Amongst the many varied aspects of commercialised sex, the most intriguing and hidden remains that which involves the intimate contact of people who never meet. The most obvious current incarnation of this form of long-distance love is found in the private chatrooms of webcam girls (and guys) and their late night TV equivalents on bbestation and the like, or in the internet connections made between people who have never met – perhaps will never meet – yet still consider themselves to be in a relationship… and indeed, who are we to say that they are not? Does sex and love need to have a physical connection to be authentic?
In the pre-online days, there was the one-to-one phone sex line, where a siren-voiced temptress would bring the listening man to a shuddering climax at the drop of a valid credit card number or through premium rate phone numbers that cost the listener a small fortune, yet proved surprisingly popular. It offered a sort of intimacy and personal connection, even if it only lasted as long as it took the listening man to be talked into a shuddering climax, at which point the phone would more often than not be abruptly hung up.
But behind this lay the real sleaze – a twilight world of sordid desperation and impersonal service, where the ultimate in safe sex could be found via mail order masturbation. There were the ‘students’, ‘nurses’ and other low-income groups who offer their sexy snaps, used underwear and naughty home videos through the classifieds, a tasty treat indeed for the mail order voyeur.
Often co-existing with these little stabs of happiness, and often existing as entirely separate entities, were the ‘personal letters’ that could be yours for a pittance. The thrill here is obvious – not only can the purchaser get his jollies by reading the explicit, possibly hand written correspondence, but he can then add to the thrill by sending his own, even more detailed reply! And so the cycle goes on – a fully fledged pen pal relationship has developed… only here, one pal is paying the other to write.
This was harmless fun, of course. For many lonely men, such contacts were the nearest they are likely to get to a genuine emotional relationship. They could conjure up their dream woman, and have her exist in some sort of a tangible form. It doesn’t matter if the voice on the phone actually belongs to an overweight middle aged housewife, or if the stains in the undies aren’t in fact the love juices of an excited nymphet – the fantasy and the personal belief is all.
Equally, it doesn’t matter who really writes the letters, not even if it turns out to be a man. As long as the fantasy is maintained and not shattered, the punter will be fulfilled. And because this sort of ‘relationship’ is a two-way street – letters set and received, a call and response between the two people involved and unseen by others – it will feel all the more real for the customer. The fact that there is a payment involved hardly matters – as long as the recipient can play the role effectively, replying to the letters in ways that show that ‘she’ has both read and been excited by them, the customer can shut out the fact that this is (a) a commercial transaction and (b) that he is most likely one of many. Never underestimate the power of desire and self-delusion.
Some years ago, I obtained, through a rather roundabout way, a handful of replies to one such mail order sex kitten, a woman by the name of Amelia. Amelia may or may not have existed. There was strong reason for suspecting that she was, in fact, a man named Roger. The person who handed me the letters (“you’ll be amused by these”, they commented) was not Amelia/Roger, and would never explain where they obtained the correspondence. But a lot of very weird shit would come my way back then. I dutifully typed these up for publication in Divinity magazine, but Divinity bit the dust before they could see publication. The file sat, forgotten, on a Zip disc for over twenty years, until I recently transferred the files from that defunct format and took a fresh look at them, at which point the memory of receiving and reading these letters came flooding back.
The replies are fascinating. The skill of ‘Amelia’ seems to be to bring out the hidden desires of the writer, to allow him (or, as we shall see in one case, her) to create their own sex world in their minds. Who needs virtual reality when the human imagination is so vibrant? Sadly, the original letters would seem to have long since vanished, and so I can’t shared the increasingly frenzied handwriting or the illustrations that were included in some letters. Hopefully, the sense of sexual excitement and delirium comes across regardless. All unique grammatical and spelling variations have been left intact. And in case you had any doubts – yes, these letters contain very explicit language and descriptions, including some descriptions of sexual violence. Approach with caution if easily unsettled.
The first of these letters is from ‘Terry’. He opens by thanking Amelia for her quick reply, and tells her that she sounds like “a very nice dirty bitch”, before continuing:
“32”, are your nipples large? I love sucking and playing with them. I also like resting my cock against a hard nipple and then wanking myself very slowly. We both get the best of both worlds, I fell your nipple against the head of my cock and you hopefully get enjoyable feelings from having it stimulated!”
