BlueFaerie
Cadet
AN: This is my first attempt at writing my own story, so please, be gentle! Please let me know what you think--I'd love some ideas on how to make this better! And be warned; this first letter is a wee bit on smutty side. Forgive me, please! It becomes much more tame after the first part!
Part One, Chapter One:
Dearest Jack,
I was thinking about days gone by. Years gone by. Things that used to be.
I’ve been trying to think of a reason, besides my enduring love for you, as to why I can’t escape you, and my memories of you. I know you don’t completely believe me when I tell you how much I love you. As a change, I’m going to tell you a more simple reason; I can't forget about you because you were the first one to pay attention to my needs and desires. You were the first who cared about me and pleasing me just as much, if not more, than your own pleasure. God, you were always so amazing.
I remember it so well, the first time, that is. We came back from that Mexican restaurant, and from wandering around the city, and we were laying on top of the bed in my apartment. I was curled up on my side, laying next to you, my head on your chest, my hand trying to feel your heartbeat, and my eyes closed, trying to sleep. You were listening to the news on the television, and you were stroking my hair and my face. Then you rolled me over and started kissing me. I didn't put up any fight, and joined in the battle for control. Then surprisingly, you stopped and started moving down. Your hands found their way to my pants, and tried to open up my fly. For whatever reason, you had trouble, so I did it for you. And you pulled down my panties, and just looked at me with your wonderfully deep brown eyes, begging me to give you permission to continue. My eyes told you what I wanted. No longer waiting for me to answer, you moved your head down and started kissing me in my nether regions. Your tongue just licked, sucked and kissed me senseless. Then you started putting your fingers in me, pushing in and out, and stroking my insides. I had my hands in your hair, pushing you down on me, not wanting the delightful torture to stop. You looked up with me, a grin on your face, and continued your ministrations and started feeling me up at the same time, squeezing and feeling my breasts. Meanwhile, I’m just focusing on breathing, deeply, heavily, and my mouth left my control, leaving me breathing your name, moans of pleasure. I was embarrassed about my uncontrolled reaction, and covered my mouth with a pillow so you wouldn't hear my groans of pleasure. In hindsight, I shouldn't have; I'm sure hearing your name chanted as though it was a lifesaving mantra was very exciting. Then as I was coming, my landlady knocked on the door, and was demanding to come in. You lifted your head up and were like, "Oh s***, it's Mrs. O’Malley!" I was just laying there, pretty awed and amazed. Somehow, you managed to get my pants back on and propped me up on a pillow. I wasn't much use. I was completely dazed and pleased. When you'd rid us of Mrs. O’Malley (who wanted to let us know that your headlights were on), you came back and laid down next to me. If you had wanted, I’d of done just about anything you asked. I was in such a aroused state, that I was completely open to suggestion. I rolled over, and just clutched you, and got as close as I could to you. You just held me and murmured into my hair, “girls are great, girls are just so great, Laura, you're great.” I got on top of you and kissed you and started to show you how much I cared about you, telling you how amazing you are. And later, we were just entwined on top of the bed, legs mixed up, my head just resting on your head, in my favorite position. I felt so content laying there, your hands idly roaming over my body. No KGB, no handler, no spying. Just us. My feet finding their way up and down the inside of the leg of your pants, you saying softly, "mmm, footsie." We stayed there as long as we could, and when you had to leave (you had a test the next morning) you sat up and asked so properly and politely if you could say goodnight. I giggled shyly. And by goodnight, you meant kissing me, kissing my breast, and kissing me between my legs. I should have told you to stay. To forget about your test. I should have told you to come back after your test. We could have cuddled and slept together. We should have that day. My handler was away, and I had been able to scramble the bugs in my apartment so that the KGB couldn’t intrude on us.
I think that memory is one more physical reason why I can't escape you. Can't stop wanting you.
We were so young then.
I think that's one of the best moments that I can ever remember after Sydney’s birth. I wasn’t a virgin when I met you, but I had never had a man care about me and my pleasure. You were the first to care about me beyond my appearance, though parts of it was a lie. Only the name and background though. The rest was me. This is partially why I can't give up hope. You cared so much about me that you made me complete and whole again; the first time since I was a young girl in Russia. It's only one part of why I want to be allowed to love you and be with you again so badly.
The other night, I worked so hard to stay calm when you were with me. Dancing with you just aroused me so much, and I didn't want to let go, didn't want to stop. When I had my hands around your neck, I couldn't resist touching the short hairs at the base of your neck, where it creeps up to your head. I couldn’t help but smell that scent that is distinctly you; your cologne (the same kind that I always bought you for your birthday), the smell of the fabric softener you use on your clothes, the smell of mutual desire. I couldn't resist squeezing your incredibly muscular arms. I liked having your hands resting on the small of my back, pulling me closer. Even though we were only masquerading as a couple, a disguise for a CIA mission, I couldn't help but feel the desire creeping throughout my body.
I want to be with you again.
Let's spend the night together.
Always yours,
Irina
She looked up from the letter that she had painstakingly written, and put her pen down. Pausing, she picked up the letter, and read through it once more. The woman sighed, and propped up her head in her hands. She brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, and folded the letter in half.
Walking over to a metal trash bin in her hotel room, she placed her letter in the bin, along with dozens of other carefully folded letters, and carried it out onto the balcony. With the soft rain falling around her, she sat the bin down under the overhang of the balcony above her, and lit a match. The woman stopped, quickly contemplating her actions, and reluctantly tossed the match into the bin. She watched as the letter caught fire, and disappeared in the flames.
