The Letters of Aus & B

by Matthew Turner

  Almost…

  Oh, and before I forget (although I’ll have told you this by the time you read it), I’m in Manchester again later in the week. Not sure which day yet, but I’ll stay with Natalie again. There’s so many events and shows at the minute, I feel like I might as well live there

  It’s a shame there aren’t more in Leeds, but it is nice to escape and venture somewhere new for a day or two. You should come along with me sometime. You might surprise yourself and have a good time - lots of pretty models to look at, after all.

  Then again… pretty models with long legs and wonderful figures, but no opportunity to unload your fantasies on me… maybe not a good idea (you really should give in and end this silly bet soon).

  The girl you love,

  B x

  March 30th

  On the train home, horny and wanting you

  Dear B,

  I’ve hit a wall and cannot take this anymore. I’ve never felt like this before, and I’m starting to wonder if this is how Joey feels each day. If so, how does he get through them? I need sex. I need you. I need anything to take away the temptations, and you hardly help matters with your letters (let alone how you keep looking at me. Stop it. Stop undressing me with your eyes!)

  Under normal circumstances, the thoughts of models sulking down a runway would do nothing for me, but as soon as you mentioned it in your last letter, I literally quivered. Literally, mind you. My body actually shook and trembled at the thought of lots of girls walking in next-to-nothing.

  What’s happened to me? Make it stop. This isn’t me!

  Watching Joey suffer isn’t worth this suffering, because I think I‘m more frustrated than he is at this point. Each night, I dream of you. Sitting at my desk at work, I daydream about you. I see another girl who looks remotely like you, and I picture you undressing and sliding under the sheets beside me.

  I didn’t think I was the type of guy to get horny and obsess over something so primitive and physical, but I am. I miss you, B. I miss everything!

  I especially miss you when you head off to Manchester, but in some ways it’s the only respite I get - although I continue to think about you, so at the same time, not really.

  I’m glad you’re getting out there though, and meeting new people, networking, and all the things you have to do to make a success of things in this world. You’re designs are so good, and it’s a matter of time before you’re running those events instead of attending them.

  And although I wouldn’t know what to do at such an event, and I’d more than likely fall asleep, if you do want me to go, I will. Likewise, if you just want to talk about them or about clothes, I’m here to listen. You don’t seem to talk about your designs as much of late, but I want you to know you can.

  I’m here for you, although at the moment I may only half-listen. Apparently my penis has greater control over me than my mind does.

  Anyway, I’m nearly home. As soon as I am I’ll crawl into bed and cry into the pillow, scrunching the sheets in my hands and longing for you, no doubt. This is awful. This is damn awful!

  The boy you love,

  Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x

  April 6th

  On my break, drinking lovely coffee

  Dear Aus,

  Well-well-well, it seems as though we’ve met the end of this silly little bet. All you have to do to end this nonsense is say:

  ‘You, B, are victorious. The thought I could last longer than you, ridiculous. I’m a silly boy, and I’ll never, ever, be so silly again. Please, please-please-please have sex with me and kiss me all over.’

  What do you say, mister? You finally ready to end this madness?

  I feel fine, if I’m honest. I miss you and your kisses, but I think I could last a few more days. You, on the other hand… well, it seems you’ve fallen victim to your penis. There’s no turning back, I’m afraid. Once that aspect of your body takes control, you lose all sense of rationale.

  It’s over to you. I await your letter…

  And don’t worry, I know I can talk to you about my clothes and designs and events. I suppose I find it harder to talk about at the moment, what, being in this rut and all. I’m fine, though, and don’t worry, you don’t have to come to an event with me.

  To be honest, I think you’d have a panic attack because there’s always too many people. Plus, everyone’s rather outgoing and forceful when it comes to conversations, so I imagine you’d last a few minutes before heading to the bathroom and hiding for a while.

  I’m often tempted to, so I think it would fast become your worst nightmare.

  Still, if you fancy giving it a go and testing yourself, let me know. There’s a couple of good events over the next few weeks.

  Well, I suppose I should finish this lovely coffee and get back to serving them, although I’m excited to read your next letter, for I’m confident it’ll house a particular statement that allows me to rip off your clothes and have my way with you. I’ve missed you, mister. I hope you missed me, too, because I’m keen to show you things you’ve never seen before.

  The girl you love (and cannot stop thinking about),

  B x

  April 10th

  At my desk, nearly in tears

  Dear B,

  Even though I said this to you the other evening, here it is in writing; like you asked:

  ‘You, B, are victorious. The thought I could last longer than you, ridiculous. I’m a silly boy, and I’ll never, ever, be so silly again. Please, please-please-please have sex with me and kiss me all over.’