Obviously, Terry has already fully immersed himself in the fantasy. He’s not describing what he’d like to do with Amelia, but rather, what he is doing to her.
“I love oral sex, the taste and feel of a hot wet cunt is divine. One of my favourites is to sit on the floor, resting on my arms with my head back and have a hot juicy cunt lowered onto my face, my tongue slides in and my lips close in a true French kiss. Does your clit enjoy being tongued and gobbled?”
This last sentence is a telling one. Terry wants assurance that Amelia is enjoying the sexual experience. He needs to know that her sexual desires are similar to his. Of course, if Amelia knew her stuff and wants to keep Terry’s custom (and we can assume that she did), she would ensure that in her reply, she’d tell him that cunnilingus sends her into paroxysms of passion.
Terry’s letter continues in an interesting fashion. He states that he is enclosing a passport photo of himself (not supplied to me), and rather disarmingly makes light of his appearance, his dress sense and so on. In fact, the sexual fantasy seems to take a rest here, as he talks honestly about himself, making the admission that, for the last three years, his main form of sexual relief has been “my right hand and soft porn mags”. However, this self-depreciation and brutal honesty is all part of the fantasy situation. For his ‘relationship’ with Amelia to work, Terry needs to believe that she is genuinely interested in him; that she is a friend, not a business.
Suddenly, the letter lurches back into sexual fantasy.
“You are lying on the bed wearing stockings, silky panties and to please me a suspender belt. I am naked. I lean over you and my prick brushes your lips. You stop me and your tongue teases the hole that soon my hot spunk will shoot from. I alternate sucking your nipples, making them wet and slippery and bring my cock to wank against them. I turn you onto your side and lie behind you, my cock resting between your thighs and I start to kiss and nibble the back of your neck and shoulders, one arm over you playing with your nipples. I slide my hand down and rest on your stomach, I massage you thro’ the silky material of your panties my finger eases between your legs I feel the hard button of your clit and start to stroke, the feeling is great, the heat, the material and your cunt lips.”
Terry has now shifted into present tense, making the sexual activity being described seem to happen as he writes. Punctuation is often missed as the excitement mounts. He is, presumably, furiously masturbating at this point in the letter. It continues:
“I move away slightly and slip my prick under your panties and wank myself holding the material tight to my cock. Must rest as I am nearly shooting so we face each other, not touching just gently kissing. Crisis over and I start to pull your panties down kissing each new bit of stomach as it is revealed at last my tongue reaches your cunt I ease your legs apart and hold your cunt lips wide, I lie my tongue on the wet shiny flesh and start to lick, from your cunt to your navel, then lips onto your clit and suck gently drawing it as far as I can into my mouth. My mouth is covered in your love juice, I bring my head up a give you a long slow kiss and then with you legs wide apart I slide my cock into you.”
Reading this, it’s possible to follow Terry’s physical reaction to his fantasy. His need to ‘rest’ is both touchingly honest (a confession that he cannot control his ejaculation) and telling; was he about to climax in reality as he wrote? Did he need to ‘ease up’? Shortly after this, the punctuation again starts to falter, as does the spelling. As the sexual delirium rises, Terry writes faster and faster, making mistakes as he goes. Now that the fantasy has reached penetration point, Terry seems unable (or unwilling) to hold back much longer.
“It is like putting it into hot silk I start to ride and your muscles grip me, its too much and my spunk starts shooting. You start to come to, milking me of every drop of spunk that is in me. Eventually we stop and I put my hand between your legs to catch some of the spunk/love juice cocktail that is running out. I wipe some on my lips and some on yours and we kiss long and slowly, then to rest in each others arms for who knows what?”
Quite. Once again, Terry’s candour is admirable. Rather than present himself as a stud who can fuck for hours, he admits that he comes on entry.
