sneaky feeling I could last longer than you, because when it comes to sex you’re always more forthcoming than me. I sense I could go at least two weeks laying in a bed with you without giving into my more animalistic urges.
Whereas you… ? You wouldn’t make it through the weekend.
Of course, I’m not suggesting we test this theory, but if it came down to it I know I’d come out on top (figuratively).
Although I’ll admit, I did spend the rest of the afternoon imagining you laying face down, awaiting your massage. There’s something about the light in your room and oily skin… I’m not sure what it is, but it’s quite the turn-on.
Anyway, enough of this, as I’m sure you’re hot-under-the-collar right and picturing my hands getting to work. Maybe you read this in The Coffee Shop, or on the train, or possibly beside me as we lay in bed. Wherever and however you read this, I’m sure you have more important things to consider than me, and us, together.
So, I’ll end this letter with an everyday story that’s not only boring, but unimportant, too. Earlier today, I sat at my desk minding my own business, when someone from the accounts team (I believe she’s called Liz), approached my desk and said, “Here Aus, you’re invited to my birthday party in a few weeks. You should bring, B, too.”
Handing me a photocopied piece of paper, she smiled and walked away.
Now, I know I’m rather socially awkward and it doesn’t take much to freak me out, but this is weird, right? I’ve never spoken to this woman before, and I’m not even sure her name is Liz. Isn’t inviting a near stranger to your party what you do at the age of seven?
And how did she know who you are? At first I figured she must know you somehow (because let’s face it, you know everyone), but she’s turning forty (according to her invite), so I doubt you do.
Needless to say, I don’t want to go. And I spent the rest of the afternoon feeling rather anxious and taken aback. On the plus side, I didn’t think about your oily skin, so silver lining and all…
The boy you love,
Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x
March 9th
On the train, nearly home
Dear Aus,
Before I begin, let me say I’m somewhat insulted by the fact you prefer to feel taken aback and freaked out, rather than think of my oily skin as you massage me. Although I think this says more about you, than it does me.
Okay, and now let’s get into the real elephant in the room: The fact you think you could last longer without sex than me.
Are you kidding, mister? Are you even aware of the craziness that left your mind and found its way on to the paper? Forgetting you’re a man (and therefore programmed to think about sex more often than me) for a second, you’re almost exclusively the one who initiates our sexual activities.
Sure, from time-to-time I run my finger up your chest whilst you read, but this is the exception, not the rule. Whereas you… barely a night goes by you don’t roll into me, kiss my neck, and slide your hand under my shirt. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but the thought you could last longer than me… ? Ridiculous!
In fact, I want to put this craziness to the test, and prove how insane and wrong you are. I believe the last time we had sex was a few days ago (maybe the seventh of March?), and so I challenge you to a bet: a bet about who can last the longest without sex - or more specifically, the one who can last the longest without making the first move.
I call your bluff, and to be honest, I don’t think you’ll accept this challenge. I imagine you’ll read this, stick out your chest, puff out your cheeks and say, “You’re on. I can totally do this.”
But then you’ll think about the consequences, consider the days-and-days-and-days without touching my breasts or legs or anything else, and then you’ll cry as you realise how silly you were. Don’t worry, I’ll accept your apology and we can end this madness before it begins.
As for your
story about Liz (or whoever she is), it is a tad weird. Maybe she has a thing for you. After all, who could resist your moody-and-broody ways. Hey, in a few weeks, maybe you’ll want Liz, too. After days-and-days-and-days with no physical interaction, you may find every forty-year-old you come across an attractive proposition.
The girl you love,
B x
March 13th
In a different coffee shop for once
Dear B,
It’s been nearly a week since we last had sex, and although I’ve hated every second of it, I’ve more than kept my nerve - even though you do keep trying to seduce me with your eyes, and the way you bite your bottom lip, and yesterday, as you bent down to pick up your hairdryer ever so slowly…
Don’t try to tell me you aren’t, either. I know you. I know when you’re attempting to seduce me, and these last few days… you’re a damn tease and temptress!
