A Love Letter

Dear Whipping Boy,

Everyday we sit on the bus to work together, and everyday I undress you, I mean......I uh.......I smile nicely at you. We make normal pleasantries and act very cordial, but please mark my words, given half a chance I would jump on your head six different ways from Tuesday.

I'm not joking.

I'm not exactly sure if it's your manly disposition, your 6'4" stature, your nice lean hard body or the glorious masculine hands that I imagine roaming my body, feeling my voluptuous......

Anywho, I feel that we have a deep connection, so deep that words would never be needed, we can communicate through sign language and grunting......lots of grunting. And when I say "sign language" I quote "Hands touching hands.......reaching out......touching me..........touching you." Poetic I know.

Please though, don't worry that I make more money than you, it's ok because I'll take care of the both of us. Seriously, we don't ever have to leave the house. Or at least you don't......just wait for me.......in my room.......every day. I'll provide you with nutrition and clothing (read: Viagra, water and a loin cloth).

Is it hot in here?

Where was I? Oh yes, I know this is shocking to you, it was shocking to me the first time I saw your hands next to me, so close, yet so far away. I couldnt help it, they are big and masculine, a little veiny, but strong. They are tough, brawny, well built manly hands. It doesn't hurt that your rock hard ass could crack a walnut, but I digress. Oh how I swoon and I know that you might be one sandwich short of a picnic basket, but I don't mind, I like 'em a little dim.....hell look at my ex.

This is not the time to be shy - carpe diem my good man. I don't bite (lie), I'll be gentle (another lie). We'll be very happy together (at least I will) for a very long time.......perhaps even a whole week. And if you're not into the commitment thing, that's ok, I think I might get over it........that is after I've sucked the life out of your body and leave your limp carcass lying in the bedroom guzzling Gatorade trying to replace the electrolytes I have drained from you. It happens - hey I'm a woman with needs.

I think I've made my point. I'll see you later at the bus stop where I anxiously await (stalk) your reply. I heart your bod.

Respectfully yours,
M