Oh Baby: Letter to a Fresh Crush

Hi Baby,

As you know, I'm just a simple farmer's daughter living in the Midwestern region of the United States. You, however, live in Paris: The City of Lights, the home of the Eiffel Tower. Being that it's only 2 a.m. here, you probably figure I'm still asleep. I'm guessing that you, my darling man, are awake by this time, being that you are seven hours ahead of me. I like that you may be thinking of me. I like that you may be reading that letter you wanted me to write to you.

You requested a letter of me that said when I go to bed one night, I should take off all my clothes, get out my laptop, and write to you all the thoughts that come into my head. I found that very sexual, very French. So I did as you told me because I wanted to. I've always wanted a man to whom I could obey and still feel good about that obedience at the same time.

The letter I sent you via your request was a pure confessional, pure fantasy, a naughty daydream. I told you all the things I would love to do to you: sucking on you, having you slip yourself into my tight pussy, sitting on your lap and whispering in your ear nasty things about my wet little panties. I'd cup my mouth to your ear and whisper, "Do you like it, baby? Do you like the way your little princess dryhumps you?"

Of course, using the term "princess," I am quite a bit younger than yourself. You will be 53 tomorrow and I am sixteen years younger. I am not a spring chicken, not by a long shot, but you make me feel like a hot little baby. I must admit that men like my wide green eyes, long legs, and full breasts that have not yet settled into old age. And what do I like about you? I like that you're tall, I like that your hair is silver, I like that you're humorous, but, most of all, I love that you wear a wedding ring.

It's funny that I've been chasing after married men these last couple of years - even just four or five years ago I was dead set against the idea. But now I like it. It doesn't bother me that you may be fucking your wife on a regular basis, and it especially doesn't bother me if you happen to fuck her and think of me while you squirt inside her. We've rarely talked about it. But you have two children in their teen years, so I'm guessing the wifey is probably around your own age. She can have your body, but I want your mind.

All this is moot anyway. With me living in the United States and you living in France, it is unlikely we would ever meet in person anyway. And this is soothing. It is a friends-with-benefits, long-distance, make-no-commitments kind of companionship we've created for ourselves. It takes out the hassle of a real relationship and allows us to explore only our fantasies with each other. I want to know all of yours, baby. Tell me, do you think about me as you go about your workaday life? Do you think about me when you go to bed with your wife? I know my place: I am The Other Woman in a territory we've crossed known as A Cyber Affair.

But don't take your upper hand for granted, baby. I'm perfectly willing to be your sex slave from afar, but you must remember that women can only submit to men if their men do not abuse the power that they hold. I want to submit to you, to obey you, but please don't abuse your power or take it for granted, baby. I am putting my soul in your hands just like I'd like to put my tits, only my soul is invisible and much harder to identify when it is wounded.

You melt me. There's almost no sacrifice too big to feel this kind of excitement. This is living. This islife, and sometimes, in my craziest moments, I'd like to give birth to another life, a child with each of our little ladders of DNA within him or her. Simply put, sometimes I want to have your baby.

But again, this is all a moot point. We're across the Atlantic from each other, a half a world away. It's funny though, sometimes I swear I can almost feel you thinking about me. It's like some sort of psychic and simultaneous lust: I light the match and you dip your cigarette into the flame. I'm here and you are there, and yet we seem closer than those who are next door to me.

Nevertheless - and back to one of my original points - you are a husband and a father. Maybe this is a fast assumption, but if you are a man on the internet specifically seeking out a female (and you were, baby), don't you want something naughty to happen? Doesn't that mean you're looking for a little something on the side? I'd be proud to be your sweet little piece of ass, cyber lover of convenience, and sex toy to be used for your X-rated pleasure.

Furthering my point - and wondering something I've always wondered - men like yourself, who are specifically seeking out a woman on the internet, are you always looking for sex, baby? Or do you sincerely believe that you can bejustplatonic friends with a fantasy female? I'm inclined to think the former - you wouldn't be searching online if things were hunky-dory with your wife in the bedroom. That's where I come in...

I'm available if you need me, baby. I, too, am looking for sex. I, too, am looking for a fantasy. The internetisa fantasy, so why not use it advantageously? I feel we have a connection (only a robot could deny that); it's palpable. So, while our phones are in our pockets and our keyboards are at our fingertips, let's not deny each other the fun we most likely would have together if we were together in person. Let's get a little crazy, baby. I want to be your sex doll. This is an advertisement just for you, should you ever come across it someday.

I wonder what French cum tastes like, feels like. Just like any other I suppose, but with my fantasies and hormones raging right now, I can only imagine that you can do a lot of hot things with it, things I would like to experience with you. I'd love it if you squirted it on my face, baby, marking your territory. I'd love to wiggle in its streams and plops, open-mouthed and slutty. I also love to think that your wife is too much of a prude to venture into that territory. What she does not do, I will. That's what being a sex doll, a sex slave is all about: opening up your holes and making them available to your sexy male lover.

I want to be the girl in your fantasy world: your pornographic princess, your tight little piece of ass, your hole when your wife won't open hers, your cum-eating slut, your girl who you can pass around to your buddies and share, your anal whore, your secret, and your taboo.

Don't pass me up, baby. I'm willing to do anything. As I said, this is an advertisement. But I can advertise with more than just my words. I can advertise with my glances of singlehood, I can advertise with a lap dance, I can advertise with my body. Let me serve you. Let meserviceyou. Let me make your erections stand for hours on end. Let me, also, not be coy or coquettish: Let's fuck.

Love,

Mandy