Dearest Lauren,

I bought pantyhose today and I thought of you. Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. I hope that you still bear the same associations that I do; curious notions that make you think of me, certain unexpected triggers that elicit memories and emotions within you and thrill you in the same way that I was thrilled this sultry summer afternoon.

I often think of that night, you know? That night so long ago now, but still burning hot and bright in my mind like the focal point of my existence. The pair of us, barely women grown, but filled with new feelings and desires and the boundless freedom of college life. How alcohol catalyzed us, but confession brought us together – bold admissions of strange lusts, the camaraderie of shared passions.

In my mind, recollection slows to a crawl. That first touch of your leg to mine, replayed in slow motion and crystal clarity. Your blushing apology, my stuttered acceptance. Your touch accidental at first, but the provocation of novel sensation draws us together again. Your toes, framed beneath soft pantyhose, brushing against my calf beneath the table, the light swish of nylon against nylon, a spark of electricity that neither of us expected but both of us welcomed like a fond acquaintance. This new craving building and intensifying until temptation breaks. Then a hurried settling of the check and a mad dash across the college grounds on tottering heels, hand in hand, giggling like school girls, intentions aligned and needing no declaration.

How we fell into your room, barely able to keep our hands from each other. Clawed fingers clutching at flimsy material, caged animals released at last. And taste! How you tasted that night! Your lips, full and glistening and deepest red, the sweetness of the wine and the heat of your desire, warming my cheeks to a burning blush as our mouths and tongues came together! Falling backwards onto your bed, our bodies worked in perfect synchronization, an efficient pursuit of nakedness and interlocking forms.

Yet you insisted that we keep our pantyhose on, I remember that most of all. Wearing that irresistible grin that you deploy like a weapon, you disarmed my senses with your sordid request and the desperate hunger in your eyes as you surveilled your prey. Then, finally, you pounced, dragging me down and peppering my body with scalding kisses, each frantic touch deepening the sensation that overwhelmed my young mind. We became a dervish, a mad flurry of limbs, an instinctual arrangement of topographies that brought us together, sex to sex, like a scissor, moving together with the shared awareness of our mutual desire. And then, without warning, my foot in your mouth as you ravaged me like a woman possessed. The ecstasy of motion and glorious friction, and the unexpected wetness of your mouth tantalizing a part of me that had no previous purpose beyond that of locomotion.

When release came, I howled at the sheer power of it. The weight of sensation and the thrill of completeness. You joined me then, bringing our chorus to a wild crescendo that we would repeat many times that long, humid night.

But what I remember the most, what sticks in my mind like a glowing talisman, is lying with you afterwards, bodies tessellated together like puzzle pieces. Legs still clad in soft hose, feet touching like old friends, the cool breeze through the open window a stark contrast to the fading heat of climax that still warmed us both.

I bought pantyhose today and I shall wear them for my lover tonight, as I like to on occasion. But I always think of you when I do.

Yours always,

Ella