Anyway, I’m fine. I continue to function. I’m still sleeping. The days last twenty-four hours, and the earth hurtles around the sun. I think you owe me an apology, because what is it you said a few nights ago?
“You’ll toss and turn all night by day five, and probably get fired from your job because you’re unable to focus more than ten minutes.”
HaHaHaHa, wrong. I’m fine, but whether we can say the same about you… well, I’m not the one trying to seduce you, am I? Are you already missing my fingers and lips? Do you already long for me laying on top of you?
And I’m sorry, I doubt however long this ridiculous bet lasts (which I’m going to win, for your information), I won’t find forty-year-old women like Liz attractive. She’s not only twice my age, but in a completely different realm to me. I can barely figure out how to function as a twenty-two-year-old adult, let alone fathom the idea of being a father to a teenage son or daughter, own a house where the mortgage is half-paid, and approach my tenth year at a company.
I mean, that’s the life of a forty-year-old, right? Do you really see my connecting with women like that?
I think not, missy. I think not.
But before I end this letter, I must say there’s one aspect of this bet I like a great deal. I never thought about it until now, but we probably haven’t gone more than three or fours days without sex since we first had it. We were together for nearly two years before that memorable first instance, and to say you made me work for that moment and earn such trust is a damn understatement.
Back then, I noticed everything about you, including all the near-invisible mannerisms you possess. I suppose over the years I’ve taken these traits for granted, but over the last couple of days I’ve rediscovered them.
Like the way you stare off into the distance when we settle into silence, always searching the room from left-to-right. You always did this, especially when I used to draw you. I recall you sitting there for hours once, in the park, I think, posing for me and staring off towards the horizon.
From left-to-right each time, before locking on something and glaring at it.
I hope you give into your urges soon so we can end this silly bet, but I’m glad it’s reopened my eyes, and I promise I won’t take you (the small or not) for granted again.
The boy you love,
Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x
March 16th
In The Shop, with a few minutes to spare
Dear Aus,
I must say, I’m rather impressed you’ve lasted this long. I didn’t think you could, and although I too miss your touch and lips, I shall not give in and offer you the satisfaction of success. How could I ever live it down? I couldn’t, and so I’m afraid you’re in for a rather long and hopeless journey.
As for me seducing you… I have no idea what you mean. I’m simply being me, and if that happens to turn you on and drive you wild, well, you know what to do, don’t you? I’m here whenever you want me, awaiting your first move and eventual slip.
Do you remember the taste of my skin, or is it already a distant memory?
And I think you’re right, too. We haven’t gone more than a few days since we first gave into our teenage urges. I remember how nervous you were, not just that night, but the months leading up to it. It was inevitable, a matter of when, rather than if.
You were so good, though. You never pressured me. You never pushed. You gave me the time and space I needed, which I think most girls need. I’m not sure if sex is different for girls, but I sense we treasure the innocence more than you guys do.
Innocence… now that is a distant memory. I don’t think I’ve felt truly innocent for a very long time now. Life provides too many twists and turns, and whether it’s good or bad, it robs you of innocence. It opens your eyes to reality, which is a far cry from innocent.
Anyway, I digress, because what you said in your last letter made me wonder about how many times we’ve actually given in to our animalistic urges. That infamous first time was nearly seven years ago, which is around 2,500 days.
What would you guess the number is?
2,000… maybe? 3,000… after all, one time often turns into two, although I suppose I should stop, for I don’t want you to accuse me of seducing you again…
But looking back on the past, which I suppose is easier to do when partaking in a silly bet like this, reminds me of a good period of my life. I’m not saying for a second I haven’t enjoyed my time with you since our first deed, but there’s something about that initial chase and dance we did - the fear and nerves and excitement.
You can’t wait to escape it as a kid, and venture into an older and more mature stage of life, but maybe it wasn’t so bad.