The fantasy now re-enters the land of semi-reality. And here things start to move into genuinely bizarre tangents. For a start, we learn Amelia’s age – fifty-six. This, I confess, somewhat surprised me. I had been assuming that Terry’s dream gal would be the cliched young, horny housewife – instead, she turns out to be close to pension age. It’s a reminder that not only is desire a very individual thing, but that people will often prefer to imagine themselves with someone who might be realistically accessible – not for nothing has the ‘Forty Plus’ adult magazine market and MILF porn been so popular. As sexually desirable as glamorous young hotties might be, for men of a certain age, they will seem unobtainable – and when it comes to imagined relationships rather than mere wanking fodder, perhaps even undesirable.
We also find out here that Terry has “only ever done it up the botty once”. His description of this, in contrast to the preceding fantasy, is brief and to the point; the memories of real events don’t seem to hold the same thrill as the fantasy does. There is a curious aside, though – he describes how it was “so tight, hot and demanding”, that he once again came immediately on entry. While this lack of control is intriguing in itself (when considered alongside his fantasy), the reaction of the girl is even more notable: “This made her a bit mad and she made me kneel on the floor in front of her and wank and finger her until she had a climax.” Is Terry a repressed submissive? And did Amelia pick up on this subtle yet significant aside, and take their postal relationship into the world of BDSM and female domination? Alas, there are no further letters from Terry to study, so we may never know.
Terry adds two P.S’ to his correspondence. The first states that “I think that for a woman to suck a man until he shoots into her mouth is a real compliment”, then asks “have you made a regular habit of ‘going down’ on girls? Are you AC/DC? I can be, ask me more. I might, if you want to hear it, have a tale to tell.”
He’s obviously itching to discuss bisexuality, and this is a blatant hint that Amelia surely must have taken up. To emphasise the point, Terry can’t wait until the next letter to tell his tale, and adds a second P.S.:
“It is, I think, most men’s fantasy to watch two girls make love together. I have had that privilege, about 5 months ago. Do you mind that I have had a sexual encounter with a man? More than once in fact.”
This is unexpected stuff to simply slip in as a footnote to the letter. I can only assume that Terry feared offending his new pen-pal, and had intended saving this particular juicy morsel until later, only for his sexual enthusiasm to get the better of him.
Bill’s letter fills some twenty two pages of notepaper, and while Terry hints at a taste for BDSM, Bill has already taken the plunge into the deep end. His letter commences with the assurance that the following is “all true this”, whilst admitting that his last letter “was fiction, of course”. Before he starts on his true life adventure story, however, Bill first slides into direct fantasy with Amelia.
“I do believe that you like being beaten and dominated, Amelia, you say that you have a fat arse, perhaps it is all the beating it has had, I do wish I could get a little nearer to it and give it 50 strokes of a thin whippy cane, the thin canes hurt the most, as I have had it from Mistresses in the past, one in particular used to delight in ordering me to:- ‘Fetch the cane, the thin one’ I know what I was about to get, three stokes on my outstreached (sic) hand, the three on the other, ‘and don’t move it, she would say, very hard to do as she really did lay them on, ‘you moved it, take that stroke again’, she was as cruel as Freda, I would finish up with at least four strokes possibly five, my hands would be quite numb, she had a very sardonic smile, which she gave me before each stroke, I was disappointed when she finally packed up, and I have not met another girl quite like her”
Along with Bill’s contempt for the full stop, the most notable thing here is that although he opens his story by stating his desire to whip Amelia, he then immediately reveals his true masochistic colours by launching into this tale of the dominant Mistress (Freda, incidentally, would seem to be a woman who had dominated Amelia in a previous letter). The almost obsessive frenzy in Bill’s letter hints that this may indeed be a “true story” – at least, true to Bill. Unrestrained by sensible punctuation, he continues…
“She was about 45, slender and pretty and as my whipping proceed(ed) she would shed some of her clothing to encourage me to take my punishment, the mirrors around made sure that I saw her, the breasts were firm and large for her body, it was a sight to see them swing as she whipped me, she allowed me to record on tape, several of my sessions with her, I would send them up to Liverpool to a friend, of kindred spirit, who usually remarked on how much of her pee she made me crink, it was like wine Amelia, a funnel used, I had to drink fast as she did such a lot, However as you can see from all this, I can take it as well as give it, where as you, my dear, are just a masochistic slave, are you not”
The excitement of writing the letter is obvious, never more so than when Bill slams, without warning, into golden showers. This, however, seems to exhaust his submissive fantasy, and he now moves into the earlier promised “true story”. This concerns “Anne, the slave-girl” from South London, whose boyfriend converted his basement into a dungeon. Although he doesn’t openly say so, it seems likely that Anne was a professional submissive (a hint of this comes when he states that “one had to make a booking, of course”).
