Goodbye Letter
                (yet) another Alfred E. story
 
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You must be at least 18 to read this story.  That's all of
your fingers and toes if you operate heavy equipment, and a
little more if you live in Arkansas.  If you're not 18, try
reading alt.stories.boring.notsexyatall.
 
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Goodbye.
 
I am writing this letter to say goodbye.
 
By now it's 10 in the morning, and you probably just got out
of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.  Most likely you've
noticed I wasn't lying next to you like I had been every
morning for five years, but maybe you didn't notice.
 
Maybe you didn't even notice that my side of the bed - the
left side, even though you know I prefer the right - had
cooled.  That I was no longer there, the pillow indented where
my head had been.
 
You've stumbled into the bathroom to relieve yourself, and you
found this letter, folded neatly, with the corner tucked into
the mirror frame.  The letter that I was awake at 4 am on a
god damned Tuesday writing.
 
A letter that I wrote while I cried for you.
 
I cried for you: you who can't show any more emotion than to
hoot and shout with your animal friends as the Packers win
another game.
 
Can you see the tearstains?  Can you see where the scribbled
handwritten ink is awash in my dried tears, spreading
turquoise spots in the sea of angry blue.
 
Can you see how much I loved you, how much I tried to always
love you?  Can't you see the way you ripped my heart out time
and time again and ate it, ate it standing right there in
front of me, eating my heart, and I didn't say a word.  I
never said a word, because dammit I loved you.  And I thought
you loved me, too.
 
Well, I'm gone now.
 
I've left you, and if you don't know why, think about it.
Think about it, think about how you can't even understand why
I'm gone now, and you'll get it.
 
You'll see.
 
You know how much I tried to make you love me, and how much I
loved you, and how much I love you even now.  God damn it, you
know at least that.
 
But that's not enough, you know?  It's just not enough for me
to love you.  No matter how much I tried to love you enough
for the both of us, it doesn't work.
 
It just doesn't work.
 
So I've left.
 
After five years of being married to you, it doesn't work and
I've left.
 
And I don't want you to think that this is easy for me.
Because it isn't.  There may have been a lot of things wrong
with us, but damn it, there were a lot of things right, and I
hate to leave you.
 
There are a lot of things right about us, and I hate to leave
it all behind, I hate to leave all the good, but there's so
much of us that's rotten to the core.
 
But there are things that are right, too.  I'll have to admit,
we were great in bed, weren't we?
 
Do you remember homecoming?
 
I know you must.  Maybe not like I remember it, but I know you
remember.
 
I know you remember after the dance, but do you remember the
dance?  We were all crowded inside our tiny high school gym.
It was cramped and hot: too many bodies in too small of a
space.
 
They tried to make it look formal and important, with crepe
paper running across the ceiling in our school colors, blue
and white, and fancy tablecloths on the same tables that we
ate at every day at lunch.
 
The DJ, some pimply kid from the AV class with good taste in
music, kept playing those throbbing dance songs.  I remember
we both danced to the deafening thump of Madonna's bass dance
beat, throwing are bodies around the dance floor, are eyes
glued to each other.
 
I also remember that slow song, and maybe you remember that,
too.  The air had stopped shattering itself 125 times a
minute, and started to thrum.  You pulled me close to you, so
close are bodies pressed desperately together in the low light
and oppressive heat.
 
I remember the heat of the room and our dancing had made us
both sweat.  I snaked my bare arms under your too-small tux
jacket around you broad chest, and I could feel your hot skin
through the damp shirt.  I laid my head on your chest,
listening to the powerful, reassuring thump of your heart,
imagined it saying "I love you" every beat.
 
You were planting soft kisses on my neck, your strong arms
wrapped around me, our body's melted together, molten.  With
my head against your chest I could smell your smell, the musty
scent of a man, hiding behind the tangy-sweet fragrance of Old
Spice.
 
Pressed against your body like that, I could feel the heat of
you and felt my own body awakening to your attention.  Trapped
against your chest, my nipples began to harden, until I knew
you must be able to feel them poking through the silky
material of my dress - the kind you didn't wear a bra with -
into your chest.
 
I remember sighing, and feeling your own body respond to mine.
I felt your growing hardness press against me.  I'd never seen
it, never felt it - I was the sweet girl that sat in the back
of the class, not the cheerleader under the bleachers - but I
could tell it was big, as it grew against me.
 
The growing hardness only added to my own arousal.  I looked
you in the eyes, then, gazing into that deep blue, and kissed
you, softly at first, but then aggressively, with passion and
desire as I pressed my hips into your erection.  I could feel
my panties grow slightly damp and that full feeling in my hips
that told me I was aroused.
 
You leaned down a bit to whisper in my ear, "Do you wanna get
out of here?" and then "We can get room or something." 
 
When I said yes, you were probably glad that you found a chick
that would put out.  I'll bet you ecstatic that I was "easy." 
 
But I want you to know that saying yes was one of the hardest
things I've done.  And I didn't say yes because I was easy -
far from it.
 
I said yes because I loved you, even then, and I really
thought that you loved me, too.  I thought that you loved and
knew that you definitely would if I slept with you.
 
And even though we never got along after that night, even
though I'm leaving you know, I want you to know I never
regretted saying yes.
 
Even though if anyone else had said the same thing any other
time, I would have slapped him, I never regretted saying yes.
 
I never regretted saying yes, and not for your sake, but for
mine.  Maybe we always fought, and maybe you didn't love me,
but damn it, the sex was always incredible.
 
You drove us to that Motel 6 down the street, where you'd
reserved a room the night before.  I recognized several of the
cars outside the motel as your high school buddy's, as we
walked into the brown dimly lit room.
 
There was a bed and a bathroom, but not much else.  It didn't
really matter; d,cor was the last thing on my mind.  I was a
nervous girl that had never "done it" before.
 
I may have been nervous, but I was sure that I wanted it.  You
were strong and handsome, even now you still are.  I was in
love with you, and I was still turned on from the dance.
 
So there I stood, in the middle of the room, my eyes on my
feet, and WHAM, I was trapped in your arms, and you were
kissing me, your tongue probing deeply into my mouth.
 
After I got over the shock, I kissed back.  I liked the
feeling of being at your mercy, a slave to your passion.  It
felt good to put my hand to the hard, flat muscles of your
chest, to sense the raw power.
 
You sat me down on the end of bed, standing over me for a
minute, tilting my head back with your hand on my chin.  You
bent over to kiss me as I sat there, gazing up into your eyes.
 
Your hand went to my breast, not a squeeze or a push, it just
rested there.  I felt my breath come in sharply, and my
breasts swell suddenly as my chest expanded from the air.  My
nipples swelled and hardened under your hand, and my breathing
deepened.
 
You brought your other hand to my chest, and pushed my gently
back onto the bed.  I was more than happy to oblige, kicking
off my shoes as you had done yours, and scooting up until the
pillows were under my head.
 
You went to lay on the bed, not on top of me, as I had
expected, but beside me.  You traced the curves of my body
with your large, gentle hand: the narrowing of my waist, and
the swell of my hips.  Through the thin silk of the dress,
your hands felt the curve of my belly, the small hollow of my
navel.
 
As you raised you warm hand to rest just below my breast, you
kissed my neck softly, moving to under my jaw, causing me to
tilt my head back and moan softly.
 
Your soft kisses mig