Ch.13 I wish was your lover

“Damn, wish I was your lover
I’d rock you till the daylight come
Making sure you’re smiling and warm.”

– Sophie B Hawkins

My relationship with Alison now settled into a steady tempo for the next few months. I had to work 9-5 but could get weekdays off from time to time and would travel up to Sydney most weekends. She worked most weekends and had university commitments during the week but would try to shift things around to get down to Canberra as often as she could. It was less than ideal but were both trying our hardest and we were lucky that we lived in the two closest cities in Australia – three hours at most by car. But to supplement our travel we both wrote to each other at a furious pace.

We both wrote to each other at least once a week. Sometimes the letters would arrive on or after the days when we had actually met up which made amusing reading learning about Alison had promised to do to me after she had already done it. She told me that my letters to her would be read and reread several times, especially when she was alone because of the way they made her feel.


I have already said that Jeremy began writing letters to Alison within a week of meeting her and I knew that she was writing to him too. Fairly normal kind of behaviour but the effect these letters had on her was quite extraordinary. Not only did it become the first thing she would ask for when she came home but each new letter’s arrival would also herald the onset of happy Alison for at least the next 48 hours. She would be positively buoyant the rest of the day if she opened it early enough during the day but almost insular if she didn’t see it till she got home at night. Either way she was ecstatic with each new arrival.


There wasn’t a day now that I didn’t rush home with the hope that Jeremy had sent me another letter. We couldn’t see each other often enough and, with my flat situation, the phone wasn’t really an option for intimate conversations. So, I had to content myself with his next letter and all his previous ones. Some of them got quite a workout.

I said that I am very competitive but writing erotic letters to my lover was big step. So I was nervous the first time I sent Jeremy a letter describing my lust for him. I felt a bit inadequate in my erotic writing skills. It was something that I had thought and read about but never dared to put down on paper. But after reading all the amazing, graphic erotica that he had been sending to me I wanted him to know I that wanted to do all those things he had written with him and more. I meant every word I wrote and every word I ever said to him. And I wanted to say them over and over again just so he knew how much I meant them…

…I can’t wait till I’m kissing and rubbing my breasts over every square inch your body only then returning to your moist, soft lips, licking and blowing on your ears, moving my tongue slowly over your dick from the base to the tip, time and time again, taking you in my mouth and hand, moving it steadily, waiting anxiously for signs that you are enjoying it and then pure heaven when you come into my mouth. I get to taste, devour and swallow every last drop. Collapsing in your arms, warm from the excitement, kissing and talking about everything and anything, waiting for our bodies to repair anticipating the next time we are in rapture. I can’t wait to see you till I can do this and more…

Not long after Jeremy and I started dating, Princess Diana died in a car crash. Tragic, but by the end of the first week I was well and truly over the 24/7 media coverage. However, some of my flat mates were obsessed with it and the TV seemed to be on the news all hours updating us on the fact that she was still dead.

One evening, after reserves, I came home, and the coverage was on yet again. I sighed but as it was late, I didn’t complain. Then I noticed the letter waiting for me on the bench and I hoped it was another from Jeremy. It was and I felt that same tingle of excitement that I usually got when I was expecting another instalment of “When Jerry fucked Ali.”

I settled onto the couch next to the girls and went into my own little world barely acknowledging the weak attempts at greetings by my morbidly curious flatmates. This letter had Jeremy in a tuxedo and me in a slinky evening dress at a party sneaking out to a balcony and him bending me over the balustrades – I’d have to remember that one. Again, the detail and imagery were very explicit – not grossly though – and I felt my heart quicken and the temperature rise.

As I read more, Jeremy describing the sensation of him entering me, my hand began to wonder down between my thighs as it usually did when I was reading any of his letters. It was easy enough to slip my hand into the fly of my cams where I could already feel the dampness of my pants.

“Alison!” Jeremy grunted has he emptied himself into me.


I closed my eyes, touching my clit through the cloth.

“Alison!” a female voice called.

Shit, I’d forgotten where I was! I was petrified that I’d been caught with my hand in my pants. “Yes?” I asked sheepishly.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Fiona asked. “You look so tired. You know you had your eyes shut.”

“Oh, um, did I? Oh, er, no, no thank you.”

“You should go to bed.”

I agreed.

The next time I was almost caught was a few days later. I was sitting in the sun on the flat balcony trying to study. I “needed” a break, so I brought out one of Jeremy’s older letters and was reading it for the second time that day and I began to get aroused. I knew that I was alone and my back was to the flat so no one could see me. I slid my right hand into my shorts and began to press gently on my engorged vulva. The pressure caused the blood to surge and I closed my eyes, imagining that it was Jeremy’s hand doing the work just like in his letter. I pulled aside my wet pants and my finger was just about to probe inward when I heard the apartment door opening. I pulled my hand back quickly and went stiff as a board.

A few moments later a tap on the glass door told me that someone was right behind me and I turned to see Camilla waving at me. I waved and mouthed “hello” back at her. Then her eyes moved toward my left hand and she said, “Oh sorry, I’ll leave you two alone.”

Confused, I looked back at my hand only to realise that I was still holding the letter.


I came in to the lounge room one morning to find Alison out on the balcony, surrounded by textbooks. I thought I’d pop over to say hi and see if she wanted a cup of tea. I wasn’t sure if she knew I was there, so I tapped on the glass and said hello. It was then I noticed a letter in her hand. I think I said something cheeky about leaving her alone. I have never seen her look as embarrassed as I did at that moment. What did he write this time I wondered?

The bar is open, everyone is relaxing. The last night before we go home. I walk in, wishing at that moment that I was anywhere else. Happiness is not on my mind, just reflection on what was lost.

You catch my eye, half a smile, unsure if that is even allowed. I nod in response but all I feel tonight is numb. I make my excuses and leave. A single word repeats itself in my mind, ‘despair.’

I walk alone to the lines; the stars and moon provide all the light needed to find my way. I pause outside my tent and sigh, looking for the longest time at the show the heavens have put on tonight. So much beauty amongst the darkness.

A figure approaches but the last thing I want right now is conversation. I turn away and hope they pass me by.

‘Sir,’ it is a young woman’s voice. Familiar but not a friend. ‘Sir I-I just heard the news.’ I turn, I know this soldier. ‘I just wanted to see if you needed anything.’

I am about to thank and dismiss you, but I stop. You are looking at me strangely, respectfully distant but somehow also intimately close. Despite the evening’s warmth you are trembling. I see you clearly for the first time: your blonde hair; blue eyes; your Grecian nose. Why have I not noticed you before? You are beautiful.

The look in your eyes tells me that your offer is earnest but there is something else too. You are close, showing no signs of subordination to rank. If we were anywhere but here this would be allowed. Then it strikes me, it is you need who something. You need something from me!

Private Benaud I,’ you cut me off with a gentle hand. We have stopped listening to the voices in our heads telling us ‘no’. The only sound now is our beating hearts. The world becomes dark.

We step back into my tent and I sit down on my bed, drawing you to me. I am staring up at you amazed. All despair has gone now and only you remain. The word in my head now is ‘fraternise.’

We kiss, lips apart, as if we have done this before a thousand times before. My hands are on your waist, easing down your trousers, slipping them silently to the floor. I fumble with your pants, pressing against you. You gasp.

As they fall away you climb onto me, unbuttoning your shirt as you begin to rise and fall. In the gloom I can see pale flesh and breasts where your buttons have come undone. I am inside you and the only word now is ‘yes.’

So much beauty in the darkness.

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