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Letter to Col. Jack O'Neill

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Dear Jack,

Or should that be Dear Colonel O’Neill?

I have to say I did not see that one coming.

I mean, I could have bet you were stunning in a tuxedo, but the Air Force Colonel thing? Somehow, never in a million years. You keep doing that to me – taking me out at the knees when I think I’ve got this all under control. Why can’t you be more of a predictable stereotype? More of a shallow cliché?

And more worryingly, why can’t you stay two-dimensional, like all good, little wet dreams? You keep getting more and more real with every encounter. Slowly gaining substance and depth, while losing that safe, surreal quality that made it easy for me to store you away in a lustful box stashed away in a corner of my mind. You used to be my easy, dirty fantasy, but you’ve morphed into a genuine individual with a name and a past and now a career, in addition to the qualities and flaws that were already beginning to make you… YOU .

By some twisted turn of fate, last night you even became a guy I got formally introduced to by a common friend – as these things happen every day in normal life. And I shook your HAND for God’s sake. Last night. For the first time.

Were you aware of that? That we’d never even touched hands before? The mundane gesture made you so goddamn real all of a sudden, it made my head spin. It was almost an out-of-body experience: I was able to recognize the rough feel of your calluses – calluses I’d only ever felt on my hips and on my cock.

You see, this is what my nonsensical life has come to: you’ve already fucked me against a bay window, I’ve already had you kneeling in front of me and choking on my cock, and yet last night was the first time we shook hands, like normal, decent human beings.

If I had tears to waste, I could cry with shame.

But if I’m really honest here – and there’s no reason not to be since you’ll never read this letter – the sting in all this, the thing that really hurts, is the fact that I realized last night that we could have met under different circumstances. A year ago, when I left that restaurant I was afraid I’d never see you again and when I understood that you were a what you did for a living I jumped on the opportunity, convinced that this twist of fate was for the better. But it is now painfully clear that I was wrong.

If only I hadn’t been so desperate to hire you, we would have met the normal way. We would have met at this inauguration through Belinda Connolly, and who knows? Maybe we could have become friends, and I could have found out if I ever stood a chance with you. I could have discovered who you really are, if you are worth pursuing – if you are, deep down, anything like the self-assured man who knocks on my door with nonchalance and sips my bourbon with a half-smile and wants me to kiss him with abandon.

But it’s too late. I made a deal with the Devil and I can never undo the fact that the two of us are now client and strictly business.

I’m slipping, though. Letting myself get carried away a bit more every time we get together. You make it so easy to forget the true nature of our relationship.

I kissed you tonight. Like you’ve demanded I kiss you from day one. Without restraint. Without holding back. I was feeling strangely reckless and so I let you in. Such a foolhardy kiss. It was everything I had feared it would be – it was that initial blast of raw need all over again. Far too powerful and heady a poison to indulge in.

Is this your secret weapon? Is this how you build customer loyalty? Because you kiss like your life the world depends on it. You kiss not like you’re performing, but like you mean it. I can only hope I’ll never be so weak as to do it again. I’ll just call it a warning shot.

And since we’re in the military metaphors, let’s talk about your former job. Because it turns out you are a bona fide hero, as I initially suspected. It comforts me somewhat to think that I was indeed right when I sensed something heroic about you. And I checked, by the way – because I know a few people. And I was made to understand that you didn’t get to be a full bird colonel by flying a desk or pandering to top brass. You saw a fair share of action, in fact. Whole pages of redacted confidential stuff. A résumé consisting of blacked out lines carefully arranged into mute bullet point lists and paragraphs – it was actually more telling than any verbose panegyric extolling your military exploits.

I still can’t quite wrap my head around it, for that matter. The man that I’ve been hiring to obey my orders and comply with my wishes for months now, had men under his command in a previous life. Presumably, men ready to fight by his side – and get injured or killed – if he said the word. I almost called you ‘Sir’ tonight, to see how you’d react, but figured it wouldn’t be so wise to antagonize you. You are trained to kill, after all. But I have to admit I find it thrilling intriguing.

And you know, I can’t help but wonder. Why such a drastic career change? How does one go from Air Force Colonel to high-class whore escort? There’s probably an interesting story underneath all this, and I wish we knew each other well enough to talk about it – but we obviously don’t, as you were quick to remind me last night. My fault: I keep forgetting we’re nothing to each other.