The girl you love,
B x
March 21st
At my desk, eating lunch that you made for me
Dear B,
I don’t think I’ve ever hated my will-power (or is it utter and stupid stubbornness?) as much as I do now. It may only be two weeks, but it feels like a lifetime since I last kissed and caressed your skin. I think it’s gotten past the point of pure horniness, and developed into a a state of longing I never realised I treasure so much.
It’s not the sex, so much as the making love and expressing myself with you.
I miss it, but in some ways I’m glad we’re doing this. I believe we’re learning new things about one another, which is strange since I thought I knew everything about you already. But I continue to notice new traits. My eyes keep opening a little wider each day.
That first time we make love again, I cannot fathom how it will feel, although I sense ecstasy is as good a word as any. Appreciation is another, because I think this will bring us closer together in the end. Maybe I’m looking into this too much, but it seems like this crazy bet may have some substance to it.
Although from our last letter, it sounds like you miss our pre-sex period a little too much. Am I that bad? Do you not miss my body and touch, too?
I joke, because I know what you mean. We strive so much to stride forward and refuse to look back, but maybe we’re at an age when we peek into the past a little more, and as we do, realise it wasn’t too bad. I always felt rather detached and distanced from reality, because if you removed yourself and Joey, who did I have? Who did I understand, and who else understood me?
But in having just the two of you, I think I’ve grown for the better, maybe more so than if I tried to fit into a larger group due to the fear of loneliness or exile. Who knows, but the past doesn’t seem so bad when I look back on it now.
Speaking of Joey, this bet continues to rile him up the wrong way. It’s a shame you missed last night at The Pub, for he preached and vented for an hour about how crazy and pathetic we both are.
“What’s the point in having a girlfriend if you cannot have sex on tap,” he said.
He said a lot more, but it was basically a regurgitation of that throughout, and I can’t help but smile when I see him so upset with us both. Does that make me a little sick in the head, enjoying my best friend’s suffering? If it does, I don’t care. I find i
t more than amusing to watch his reasoning shatter into pieces as he tries to fathom the idea of a life without sex.
“It’s bad enough you insist on having sex with one girl, but to then refuse to have sex with her, too? Are you sure you’re not gay, brother?” he later said.
I must say, his internal suffering almost makes these urges and longing worthwhile. Almost. Almost.
The boy you love,
Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x
March 26th
In bed
Dear Aus,
It’s almost three weeks since you last catered to my desires (and I last kissed yours), and although I do miss your touch, I’m doing okay. I seem to have reached a second wind of sorts, able to sleep in peace at night. Of course, it helps that my own fingers are able to keep me going. Not as good as yours, but a beggar cannot be picky now, can she?
Do you like the idea of my fingers entering… no, I shall stop…
As for you, I begin to see you crumble. You’re twitchy and antsy, and although I should hate seeing you like this, I do sort of like it. After all, you’re antsy and twitchy because you long for me. It’s quite the turn on, so whenever you wish to give in and rediscover me, feel free to.
Or you could keep waiting… Either way, I think I’ll enjoy it whenever we get back on the proverbial horse.
As for Joseph, he truly is a ridiculous human being. I texted him yesterday, seeing as I haven’t seen him for a few days. He didn’t reply, so I called him in the evening. He didn’t answer, so I texted him again, only for him to reply,
“I’m not speaking to you.”
I laughed, because I knew it must be due to this bet. Everyone else I’ve told about this (don’t worry, I haven’t told a lot of people) either finds it amusing or fascinating. He’s the only one who’s insulted by it.
Well, I couldn’t resist, so I kept calling him until he answered, only for him to sulk down the phone as he vented about how selfish I am.
“Don’t you understand how dangerous this is to a man?”
“The male body needs sex. Without it, we run the risk of imploding.”
“You’re just tempting fate, practically asking Aus to cheat on you.”
These were a few of my favourite lines, and the sad thing is, he was serious about it, as though he’s done the research and discovered that guys who go without sex literally explode in the street. I love that boy, but he’s an idiot. Like you say, it almost makes the urges worthwhile.