“To prove her submissiveness, she always came to the door stark naked, after she had bolted the door, I would hold her in my arms and tell her how she was to suffer for me, ‘Yes Master’ she would say, she would lead the way to the black studded door of her dungeon, this also was locked, I would be offered a drink, the whips ect (sic), lined one wall, cords, ropes, clips ect lined another, a very nice touch was an armchair for the Master and just a wooden stool for the slave! On getting my drink she would set a clock by the drinks for 1hr, the length of the session, she was always fully shaven and very often I could see marks on her from a previous Master, only one Master an evening, she worked as a typist in the city during the day, but packed that up for a couple of months, before she went to Spain in order to do full time slavery!”
A heady combination of illiteracy and horny enthusiasm makes Bill’s letter a little hard to cope with for long periods. It’s notable that he seems to write down whatever enters his head immediately, regardless of the effect that this might have on the thrust of his narrative. He continues:
“I would now undress then select a whip from the wall, I would then lie in the armchair, ‘on your knees slave’, indicating somewhere in front of me, ‘my tits’ I would say, she spread herself and sucked and kissed my nipples, my legs I now spread wide, each over the arms of the chair, ‘prick’, she went straight to it and took it in her mouth, the suction was lovely, then her next order, ‘the balls slave’ down she would go sucking and kissing, awaiting the next order:- ‘my arsehole slave’, she didn’t hesitate, her tongue did its best to enter me, I kept her at it for a while then I would rise and tell her to stand to attention as I wished to see how she took the whip, I changed it for a multi-thronged one, all leather, ‘bend over slave’, she bent, I gave her three hard strokes across the arse, the Thwack! as it landed was music to my ears, she grunted at the third stroke but remained bent over”
As is often the case with this sort of fantasy, reality often seems stretched in Bill’s tale. His physical descriptions are most interesting, with his slave twisting herself into unimaginable and perhaps impossible positions.
Unable to restrain himself, Bill now reaches for his own implement of hell.
“A whip I had supplied, consisting of three strands of rubber, 18 inches long now came into play, three on each palm, she winched at these, ‘your left armpit’, she raised her left arm straight up, she got three, the marks showed up clearly, she was breathing hard now, ‘the other arm slave’, she did as ordered, the pain showed in her face as she took another three ‘rest’ I said, she rubbed her armpits, the weals looked angry
“‘Attention’, she drew herself up, I felt her up, she opened her legs to allow me free access, I stood back, ‘offer the breasts, slave’, she stuck her tits out, the whip landed with a thwack full across both ample tits, she gave a loud ‘arrh’, ‘again slave’, out they came I laid it on hard, her face registered agony she cried out again, but she knew that there was one more to come, ‘again’ I said, she thrust themn out, ‘thwack’ again she cried out and looked down at her tits, red lines spread across them, they looked sore, ‘offer your back slave’, she turned and stood still as I decided where to start”
Bill is now in the full grip of his sadistic delirium, the letter becoming more and more incoherent and fanatical as it goes on. He continues with his favourite word.
“‘Thwack’, a gasp then a long drawn in breath, I gave her the other two quickly, she still gasped, ‘turn slave’ she turned around, then I would tease her ‘where shall we whip next slave’, she knew of course, but I liked to hear her tell me, ‘my cunt Master’, she said, I nodded, ‘offer it slave’, she opened her legs and leaned back, her lips were prominent, I did not spare her, splatt! it landed, her face screwed up, she sucked in her breath, I waited, she recovered somewhat, and resumed her stance, ‘splatt’! Gug-gug-gug she went, I gave her plenty of time, then said ‘offer it to the whip slave’, out it came again, Splatt! she doubled up gasping crying out as she rubbed her quim lips, still gasping she straighted up and as I offered the whip to her, she kissed it ‘thank you Master'”
His fantasy over, Bill now remembers Amelia, to whom this letter was ostensibly written, although it had long since degenerated into a personal sado-wank trip for the writer. Obviously, the story has had the intensity and intoxicating effect of a highly potent drug, but such levels of delirium cannot be sustained indefinitely. In short, Bill needs a fantasy break.
