Dear John

Round, pink bubble gum: hard and then going soft in your mouth.
Can of Coke: like a stout and short cock, yet fizzing inside with delight.
A rhubarb stick: a cock curved and angry, ready to make my face grimace with pain.
Avocado: a pussy that has been pounded and the inside has hardened to stop entry.
Cherries: describing the loss of virginity.

These are the things that I think about in the morning when I wake up, and you are not here. Or when they haven't yet given me my medication and my mind is alert and on fire, before they extinguish it with their dumbing down pills – robbing me of the libido that used to be so much a part of me. Very much a part of you and I, John.

I miss the taste of your kiss, your saliva as fizzy as lemonade upon my tongue.

Your cock reminds me of bubble-gum,
Hard when it first enters my mouth, but
The heat of my passion removes the inner
Core of you, your cum like chocolate
Goo, oozing out of my favourite muffin.
Cherries, attributed to virginity,
Remind me of my nipples
Hard and erect, ready for your attention.
I dream of you entering me,
Taking me to the heights of ecstasy
But, alas, that can never, ever be.

It breaks my heart, John but I keep holding on, hoping that one day we can be together again. In the meantime, I write my morning pages of mad thoughts. They jump out like a frightened kitten escaping a bin bag before it is due to be drowned. Hopefully, I will escape this, and you can fuck me again with wild abandon.

I want you to stroke my body and bring it to life again like a magician waving a wand to perform his next magic trick. Being with you always felt like magic. It did, I promise you that.

Am I rambling, John? I look at the time and realise that I will have to take my medication soon. Sheila, the matron, will arrive, all stout and bustling. She is the robust sort. I don't think you'd like her. I don't think she’s the type to bathe very often. Sometimes, I get a whiff of her, and it makes me positively recoil.

Do you remember when I used to get ready for you, John? I would spend all day preparing for your visit. I loved bathing in my bath milk and making my skin as soft and fragrant as possible. I guess it made me feel like a siren but also virginal as well. The white milk a sign of purity.

I'm rambling again, aren't I John? Like an errant clematis climbing up a stone wall, clinging on for its dear life determined to blossom, hell-bent on flowering. I’m like that. Or I would be if they'd allow me to be myself.

Do you remember the time we fucked at your house when your wife was at work? That was very naughty of us, particularly when we did it in the marital bed and you suggested that I put on some of Joan’s underwear. It makes me blush like a raspberry just thinking about it. I was too young then to have even thought about buying sexy underwear.

You said that her fishnet stockings looked much better encasing my legs than hers. You told me that when Joan wore them, she looked like a joint of beef, all trussed up with string. I laughed like a drain at the time. I gurgled like a geyser, almost choking on my mirth. I must admit that now it makes me feel a little mean.

They say I'm obsessed with you, but I don't see it like that. We had something special, and you awakened me. I guess with you I was like a moth to the light. Although, I'd prefer to describe myself as a butterfly rather than a moth. Moths are ugly, aren't they? If I were feeling vicious and angry, I would describe Joan as a moth, John but I can't bring myself to do it, not after everything that has happened.

Yes, the day I dressed up in Joan's fishnets, I also put on her Basque. I had to put the clasps on the tightest hole, and you cheekily said that it sounded a bit like me, because I had the tightest hole you'd ever fucked.

I used to love bouncing on your cock, and you liked me to wear my hair in plaits, didn't you? I know I keep asking if you can remember things and it does seem a tad repetitive, but I need to know that you do. That you haven't forgotten me. I hope I haven't slipped your mind as a melted ice cream dropped by a clumsy child.

We shared an ice cream once when you took me on a day trip to the seaside. I wanted an ice-lolly, but you said that they were common, plus you were feeling horny, and an ice-lolly in my mouth would only turn you on even more.

It sounded crazy to me, but I didn't argue. You said you liked watching my tongue lick the ice cream. Then you said the visit to the ice cream van hadn't been a good idea after all because seeing the white cream on my tongue made you think of cum.

We were meant to have walked on the beach and dipped our toes in the sea, but after I'd finished eating the ice cream you were in such a rush to have me. You didn't care where. I suggested your car because we'd fucked in it loads of times, but you said the car was too far away and you needed me asap. You never pronounced it A.S.A.P like with full stops. You asserted it A. SAP. It somehow captured your impatient nature perfectly.

We did go down to the beach, and I slipped off my flip-flops so that I could feel the sand between my toes. Not wearing them, also helped me to keep up with you as you quickly strode along in front of me like Batman on a mission. You found a cove for us. In you crawled and I followed. It smelt of seashells.

She sells seashells on the seashore.

I recall I thought that at the time. Maybe my brain was always in need of a proper rewiring, John.

Once in the cove, I sat on a rock that had no doubt been jagged at some point, but the continual bashing of the sea had taken away its anger and left something smooth, calm and purposeful in its wake.

You said, ‘Cindy, the only bashing that is going to happen in here is my cock pummelling you. That is your sole purpose right now, to give me what I want. Then, when I have finished, we'll go for a dip in the sea.'

I remember the things you said to me, John, word for word.

