Daddy,
I love you so much. I’m trying really hard to not creep you out. I just… love every inch of you. I love your hair, and your eyes, and your beard. I love your chest, I love sucking on your nipples, I love your belly. God, I love the way your stomach feels, the way it’s soft and I can nuzzle it. The way it hangs a little. I love your sweet sweet cock, and they way your cum tastes. I love how tall you are. I even love licking your ass. It’s the sounds you make. And honestly, it’s a soft area that’s just really fun to be gentle with.
I daydream about you asking me to marry you. It scares me to death, because I see every way of getting closer to you as a being one step closer to the two of us becoming overly familiar and bored with each other, complacent, and under-appreciative of each other. Then I become more and more and more irritable, you become more and more silent and resentful, and we break up and I become so sad, cynical and disenchanted that I start drinking, stop taking my vitamins, and finally hang myself like I wanted to for all those years with Ian.
I’m looking for a new job, one that is days. This way I can see people in the evenings. I can have dinner with my boyfriend. I can take my own dance classes. I can go to the gym. Teach belly dancing. Date girls. Watch tv and go to bed early.
I want to make more money, but I have no idea what I should apply for. I know I can do sales, and I’m good with people. I feel like I’m going to be stuck doing jobs that no one respects for the rest of my life.
I’m scared about your health. New Year’s eve this year scared me. The way your back and your knees hurt so much you couldn’t get out of bed all day? I worry about you a lot. I worry that if you don’t lose weight, you’re going to die of a heart attack before I turn 60. I do feel like you are the love my life, and I would rather you be around for a lot of it.
The other day when I showed you how far I could push out my stomach while laying down because I thought it was impressive, and you got scared because you thought I looked pregnant? It made me sad. It made me worry that you wouldn’t love me anymore if I got fat, and that seems hypocritical of you. Also, even though I don’t think I’d make a good mother and that I would hate having kids, I sometimes wish that you wanted to have kids with me and I don’t know why. I think maybe because if you wanted to have kids with me, it would mean that you also wanted to commit to spending the rest of our lives together, and marriage feels like a sham to me now. Having kids and the money to raise them is also a metric of success in our culture. No, I don’t think that’s a good reason.
I’m self-conscious about my hair loss. Last night I came so hard that I almost forgot about it for a moment.
When we got back from vacation, I ate an entire box of blueberries, and had the best crap of my life. Just fyi.
You really are the best sex of my life. Don’t ever leave me? As cool as it is that I get to exchange my delicious chocolate chip cookies for a $400 check from my ex husband for my tax return on Saturday, I don’t want to have to establish an amazing relationship with a second ex.
I would like to have anal sex with you again. I know it kind of grosses you out. I just like feeling like you own me. It’s another one of my fear-of-abandonment things again. I’m really insecure.
I love your beard, and I want you to shave it, and then grow it back immediately within an hour. I just want to see what you face looks like.
I’m proud of you for lying on your resume and saying that you got a BA in computer science instead of an AA in English. It helped you get a job you’re qualified for, and it hurts no one.
I still want to go to Paris. I want to go to the Louvre, have a picnic with a fresh baguette, fresh fruit from a farmer’s market, and to have fresh flowers and sweet tender sex in our hotel. I want cafe au lait and a perfect croissant. I want to go to dance camp there, too.
I also want coffee in Italy. And dancing.
Take me to a luau in Hawaii. Please?
I worry that all our friends will get married and have kids and move away, and we’ll be old and weird with nobody. We’ll still want to dance, but we’ll be the weirdos.
Although, Roy and Noreen are the sweet old couple where I work, and everyone loves them and dances with them.
I won’t be convinced that you think of me as a dancer until you enter a competition with me. And I won’t be happy until I win one both with you, and one without you. It will also help if you let me get a word in edgewise during the classes I TA in, and at some point I’m actually teaching and you’re assisting.
I worry that my eyes will have permanently damaged capillaries from coming so hard I bruise them so often.
Yes, I really do love blowing you that much. You also go down on my like a champ. It’s fantastic.
That’s all. For now.
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