Dearest John, it’s hard to find words. By now Wong would have explained why I had to leave so quickly. As much as I wanted to remain in your arms, I couldn’t let time stop, even for you. Wong has cast a spell on each letter I write to you, so that Mordo cannot trace it. Electronic communication can be traced, so snail mail it is. Sometimes the old ways are best. The letters will be sent to the London sanctum where you can write to me in return. I will find a way out of this, I promise. Everything reminds me of you, the Thai iced tea that the cook brews. She hands me a cup every morning and I want to weep when the first taste hits my lips. Her eyes search mine and we both know in that instant how much I miss you. One fucking glass of tea and that’s all it takes to inflame my desire. I want to put an ice cube on your chest, licking the remnants off your skin. I’ve lusted after people before, but it’s never been like this. I was teaching a class the other day, when thoughts of you began to torment me. I had to astral project out of my body, to hide the large boner that tented through my robes. John, what you do to me, it’s good, it’s bad, it burns to the point of dysfunction. I had the sheets from your room brought to me. I’ve preserved their scent, so that at any time I can access your musky aroma. It’s arid, it’s man, it’s you and many nights I’ve lain on the floor with my hand jammed between my legs, my teeth chattering, biting my lip until it bleeds from the want of you. God, I’ve got to stop this. I’m going insane. I want to make love to you. I want you to make love to me. I want to go down on you, taste you. I want you to fuck me—be my first.
Okay, enough of this, time to speak of mundane things. I’m sorry, mundane routine things elude me. I love you dearest and I will find a way for us to be together. In the meantime, work will have to suffice. I’m told you’re teaching a class in healing at the London Sanctum and that you’re brilliant, which doesn’t surprise me a bit, John Watson. Give my love to our little dog, Brownie.
Ever yours in any dimension, Strange
Dearest Strange, next time warn me about the explicit content of your letter to me. I took it to work to read during my break, and ended up wanking one off in the custodial closet, shot my jiz in the sink, wishing it was your mouth swallowing it down instead of a cold sink drain. I miss you too by the way, so much—too much. It’s hard for me to express my feelings, when you are so eloquent. By the way, I thought you hated Thai iced tea and as far as your little fantasy goes, ooh so good. I would want you to put the ice cube on the tip of your tongue, spearing it, then swirling it around my nipple numbing it, pulling on it with your teeth until I begged for mercy, Goanna make you burn, goanna make you sting—challenge round. Shit, back to the custodial closet.
Okay, back now, my hands are a little slippery. I had to wash them several times, gives a whole new meaning to the phrase: Employees must wash their hands before returning to work. Well, now for a funny story. I had a butt plug installed in my shower, so that when I jerk off I can imagine the butt plug is your cock giving it to me. That’s not the funny part by the way. The funny part comes in when my house cleaner snapped it off the wall and put in Brownie’s bed, thinking it was a chew toy. He sniffed it, then proceeded to pee on it, then buried it in the back yard. Damn, I must buy a new one. What’s your favorite color? How can I love you so much and not know what your favorite color is? Strange, god, you are…are the most beautiful person. Study hard, find a way to come back to me. I’m lonely.
Ever yours in any dimension, John.
Dearest John, I’ve never laughed or cried so much, as when I read your letter. Should I be experimenting by buying my own butt plug, stretching myself until you can penetrate me? I’ve never been with a man. I don’t want to disappoint you. I peeked at you in the shower several times—you’re big. By the way my favorite color is blue. I swear the cape of levitation can read, it just went to the corner of the room in a huff. Okay, my favorite colors are red and blue. How’s that, little cape? It’s back. On a more serious note, if this drags on too long, I want you to move on, find…someone else. I want you to be happy. By the way you didn’t give me a challenge round, with the lyrics you quoted. Honestly, John, Black Dog, by Led Zeppelin? Too easy, but I adore you just the same and I can’t wait until you make me burn and sting. I wish we could watch a movie together. Don’t tell anyone or I would die of shame, but I would love to watch Roman Holiday with you after a rousing session or two of sex, just the two of us watching Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn—just the two of us. By the way I’ve developed a taste for Thai iced tea. In fact, I crave it among other things. I wish I could be in the custodial closet with you when desire strikes. Imagine me there, sucking you off, fucking you senseless. Wait, hang on I don’t even know if you bottom or not? I don’t even know if I bottom or not. I’m scared and confused—tired. I need you. I’m depressed and in such a black mood. I’m sorry. I’m fine, just frustrated. I thought I was on the right track yesterday, then hit a dead end. Let’s plan a time where we can watch a movie at the same time. I’ll make popcorn. You name the movie and the time and I will be here watching with you in spirit.
Ever yours in any dimension, Strange.
Dearest Strange, where do you get off telling me to move on? I will never move on never and as far as experimenting with butt plugs, don’t. I want to guide you, teach you, make you mine. Brownie is fine, though he avoids the area of the yard where he buried the plug. I’ve been working long hours. I’m exhausted. I’m cold and I miss you too. I’ll watch Roman Holiday if you watch Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, there’s many a reference to 69! I’m on call for the next two days. Let’s plan for April 21st 9 P.M. my time—our first movie date.
Certain smells remind me of you. The lady that lives below me was baking some sort of cinnamon cake and I thought of you. Sex and Christmas, that’s what you are Stephen Strange. I love you every minute of every day in every dimension, John.