“The almost solid pieces of rubber 18″ length (three of them) do hurt Amelia, you must get Freda to make one up and give you a taste of it, my dear.”
Not yet sated, Bill has now rested long enough, and launches once more into his “all true” reminiscences, now discussing a padded bench that he used.
“This consisted of the slave kneeling up on it and getting her face right down, therefore her arse stuck right up, her knees wide apart, a wooden spring clothes peg with part of one side removed so it was like this (at this point, Bill includes a crude drawing of a peg, lest Amelia be unfamiliar with the device). The long side I put in her arsehole the short side until it could grip her (word illegible). I would then try to whip it off, it had a good grip and took some shifting, some for or five strokes usually, each stroke going right down her crack, by her cries and gasps and grunts, she felt it.”
This, I would say, was fairly obvious, but Bill needs to reassure Amelia (and, more importantly, himself), that the pain was genuine. The letters continues with these minor variations on a theme for some time. Breast torture seems to be the abuse of choice for both Master and Slave (how jolly convenient), Bill entranced “to see her tits flatten then spring out again as the whip did its work”.
Bill then tells about how his friend from Liverpool also visited for a few sessions with Ann (formerly ‘Anne’), and how the girl would go to whipping parties with boyfriend Edward. However, as Bill was not around for either of these events, he can only fantasise about what took place. This is helped by the video he has of her in action, and another which he is shortly to obtain (“3 hours of Ann, looking forward to it”).
The mention of the video allows Bill to wax lyrical about some of his other cinematic favourites.
“In a German one that I have, they give close-ups, of a pair of tits (large) bound with rope with five syringe needels in each tit, the first one is put right through and out the other side of the nipple, then the other 4 are put in, one above the other, like this:- (another illustration appears here, but I’ll leave the image to your imagination). We see each put in, and hear the receiver groan, these needles are about 3″ long, in one side of the tit and out the other, when the needles are taken out the blood runs over the tit, it is a bit of a mess when all are out. The woman used was about 45-50, not young.”
This image of blood-soaked breasts seems to have inflamed Bill’s imagination to a point where letter-writing no longer seems a good enough release, and the letter begins to wind down. He ends by indulging in some token fantasising about Amelia.
“You sound a bundle of fun to me, and I must admit you do give me the horn, I try to imagine you naked, somewhat stocky I presume, with slightly loose titties, should you have much hair down there, please shave it off you will look much better with your prominent lips showing and your arse, well what can I say, you have already told me it is big, just the way I like them, it should take the cane well!”
As with Terry, Bill saves the best part for last.
“I wrote to a lady in Humberside a couple of years ago, she used to send me very naughty photos of herself and tell me how her husband still took her, even when she had her period. I wrote asking her to send me one of her used towels, I got one, but the silly cow had washed it before sending it!”
Can’t win ’em all, eh Bill?
As well as being the only letter from a woman, Carole’s correspondence is the only one to be typed. It lacks the crazed madness of Bill’s epic story, instead taking a more ‘chatty’ approach. One sex-crazed nympho to another? We will see.
Adressed to “Amelia-and Judy”, Carole’s letter starts off with the writer excited at being the first woman correspondent. It seems that once again, Amelia is admirably adaptable to tastes – with Bill, she was a submissive slave-to-be, with Terry a straight fuck; for Carole, she is a bi-sexual who favours lesbianism. And not just any old lesbianism.
“Oh how I agree with you about it being FUN to love another girl, as well as great joy. Your relationship with Judy sounds just beautiful and your being related adds a closeness very special. It’s so ‘square’ and old fashioned and narrow minded not to accept love which includes sex between people who are blood related.”
And so Amelia apparently adds incest to her ever-expanding list of sexual transgression. Carole now moves into personal sexual experience.
