My dearest darling,
I don’t know where to begin. This is not going to be a letter like any of the others I wrote. Mostly because, I spent the whole of today with you. And I am writing this five minutes after you left me at our gate. Which is absurd, because I shouldn’t be missing you that bad, that soon? I am looking outside the window and I can see you walking away; a tiny figure with a happy gait in his walk. It’s my little secret, knowing where that bounce comes from. I probably have it too. Yes, you do that to me.
Do you know I just turned nineteen? Of course you do. Which is why I am now this courageous. I think I am now a grown ass woman. Is it not what all these strong women call themselves? I am a bit shy. I don’t even know whether I should tell you what is on my mind or not. Why is it this way for us girls? To be held back from saying what we are thinking? From stating what we really desire? Is it a crime for me to say I desire you in a sexual manner, my darling? Why I’m I embarrassed?
I have paused for five minutes. There is a storm raging inside me. Debating whether to go on with this letter or not. I have decided to go on. I have to write this.
You make me happy. I cherish every moment we spend together. You know, it should be illegal for any man to be that funny. Why are you so funny? Where do you get those jokes? Those jokes I laugh so hard to, I choke on my own laughter. Why did God give you such beautiful eyes? Those eyes that make me want to take your mouth in mine every time you stare at me. Whether with concern or love. Or even when you are mad at me. You being mad at me is something I don’t want to ever happen again. Which is a paradox really because every time you are mad at me you make me giggle like a 3 year old girl? Why my darling is it that every time you are mad at me, I feel in a weird type of way. Not in my head, no. down there in my most sensitive part. It’s like suddenly my parts have a heart of their own. A heart beat of their own. Beating wildly. 85 beats per minute. Maybe 120 BPM.
Am I normal? Is it normal for a woman to feel these things? Please tell me it is, because I am running mad. I can’t help it anymore.
I want to make love to you my darling.
Why is it every time you hold me, you never kiss me? The feel of your hands on me. Anywhere; my chin, my waist, my face. The roughness. The roughness on your hands. Remind me of what a hardworking man you are. Doing all that work to pay your own college fees. It is the roughness that leaves me weak. Why have you never kissed me, my darling? Do you think I’m too young for you? Is that it? I know you have had women in your life before. A generous number too. But I know you love me genuinely. That’s why you hold out. I understand. But my body does not.
I want you to make love to me.
I don’t like this feeling of being unable to express myself sexually because I am a woman. Why is it so hard for us girls? Why society is so unfair?
Let me tell you a secret. I am a virgin. No one knows. I suspect you do though. Maybe because of what a nerve wreck I am when around you. But I suspect you know, because I have seen you around other women. You are never as gentle with them as you are with me. Your touch changes when you hold me. Your eyes soften when we are just the two of us.
I want you to take my virginity. Is that too much to ask for? I have noticed something very weird. A little dirty secret I would never tell anyone for the love of God. Why is it that every time I am with you and get excited, my panties become moist? Is it a condition I have? Is it normal? Even today, the first thing I did after leaving you was getting into my room and changing my pants. They were soaking. I am sited in this chair without my panties and embarrassingly moist. How is it possible for a girl to be this wet? And my sensitive part of course, now has a heartbeat of its own. Today I think its 125 BPM.
That is my humble plea, my dearest darling. Make love to me. Take my virginity; else, I’ll go mad soon. I dream of your hands on my breasts every night, and smile myself to sleep.
I have to leave this here, before my mother becomes suspicious. Plus, the household chores await me. I can’t wait to hear what you have to say about this humble request.
Yours faithfully,
Dearest darling.