And yet there are so many questions I’d like to ask you. So many things I’d like to learn about you. Your tastes, your pains, your hopes. So many things I’d like to soak up from you. But in all honestly, if I had to pick one question, just one single question, I think it wouldn’t be anything so lofty. I think it would be this one: do you enjoy our appointments?

I think – and I hope – you actually like having me, but you’re often so quiet that it’s hard to tell if you derive as much pleasure from our encounters as I do. Evidence would lead me to think you do... But do you take the same pleasure with all your clients? Do you have favourites? Am I

And I’ll derail that train of thought right there, as it leads nowhere I want to go.

I suppose you could say it is nothing but misplaced pride, but I do want you to enjoy it. I am trying to make it good for you. I hope you realize that. I know it’s ludicrous of me to try to gain your approval, but I don’t want our encounters to be sordidly one-sided.

Of course, I also have my own hidden, not-so-altruistic agenda – the real reason why I want you to get a kick out of our rated fucks tumbles in the sheets. I need you to enjoy them because I get the impression that you’re not in this line of business for mercenary motives. Learning that you’re career military only confirms what I’ve always suspected – I think you’re in this trade for the thrill of it. For the pleasure, for the danger, for the sheer adrenaline buzz you get out of it. Not for the money. And you have no idea how refreshing and new the notion is to me.

For over twenty years, I’ve been surrounded by collaborators, employees and acquaintances who have viewed me as a bit of a sentient pile of cash. I think I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who actually see something else in me. And miracle of miracles, you are among these few people. You don’t expect money from me. Or, let’s say, that’s not all that you expect. You want voluptuous entertainment, erotic excitement. And therefore, to make sure you keep coming back to me, all I have to do is feed you this shot of excitement. Your ration of adrenaline.

So I try to be an unpredictable client if not an interesting one. Try to blindside you with unexpected orders and requests. Try to keep you on your toes. You see, you have your little tips and tricks to retain customers, and I have mine. And kinky novelty seems to be the thing that works on you. Your little weakness. At every encounter, I’ve had you experience something different with me, and I know you like that: I’ve seen your eyes get that dark, mischievous twinkle. It’s the one and only sway I hold over you. And I pray it keeps us in business for a few months, maybe even years if I can spread out our appointments. Enough to buy me time to figure out how to get over you.

Mind you, when I run out of new things to try out, I’ll still have a few aces up my sleeve. Like full frontal nudity, for example. I still haven’t looked at you fully naked. I’ve stolen glances at reflections, but I’ve managed to remain optically virginal, so to speak. I suppose it must be a tad puzzling to you – maybe it even frustrates you. If so, then so much the better. I know you love a challenge. To be honest, at first it was just because I didn’t want to make it too personal, then it soon became a ‘forbidden fruit’ kind of thing. And now… Ah, now it’s a bargaining chip I hope I can one day use to my advantage. I already suspect I’ll like what I see: everything else about you is perfect to my taste.

And then, still in the kinky novelty department, there’s something that I hope you’ll grant me. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. Something that would make me stand out from your other clients, hopefully.

I want you to stop using condoms with me, Jack. I want you to shed that last line of defence against me. I want nothing between us. I want to feel you. Feel every inch of you. Feel every drop of you. God, I can’t wait to know how that feels.

I’ve been thinking about it more and more often lately and I think I might be able to convince you. I think you might give in to me if I use the right arguments. I’m good at negotiating terms of contracts. I’m good at bending people to my will bringing people to see things my way. And this is my next piece of “new”. The next bit of challenge I will dangle in front of you. I pray that I’m able to sell it to you.

Dear Colonel, I have to end this letter now. It’s close to 6 am and I have to leave you. I wish I could sneak back into bed with you and then later wake up with you, emerge out of sleep feeling the warmth of your embrace around me. But it’s better that I don’t. That’s not how it goes between us. Besides, there are some things I don’t want to do with you – ever. Things that will be too hard to wean myself of, ultimately. Starting a day in your arms is one of them. Too wildly intimate for me to fully recover from.

So I’m going to wake you up, say goodbye and go about my day. Like I’m nothing more than…

Your client,