“My husband – ex – was too ‘normal’ sexually for us to b (sic) happy together, especially as he could never accept that I was bisexual and HAD to be with other girls as well as with him. I’d had a very ‘perverted’ teenage sex life in many people’s eyes so I needed a real sex sod of a husband I suppose but fell in love with, or so I thought, this rather ordinary bloke. More on this later on.”
Already, the difference between Carole and Bill is screamingly obvious. Carole seems more inclined to the level of honesty shown by Terry than the frantic lusting of Bill. But lest you think that the letter isn’t going to contain any smut worth a double take, Carole gets down to the nitty gritty:
“Like you Amelia, I enjoyed lots of different cocks, and inevitably ‘deceived’ my husband – so he was right to call me a ‘sex slut’ sometimes. I was BORN highly sex and NEED sex and still do. It NEVER bores me and it can be so rich and varied in its expression can’t it?”
Obviously, Carole’s deception of her husband was less than successful (unless, of course, calling your wife a ‘sex slut’ is simply a term of affection!). The letter then moves on to a discussion of BDSM, and becomes quite intriguing. Has Amelia’s earlier letter been inspired by Bill’s ravings? Judge for yourself:
“Judy’s married experiences sound quite horrific – and for 9 years! I don’t mind some give and take C.P., bondage etc, but not real cruelty and torture as she seemed to get – except sometimes as a shared fantasy. The red hot skewer through the left tit and the insertion of the ring must have been hell for Judy BUT some form of sadism does I think sexcite her. Am I correct? I once corresponded with a man who used to write me pages and pages of detailed sex tortures – all fantasy of course, and accompanied by really excellent drawings. He said that only in this way could he get a really good erection BUT he never hurt a fly in real life. Judy’s husband actually DID these things; I wonder how he got onto this? He must have done it to girls before Judy. Was he bisexual as the Arabs often are.”
Ignoring the casual racism in the last sentence, this paragraph brings a lot of questions to mind. Was Amelia inspired by Bill’s ‘needles through the tit’ story? Could Bill have been Carole’s mystery correspondent? Leaving aside the quality of his illustrations, he fits the bill (no pun intended) perfectly. Was the world of sex letters in fact a small, inter-locking one? Or were there more of these people out there than we might care to imagine?
Carole now tells the inevitable “erotic story” (“all true”, of course…). To set the scene – Carole is a student nurse, sharing a bedsit – and bed – with another girl…
“I was already 100% bisexual but this other girl was almost a stranger to me as we only met on our first day at the hospital. She was from Barbados – a gorgeous dark chocolate skin and a lovely sexy well developed figure. I’d already mixed with coloured people – so many around in London and where I lived as a child. BUT I was her first white to be a real friend to her. We hit it off at once and so a bit later on decided to share a bedsit and expenses. I really fancied her sexually Amelia and at first we got used to seeing each other dress and undress and sleeping in the same bed was so intimate and also when we had our periods we got used to seeing each other changing S.Ts etc. All led to a feeling of intimacy. We talked about men of course and neither of us was a virgin. We BOTH needed a sexual outlet and I was reduced to frigging. I guess she was too. I daren’t make a sexual advance to her at first in case it spoiled our frienship but after we had shared for about 2 weeks and we were in bed one evening quiteearly (sic) as we were tired, I sensed she was as randy as I wasas (sic) we moved around our legs touched – it was quite a warm evening and we only had on thin nighties which had rode up, as they do. Then it happened! We sort of came together in at first a shy hestitant cuddle – but I kiised (sic) her full on the lips and she responded. Our hands began to search for each other’s cunts – both juicing – feelying (sic) and groping, kissing, tonguing, sighing, our nylon covered breasts squashing together and engorgoing (sic) with lust. Ooh Amelia, YOU know how we both felt.”
