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“I assume you have her name and address?”
“That’s the complicated part. This girl . . . she’s an old friend, but we don’t actually know each other’s real names.”
“Some freaky shit going on?”
“Nah. Nothing like that. We met as pen pals when we were kids. Started using fake last names from the get-go, because those were the rules back then. We recently reconnected and simply never changed that habit. She doesn’t even know I’m Cole Archer.”
“Hmm. Okay. Well, what information do I have to go on?”
“I have her PO box. You’d need to hang out at the local post office until she checks it and then follow her home. I can’t guarantee how long it will take before she shows up, but I’ll pay whatever you want for your time.”
“It’s cold as balls up there, you know.”
“Buy out L.L.Bean and add it to the invoice. I’ll send you the address. How soon do you think you can do it?”
“I can probably head up there this weekend.”
I sighed, feeling a mix of dread and excitement. “Perfect.”
After I hung up, guilt started to really creep in. I hated having to do things this way, but I really needed to know more before I decided how to move forward. Truthfully, it was her last letter that finally did me in, where things started to feel like they were veering into another territory with us.
I pulled it out and reread it.Dear Griffin,
I’ve started this letter five different times. Each time resulted in me tossing a crumpled-up piece of stationery into the wastebasket next to my desk. Actually, that was sort of a lie—not all of the five made it into the wastebasket. I have pretty shitty aim. But anyway . . . the reason it’s taken me a few tries to pen this letter is because I’d been trying to hold back on answering some of your questions so you don’t think I’m a nutjob. Though I’ve already told you about all my fears, my struggle with bacon, and that I talk to a pet pig on occasion. Alas, perhaps that ship has already sailed anyway. So here goes . . . the naked truth on oral sex, orgasm, and masturbation . . .
I have had an orgasm before. Unfortunately, not with a partner. I’m not sure if my inability to climax during sexual activities with a man is partner related—meaning the men just didn’t do it for me—or it’s a physical issue with me. But I can orgasm, just not while in the presence of any of the men I’ve been with. In fact, I find bringing myself to climax to be pretty easy. I have a nice collection of vibrators—the LELO INA Wave rabbit being my favorite. It gives dual internal and external stimulation. But honestly, I can get there with my hand in a pinch.My head fell back against the headrest, and I shut my eyes. Jesus Christ, the vision of Luca touching herself made me fucking nuts. For a quick second, I thought about unzipping my pants and rubbing one out right here in the car. But the last thing I needed was to get arrested jerking off in front of the recording studio. Or worse, a fan to come by and video me while I whacked off—that shit would go viral in a heartbeat. My jeans were getting snug. I needed to remember not to read Luca’s letters anywhere but in the privacy of my house in the future.
I took a few deep, cleansing breaths and opened my eyes. There was no way I could drive at the moment, so I figured I might as well enjoy myself and finish the letter for the sixth damn time.Oddly, the paragraph I just wrote wasn’t the one that I debated on writing. The next one is . . .
I never told you, but I have a secret nickname for you: Mee-Mee. The story behind it is pretty embarrassing. But screw it . . . here goes nothing. I was almost thirteen when you sent me your one and only photo. I spent a good deal of time looking at it. In case you weren’t aware, you were really, really handsome. I had a big crush on you to begin with—and that was before you’d sent that picture. But once I got a look at how gorgeous you were—it took things to a new level for me. Remember, I was a teenager with raging hormones. Anyway, one night I was lying in my bed staring at the photo you’d sent when I slipped my hand into my panties for the very first time. It felt so good, but I didn’t own a vibrator yet, obviously, and I needed more stimulation. So I had to improvise. This is the part that gets embarrassing. Do you remember those little Furby key chains? The vibrating ones that McDonald’s gave out in their Happy Meals years ago? I’m sure you can see where this story is headed now. Anyway . . . I had a few of one little Furby in particular. Yep, you guessed it . . . his name was Mee-Mee.
