Erotic Fiction by Medea

Letters to Myself

June 3rd
Dear Alexis,
	Remember this: it didn't happen the way you told everyone else.  
Memory fades with time, and it becomes easy to accept the account that you've 
been telling over and over, but it's not the truth.  And you need to remember 
the truth.
	You liked the bruises, the scratches, the way your body ached in the 
morning after he left.  You wanted him to hurt you, and oh, you loved him for 
it.  When he left you, left town, your friends thought it was cause for 
celebration.  It was easier to take the role of the abandoned, battered 
girlfriend, than to explain what really happened.
	It wasn't his fault.  He was a nice guy, probably too nice to stay.  
You watched the way his conscience ate at him for hurting you, but you asked 
for more anyhow, you pushed him to do it.  And that's the real reason he left. 
He couldn't deal with it anymore.
	The friends, they'll comfort you all the same.  You don't have to tell 
them what the tears are really for, but try to remember, for yourself.
June 16th
Dear Alexis,
	Can't stop thinking about him, can you?  He called last night, asked 
how you were doing.  He was so apologetic, so sweet...  You wanted to tell him 
to come back, especially when he said he missed you.  Instead you just wished 
him well with his new job, and tried to pretend that everything was fine.
	But it only made you miss him more.  After you hung up, you went to 
bed.  Half-asleep, you dreamed/remembered him, grabbing your hair to twist 
your head around and pinning you against the wall.  You dreamed about that 
fire in his eyes and the way his fingers would dig into your body.  You'd 
yell, "Fuck you!  Is that the best you can do?" when he was rough but you 
needed more, until finally he'd had enough, and angrily ripped your clothes 
off and fucked you, your body slamming into the wall.  The next day, you'd be 
a wreck, with bruises across your shoulder blades and marks on your neck where 
he bit you.  The pain, the pleasure, that's what you live for, that's what 
makes you feel alive.
	It's gone now, though, and you have to find something else.  The 
moping around worries your friends.  Do you want to have to explain to them 
the real reason you're depressed?
June 20th
Alex,
	You throw yourself into work, hoping that a new distraction will drive 
out everything else.  And it does, a little.  It's easier when you don't have 
free time to think.  You're feeling more in control now.  Hold onto it.  The 
rest, well...  There will be other men, right?  Just keep going.
July 8th
Dear Alex,
	That guy Amy introduced you to at her 4th of July barbeque is 
something, isn't he?  You had dinner with him last night, and you talked about 
all sorts of things.  You wonder if Amy realizes that he's kinky as hell.  He 
picked up on what sort of girl you are almost immediately.
	After dinner, you went back to his place.  You don't usually sleep 
with a guy on the first date, but this was different.  He offered what you 
needed and you took it.
	When he held you down and you yelled at him, he only smiled, letting 
you work up that anger.  You started to think he was just teasing, that he 
wouldn't follow through after all, but then he smacked you back down and you 
knew it was going to be fine.  He stripped you and tied your wrists together 
and hung you from a ceiling hook, toes barely touching the ground, then he 
used you like a piņata, beating you with that blunt little cane.  And when you 
were about ready to collapse, wobbling on the rope, he lifted you from the 
hook and you had sex, lying across a table.  He way he pushed your shoulders 
into the hard surface as he thrust into you created soreness you still feel 
now, like bruises too deep to see.  And it was perfect.
	This time you'll learn how to hide the marks better.  This time he's 
not afraid to hit you harder.