I’m sure that Amelia did. The rest of us have a fairly good idea of the sexual delirium currently gripping Carole too, from the number of typos (and this transcript doesn’t include those words later crossed out and corrected) and sense of excitement in the letter. The story doesn’t slow down:
“We were greedy hungry for each other, our fingers now shamelessly in each other’s love holes, rubbing each other’s clits with a finger and going fuck bonkers. We kept on til we both had an orgasm and then quietened down and lay cuddled up, kissing and telling each other how we had wanted to do this for some time but not daring to. Then Amelia we pulled off our nighties and I went over her body inch my inch (sic) with my fingers, lips and tongue, ending at last with my head between her open thighs and breathing in her aroma an (sic) my tongue licking her tangy cunt lips. I’d licked and sucked cunt since I was a schoolgirl so I knew what I was doing and I brought her to an exquisite writhing panting, moaning cum, with her gorgeous dark chocolate thighs locked round my head and my face all smeared with her cunny goo, in my mouth, in my hair and then I knew I LOVED her Amelia. She was MY girl lover. And I was hers.”
How sweet. Aside from a wonderful knack for whacked out phrasing (“going fuck bonkers”, “tangy cunt lips”, “cunny goo”, “sex sod”), Carole has a free-thinking attitude that includes a disregard for safe sex, as she explains:
“Often I took no precautions at all and fucked without a condom as I love to feel the spunk squirt into me and soak into me and then ooze and leak out again all mixed with my own cunny juice – that IS sex. Then he rolls off me and his mate would come in me and I’d be filled and stuffed again.”
Carole’s letter then rambles in various disinteresting directions, with brief discussions of “dirty talk”, and descriptions of her current love life (with Linda, a “100% lesbian” and Flo from the West Indies and “Black of course”). Then, seeming to realise that her horny letter is getting rather turgid, she launches into a fantasy fuck with Amelia.
“It’s quite hot here and I’m typing this in just stockings, suspender belt and nylon brief-boobs nude and I love to make them swing and bounce as I jerk my hips. Typing this has got my cunt oozing its juices and my brief has a telltale damp patch in the gusset which I love to rub with my fingers and feel the sticky wet gluey love juices soaking through the nylon. Then I lick my fingers to taste myself. NOW cross my legs and s-q-u-ee-z-e down my thigh muscles – makes my cunny ooze more juice. I’ve always been a good juicer – you too? I stop from time to time to suck first one nipple then the other so my nipples are erect and I have some porn mags on the table by my typewriter to stimulate me even more. I LOVE hard core as well as soft porn – do you?”
Carole then goes into a lengthy description of her love of porn, which she often receives from male pen-pals. They also send other things, as she explains:
“I’ve had men sending me their spunk through the post in sealed condoms which they have put on their cocks to wank off and sent them my used panty to wear and wank off in. Does this disgust you Amelia? In some cases these men have been disabled in some way and I was their only sexual outlet and they really depended on me and were so grateful and I think I did a valuable social service. In fact my letter writing began when I was a student nurse when an older nurse asked me if I’d be interested in writing to a bloke who was a spastic. She showed me a couple of his letters – page after page of sheer sex lust and so well written. So I ‘took him on’ and we exchanged letters for about a year and by that time we were about written out and I passed him on to another nurse.”
This is an interesting segment of the letter. If Carole is, in fact, a man pretending to be a woman (writing to another woman, who may well in fact be a man!), it’s easy to see how future correspondence might develop – does Amelia want to have used condoms sent to her? Would she send her used “panty” to men, via Carole of course? The mind boggles at the possibilities. But perhaps I’m just a cynic.
Carole is nearing the end of her letter now, and closes with a long story about a couple she found via a contact mag.