In the cove, you pulled down my shorts and asked me to take off the rest of my clothes as you undid the button on your jeans and pulled down the zip. Your cock sprang out of your jeans like a jack in a box, and I almost laughed. I don't know why I thought of that and why I found your cock so funny.

I stood in front of you naked, and you stroked your cock, appraising my body, and I looked at you and thought, ‘He isn't good looking, but there's something about him.’ And of course, I loved the sex.

You picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around your waist. It’s what you always told me to do when we were fucking in a tight place. Wow, it felt so good, and it was naughty. We could have been caught at any moment, but you always liked the idea of getting caught, didn't you John? It gave you an added thrill to what was already, to all intents and purposes, a dangerous situation. You being a married man and all that. (Nudge, nudge, wink, wink).

Later we did go into the sea. I went in with just my bra and knickers on but I had to come out because the salty water was stinging my pussy where your cock had vigorously fucked me and I was more than a little chaffed. That can be very painful for a girl, I can tell you.

Do you still think of me, John? I hope so because we shared so many good times, didn't we? You introduced me to so many of my firsts. My first fuck, first blow job, the first person to lick my pussy. Oh, the list is quite endless. I have no regrets. Well, other than we got caught. I regret that, of course.

A good life is a collection of happy moments apparently, John. We had a lot of those, didn't we? So, I guess my life isn't as bad as I sometimes think it is. Then again, my mother has always said that I am the dramatic sort.

I wish we’d been more careful. It was terrible the way we were found out and sometimes in the dark of the night when my demons visit and my medication is starting to wear off, I admit I blame you. I thought you were careful. I assumed that when you saw me or when you invited me to your home, you'd planned it with military precision, like my very own action man. How could you have been so careless?

Why didn't you wait until Joan had been gone a couple of hours before inviting me around? Then you would have known that she was well on her way to Newcastle. So, if she’d realised that she’d forgotten something, it would have been tough shit, too late to turn back. But oh no — you were too eager to fuck me. With eagerness comes carelessness. You threw caution to the wind and look what a shit storm it brought us.

I've had to forgive you John or my mind would explode and split like a bean bag. Tiny cells are spilling out all over the place, and it’s hard enough keeping them in check as it is, hence the fucking medication. How ironic, fucking with you used to be my medicine.

You weren't to know that Joan had forgotten her mobile phone. Like I said before, if she'd been two hours into her journey it would have been a case of tough shit, wouldn't it? As it happened, Joan had only driven twenty miles when she realised. When she was driving back, I was already holed up in your bedroom dressed yet again in her underwear. A red satin peephole bra and matching crotchless knickers. Red fishnets finished too, and I even put on a pair of her black patent leather high heels.

You wanted me to use some of her perfume, but I drew the line at that, didn't I? I had my own, thank you very much. You laughed at my truculence before pulling me onto the bed and giving me one of your bubble-gum kisses that took away all my anger right then and there.

You'd decided that day that we were going to try a sixty-nine. Again, another first for me and I found it so thrilling, and I sucked your cock with extra vigour because of the pleasure you were giving me. You made me cum with ease, and you were just building up your momentum when the bedroom door opened and there was Joan.

I'd say her face was a picture but I always think a picture conjures up beautiful images and Joan looked anything but glamorous. She looked horrified at first and then her face seemed to fold in on itself before her features pushed themselves out again, all twisted with anger and hatred. I half expected snakes to appear out of the top of her head like Medusa.

We were still. It was as if we were struck by some invisible force field that was keeping us exactly where we were. Before I knew what was happening, Joan had hold of my hair and was pulling me off you, and I landed with a heavy thud on the bedroom floor. Then it was mayhem, wasn't it?

Half of it I don't remember. However, I do recall that I became infuriated. It built up like I was a kettle full of water on the boil. I think it takes three minutes doesn't it to boil a kettle? (I'll need to research that later. If they allow me to use my laptop, that is).

If Joan hadn't dropped her handbag while she was an aggressive bitch, then the nail file wouldn't have fallen out, would it? If she'd dealt with catching us with a little more maturity, a tad more calmly, then we wouldn't be in our current predicament, and Joan wouldn't be six foot under.

I don't remember sticking the nail file in her neck. Like Moses parting the red sea, my mind divided and spiralled into madness. I don't even think I meant to go for her jugular vein; it just happened that way.

It was kind of you to take the blame. You said that I had my whole life ahead of me and that you should have known better. I didn't want you to take the responsibility for it all, but you insisted.

It was horrible how the prosecution barrister made you look in court. The mealy-mouthed bitch made it out like you was a pervert but everything we did I consented to and enjoyed. I enjoyed it very much. If we'd thought it through, I could have admitted killing Joan and got off on diminished responsibility. I guess there is no point in us crying over Joan's spilled blood.

Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well and that your prison sentence isn't too hard for you to endure. Maybe they drug you up in a bid to help you cope as they do with me in this nuthouse.

Please write back soon. I haven't heard from you in a while, and I don't know if that's because you don't love me any more or if these bastards are keeping your letters from me. Apparently, they think my contact with yourself is detrimental to my health.

Thinking about it logically, they are probably blocking my mail out to you, so you won't even receive this letter. Well, if that’s the case, then all I can say is, that I hope we meet again on a higher, far happier plane.

Love Cindy x


John Watson
HMP Woodrow
England