Aberration of Starlight

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Dear Marie,

Dare I call you, Marie darling? Or should I address you, you swell thing, as Mrs. Recco, prostrating myself before your tiny feet in formality. Like a monkey in a tuxedo on a chain held by an old dago? And of course I beg you to forgive that terrible word knowing that you, dear princess and Queen of sweetness were once married to a dago and so got your name. But I don’t hold that against you, not on your life, darling!

But feel that it was one of the nervous exesses of youth when the blood boils in its heat and has to be cooled even though the cooler is a dago. Don’t I know of the furey of youth? My God. Did I ever tell you my ex, Janet was also of Italian blood and heritage. So believe me my lucious morsel of sugar when I tell you that I know whereof I speak when it comes to one, dago spouses and two, the fleshy reasons for marrying same. Or as they say, Any port in a storm.

No. God forbid I should ever hold it against you you married a ginzo. Who as I hinted, knows better than me what it is like trapped in a marriage with a greaseball! Didn’t I tie the knot of conubial bliss, ha ha, with a ginzo myself? Or maybe that would be called a ginza.

But let me cease complaining and belly aching to you. Dear sweet Madam, my troubles must be extremely boring to you.

The purpose of this letter is what, I am sure, you are venturing a guess at. To whit. How come Tom Thebus, how I dream by the way that you call me Tom in your dreams and in private. How come he is writing me a letter when he sees me every day from morning till night and could certainly speak up concerning items on his mind? Don’t argue. I know that you are thinking something like this, I just know it. I am a crackerjack when it comes to female psycology. A man cannot be a salesman for years without learning a thing or two about female psycology. The receptionists and switchboard girls and so on that a drummer meets and talks to every day teaches him more than he wants to know, believe me. A drummer by the way, Dear, is a word for a salesman in case you didn’t know it.

Okay. The reason that I am writing you a letter is that I haven’t got the nerve to say to you face to face, your gorgeous face, all the things I might find the intestinal fortitude to say here on paper. For the truth of the matter is I love you. And I am going ga-ga thinking about you and holding my tongue out of sheer dumb embarrassment. I also have the feeling that you like me! Maybe even more than like? I know that when our eyes happen to meet you cast yours down and blush so sweetly. How I hope and pray that it is the case that you do feel something truly deep for me.

When I think of you in the lonesomeness of my room I am embarrassed to spill the beans to you but, I must, I think of you and I do it. My Honey Cake, you were a married woman for years and even though I know that you are pure and clean as newly fallen snow I know, that you know what it is. And my deep deep shame is I wish that when I am in the throews of passion that you are there with me! In the dark with your lips blending with mine, the only girl in the world, with your sweet body next to mine and your delicate and fragile hand like fine China instead of my rough and callussed one doing it to me. And I also dream that I am doing it to you. That is my shameful dream. But I must tell you.

And that would be just a warm up, a prelim before the main event, in my shameful dream. And Darling, you know what the main event means. I tell you honestly and truly that I cannot sleep a wink when I think of you shed of your clothing. I do not count seeing you on the beach in the bathing suit that you like to wear to the beach, however, I praise you to the skies for it and displaying your sweet modesty to everybody. But my dream is to see you a tigeress in the gloom of my lonely room. Not modest but wild! Sort of tearing and ripping off your clothing and your unmentionables and things to stand free and proud and noble. As a lady wants to be forever and ever with her mate whoever he may be.

And I trust and hope and pray on my hands and knees that you might think that there isn’t a man more worthy than Yours Truly. I who worship from afar and fall down crying like a baby on his bed every night in the silence of his lonely room, sobbing to his God to let you love me as I love you!

Particularly after a day like last week when the wind blew your skirt and lifted it up a little bit so that I almost fainted to see so much of your gorgeous womanly charms. I almost bit the stem of my old skeeter chaser in half. You remember that day don’t you, my Dear? I came down to supper late even though Mrs. Stellkamp rang the bell so hard I thought it would break. I said I had been napping, but I came down late because the vision of your lower limbs drove me to the solitude of my lonely room and I did it again, twice, and whispered Marie Marie. I was so ashamed but I swear to you that I couldn’t help it. And I thought how I would like to be pulling your clothes off gently to gaze my fill and feast my eyes on your womanly charms that I am driving myself crazy thinking about. I think how they must measure up against Janet’s, my ex. She was kind of “small” down there if you get what I am driving at?

Please again forgive me for this terrible letter but you can see by now I could never say these things to you face to face. Can you imagine me on the lawn or the porch telling you out of the blue and by the way, for instance, that my ex had a very small private organ. We would both die of shame and mortification. I am blushing just writing this all down.

But you see, I can jot down such a fact and avoid the mortification but still let you know what I must. And I can imagine your sweet face burning with blushes as you read it and maybe wonder how Tom rates with your ex when it comes to the length department. How I hope that you are or maybe will be in the future, thinking of me that way. I know that I think about you that way always and watch you when you stand and walk and cross your legs. I bet you did not know that I watched your every move ever since that day you got out of the car from Netcong. Even at Budd Lake and the Locks I watch you. And see the Real You underneath that bathing suit that you always wear. However I am not knocking your bathing suit. I love modesty in a woman.

That was one of the troubles with Janet. I don’t want to lay my troubles at your beautiful little feet but Janet was not at all modest, perhaps, it was the pure hot ginzo blood that ran through her veins. As a matter of fact, she got involved with my sister in law, Susan, who to look at her you would think was Miss Iceberg. Janet and Susan would like to have some unnatural fun together and one thing leading to another as it will, it was not too long before Yours Truly also got mixed up and we would have parties, if you get my drift? Believe me, my sweetest shyest violet, in such cases modesty does not exist, not an iota. I am so ashamed to write these filthy things to you because you are such a pure and clean lady to your marrow. But I have to come clean.

But no matter how dirty and shameful those things were that I was forced into doing by my dago wife and sister in law who, by the way if I remember right is also pure blooded Italian on both sides, I still kept a corner of myself clean and shining for the Miracle of somebody like You, who I knew would come along some day. Dear sweet Marie! And it is with that corner of me that I yearn to hold you close and naked. And yearn also to do it and do it and do it until we faint with exhaustion and happiness.

So if you think in your heart that there might be a chance that we can get together some time in the near future when prying eyes are closed or looking the other way, give me some kind of a sign, a Lover’s Sign. I am thrilled to write down those words. Maybe lift your skirts slightly so that only I can see for a sec your shapely limbs. Or cross your legs this way and that while you read a magazine. Or touch me with your little hand as I pass you by on the porch in the evening. Or chuck a hand full of sand at me playfully at Budd Lake while you smile. Darling. Whatever Sign you make I will know it. And I will act accordingly and we will be One.

In the meantime darling, while I wait, can you manage to slip me under the table, the expression goes, a keepsake of your feeling for me if you have same? I know that you have. Perhaps a small and intimate garment. You know what I mean? I am so nervous writing this because I know that you are pure and fine and I am afraid that such a request may shock you. A delicate hankie would be nice except, hankies remind me too much of Janet my ex, who used to make me do something very nerve wracking in my marital duty and a hankie was mixed up in it. I’ll tell you more about it later if you insist but for now let sleeping dogs lie. Anyway, hankies still have a funny effect on me. So I would prefer something more intimate that has lived close to your sweet pure skin. Something that a gentleman does not mention. But a hankie would be swell if other items are embarrassing to you.

I wait for a Sign, my dearest,

Yours, Tom