“They lived in Romford and in their 20s. I was 18. Betty was a slim blonde; Ron was tall, slim. When I got to the station I gave them a ring and they came and collected me. I sat in the back of the car with Betty and it was lust at first sight all round and in the car Betty and I kissed and had a feely grope as Ron drove as quickly as he could to their home saying his cock was bursting his pants! We got indoors and went straight to their bedroom and on one wall they had pinned up lots of porno pages from mags, but I hardly noticed as we all 3 stripped off in a frenzy of lust, Betty and me to just our stockings and suspenders – what I’ve always called my ‘fuck uniform’ – and Ron quite nude with his cock up hard and fuck ON. I got on my back on their double bed, legs open and apart, opening myself up shamelessly for Ron’s hard throbbing prck (sic) to enter my body. Betty was fuck-talking us, telling her husband to fuck me, give it to me, screw the cunt off me etc. All music to my ears! He came over me and then I felt his hard cock sliding into me – oooh YES. I raised my hips to meet him and we were fucking. Betty had her hands, lips, tongue all over me, slobbering her spit onto me, fuck mouthing out dirty obscenities and I heard myself panting out – go on you sexy sod Ron, fuck me and Ron saying thinks like – fuck you, you cunt bitch, fuck you Carole – it was just lovely. Of course I knew he couldn’t last long – and we’s said this in our letters – BUT it was hot and sweet and just before he cum his load in me, Betty sat down on my face and gave me a cunny facial rubbing. I felt Ron’s cock jerk inside me and then the flood of his spunk; my mouth was wet sticky with Betty’s cunt juices as she rubbed herslf off on my face and I felt my cum spasms writhe through my body and it was a loud panting, moaning, ooohing, aaahhhing, that filled the room. Just lovely Amelia.”
Hmm. This session of frantic fornication is just the beginning, however, and after a much needed rest, the threesome are raring to go once more. Carole takes up the story:
“Betty and I began to kiss, body lick and nibble until we got down in a 69 and ‘ate’ each others cunt and Ron joined in by rubbing his hands all over our entwined bodies. Betty and I brought each other to climax, stayed down on each other for the licking and then we realised that we had both unconciously done a little pissy dribble, which I’m sure you know Amelia often does happen, so will not disgust you at all. Now Ron was cock fuck hard again andf raring to get into his wife. Betty got down on all 4s on the carpet and I watched as Ron thrust his cock into her cunt from behind. I couldn’t help rubbing a finger on her bumhole which made her pant ‘ooh, you fuck bitch, YES’. So as Ron shafted her cunt and Betty bucked and wriggled her hips and her boobs hung down under her, swinging and bouncing, I used a mixture of my spit and cunny juice to lubricate her asshole and get a finger IN. I also slapped her bum cheeks and Ron’s too; it was a really lovely 3some Amelia which I’m sure you and Judy can well appreciate. I also had a lick of Ron’s cunt slimey cock shaft as he pulled it out at each thrust – Betty was now just grunting like a sow and I was mouthing out fuck obscenities at them both. Then Ron went for it with all he had and I did all I could to make it good for them both, fingering Betty’s asshole and slapping her bum cheeks with the other hand. I kept looking at Ron’s lust twisted face and saw he was nearly there. His mouth was drooling and his eyes rolling and he jerked and squirted his load into his wife, she orgasmed too – a gorgeous wonderful sexy sight Amelia and Judy – you can just picture it I know as you read this. Then they were done and as Ron came out of her I licked his cock clean and then licked and sucked Betty’s fucked cunt out too.”
Unsurprisingly, this frantic and often unintentionally hilarious tale (what a couple Ron and Betty are, with his drooling mouth and rolling eyes, and her sow-like grunts) has worn Carole out, and the letter ends here. She signs off by saying “I send you kisses for your lips, nipples and cunnies”.
These three letters are, presumably, the tip of the iceberg from the Amelia files, but seem to represent a nice cross-section of possible correspondents – a horny, frustrated man, a rampant sadist and a sex-crazed woman. How genuine any of these identities were will remain a mystery of course. In the world of fantasy, how much is true, how much imaged and how much pandering to the imagined desires of others will always blur. But even at their most outrageous, disturbing and ludicrous, these letters seem a harmless outlet for sexual frustrations – a way for the loveless to experience an approximation of a relationship, a low-rent girlfriend experience. There are worse things people could be doing to relieve their sexual frustration.
I have no idea if the world of the hand-written (or typed) correspondence is a dead duck or still ongoing – on the one hand, I’d assume the outlets for advertising these services (contact mags and the like) has diminished, but maybe the online equivalents offer similar services. Perhaps an email is as exciting for people as a hand-written message. Perhaps the lure of the cam girl has made this service less enticing. I am willing to be educated on the matter by anyone in the know who reads this. But these three letters feel like a curiously innocent (content be damned) throwback to a time when sex and erotica were still furtive pleasures in the UK. I wish I’d seen more.