“Someday, Jack. Someday.”
Part One, Chapter One:
Dearest Jack,
I was thinking about days gone by. Years gone by. Things that used to be.
I’ve been trying to think of a reason, besides my enduring love for you, as to why I can’t escape you, and my memories of you. I know you don’t completely believe me when I tell you how much I love you. As a change, I’m going to tell you a more simple reason; I can't forget about you because you were the first one to pay attention to my needs and desires. You were the first who cared about me and pleasing me just as much, if not more, than your own pleasure. God, you were always so amazing.
I remember it so well, the first time, that is. We came back from that Mexican restaurant, and from wandering around the city, and we were laying on top of the bed in my apartment. I was curled up on my side, laying next to you, my head on your chest, my hand trying to feel your heartbeat, and my eyes closed, trying to sleep. You were listening to the news on the television, and you were stroking my hair and my face. Then you rolled me over and started kissing me. I didn't put up any fight, and joined in the battle for control. Then surprisingly, you stopped and started moving down. Your hands found their way to my pants, and tried to open up my fly. For whatever reason, you had trouble, so I did it for you. And you pulled down my panties, and just looked at me with your wonderfully deep brown eyes, begging me to give you permission to continue. My eyes told you what I wanted. No longer waiting for me to answer, you moved your head down and started kissing me in my nether regions. Your tongue just licked, sucked and kissed me senseless. Then you started putting your fingers in me, pushing in and out, and stroking my insides. I had my hands in your hair, pushing you down on me, not wanting the delightful torture to stop. You looked up with me, a grin on your face, and continued your ministrations and started feeling me up at the same time, squeezing and feeling my breasts. Meanwhile, I’m just focusing on breathing, deeply, heavily, and my mouth left my control, leaving me breathing your name, moans of pleasure. I was embarrassed about my uncontrolled reaction, and covered my mouth with a pillow so you wouldn't hear my groans of pleasure. In hindsight, I shouldn't have; I'm sure hearing your name chanted as though it was a lifesaving mantra was very exciting. Then as I was coming, my landlady knocked on the door, and was demanding to come in. You lifted your head up and were like, "Oh s***, it's Mrs. O’Malley!" I was just laying there, pretty awed and amazed. Somehow, you managed to get my pants back on and propped me up on a pillow. I wasn't much use. I was completely dazed and pleased. When you'd rid us of Mrs. O’Malley (who wanted to let us know that your headlights were on), you came back and laid down next to me. If you had wanted, I’d of done just about anything you asked. I was in such a aroused state, that I was completely open to suggestion. I rolled over, and just clutched you, and got as close as I could to you. You just held me and murmured into my hair, “girls are great, girls are just so great, Laura, you're great.” I got on top of you and kissed you and started to show you how much I cared about you, telling you how amazing you are. And later, we were just entwined on top of the bed, legs mixed up, my head just resting on your head, in my favorite position. I felt so content laying there, your hands idly roaming over my body. No KGB, no handler, no spying. Just us. My feet finding their way up and down the inside of the leg of your pants, you saying softly, "mmm, footsie." We stayed there as long as we could, and when you had to leave (you had a test the next morning) you sat up and asked so properly and politely if you could say goodnight. I giggled shyly. And by goodnight, you meant kissing me, kissing my breast, and kissing me between my legs. I should have told you to stay. To forget about your test. I should have told you to come back after your test. We could have cuddled and slept together. We should have that day. My handler was away, and I had been able to scramble the bugs in my apartment so that the KGB couldn’t intrude on us.
I think that memory is one more physical reason why I can't escape you. Can't stop wanting you.
We were so young then.
I think that's one of the best moments that I can ever remember after Sydney’s birth. I wasn’t a virgin when I met you, but I had never had a man care about me and my pleasure. You were the first to care about me beyond my appearance, though parts of it was a lie. Only the name and background though. The rest was me. This is partially why I can't give up hope. You cared so much about me that you made me complete and whole again; the first time since I was a young girl in Russia. It's only one part of why I want to be allowed to love you and be with you again so badly.
The other night, I worked so hard to stay calm when you were with me. Dancing with you just aroused me so much, and I didn't want to let go, didn't want to stop. When I had my hands around your neck, I couldn't resist touching the short hairs at the base of your neck, where it creeps up to your head. I couldn’t help but smell that scent that is distinctly you; your cologne (the same kind that I always bought you for your birthday), the smell of the fabric softener you use on your clothes, the smell of mutual desire. I couldn't resist squeezing your incredibly muscular arms. I liked having your hands resting on the small of my back, pulling me closer. Even though we were only masquerading as a couple, a disguise for a CIA mission, I couldn't help but feel the desire creeping throughout my body.
I want to be with you again.
Let's spend the night together.
Always yours,
Irina
She looked up from the letter that she had painstakingly written, and put her pen down. Pausing, she picked up the letter, and read through it once more. The woman sighed, and propped up her head in her hands. She brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, and folded the letter in half.
Walking over to a metal trash bin in her hotel room, she placed her letter in the bin, along with dozens of other carefully folded letters, and carried it out onto the balcony. With the soft rain falling around her, she sat the bin down under the overhang of the balcony above her, and lit a match. The woman stopped, quickly contemplating her actions, and reluctantly tossed the match into the bin. She watched as the letter caught fire, and disappeared in the flames.
“Someday, Jack. Someday.”