  Now, can we please have sex? Seriously, as soon as you read this letter, text me. It isn’t often I ask you to text, or hope you do, but time’s of emergency require extreme measures. So, yes, please text me as soon as you read this, and preferably at a time when I can run to you (yes, I will literally run) and lay down as you kiss me all over - and show me those new things I’ve yet to see before.

  I’ll keep this letter short because I have nothing else to say to you. I know I’m pathetic and horny, but I don’t care. I’ll go back to caring once this stupid bet ends.

  The boy you love,

  Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x

  April 13th

  Leaning on the counter, a stack of shirts waiting for me to fold them

  Dear Aus,

  Oh my, the other night was good. I can’t decide what was more satisfying: the fact you practically begged me for sex, or the sex itself. I’m not saying our overdue wait was worth it, but if it results in that kind of ecstasy each time (let alone a nice ego boost for yours truly), we may have to try it from time-to-time.

  Not for a long time, mind you.

  And now we’ve ended this madness, let’s get back to life and what these letters are really about: ranting and venting about the world’s mishaps, and sharing aspects of each other that most people our age waste over text or Skype or whatever other popular app exists this month.

  I know May’s your favourite month, but I think I prefer April. There’s something about the fleeting sun and scattered showers that excites me. The weather keeps me on my toes, and each time I step outside I wonder what may await.

  Will this denim jacket be too heavy once the sun shines.

  Will I shiver as soon as it hides behind a cloud?

  Should I have brought an umbrella, or will it weigh me down for the rest of the day?

  And don’t get me started on the wind, and how it dances to a different pace as each hour passes.

  So far today, I worked up a sweat as I walked to the train station, only to get wet as I stood on the platform. Walking around Leeds dried my hair though, the wind beating me senseless. And now it’s sunny again, pouring through The Shop’s large window and warming my legs.

  You hate this weather, too unpredictable for a soul like yourself. Me… I enjoy its mysterious ways, although I’m sure you’ll write in great detail about how wrong I am, and why you foolishly believe you’re right. It’s strange, but I’ve missed your random m
oanings and groanings. A horny mess doesn’t suit you. It makes you like every other boy out there, which doesn’t appeal to me one bit.

  In a few hours, I’ll see you again, and we’ll no doubt continue to reacquaint ourselves in my bed. I don’t think we’ve had so much sex in such a short space of time before, and I for one love it. Do you think you can keep this pace up for long?

  The girl you love,

  B x

  April 18th

  In The Pub, waiting for Joey

  Dear B,

  Can I keep up this pace for long? I seriously doubt it.

  Not only am I tender and sore, but feel satisfied and relaxed - although after those horrendous few weeks of longing, I never want to feel unsatisfied again. I will do my best to keep up this pace, but I sense we both know it won’t last much longer. After all, I am not a machine or a piece of meat.

  Although I won’t lie, I’ve rather enjoyed being your piece of meat these last few days. Joey should be here in a few minutes, so I may ask him if this is what his life is like around the clock.

  Speaking of which, he’s happy we’ve both ‘regained our sanity’, as he puts it, and that I’m back ‘giving you the good stuff’.

  I keep telling him that I sense my version of the good stuff differs to his, but he doesn’t seem to listen. He’s back to his normal self, no longer ranting about stupid we are, instead sharing every ounce of sexual activity he can with me. I expect there’s more to come, too, for he had a date last night. From what he said over the phone, she’s not one for keeping herself to herself, so I imagine he’s lots of new tales to share - although I’d prefer to hear none of them.

  Oh well, I have beer to keep me occupied.

  As for your madness about how April is better than May… I cannot begin to tell you how wrong you are. April offers nothing but bipolar weather, which despite your attempt at romanticising it, is the worst kind of weather there is. I’m not saying I like the snow and cold of December, but at least you know what you’re in for.

  You wear layers. You throw on clothes that keep you dry. That’s it. Life’s easy.

  Whereas April… like you say, you never know what to expect, which isn’t spontaneous or exciting, rather annoying and painstaking. Seriously, this month is up there with March for its utter pointlessness. And there you have it, I used the word pointlessness, which I find a rather pointless word.

  I hope you’re proud of yourself.

  But I agree, I miss our letters of random chatter. The occasional kinky one is fine, but I sense it doesn’t have the same effect as ‘sexting’ (that’s the right word for it, right?)

  Okay, Joey has just walked through the door, so please wish me luck. I sense I’ll need it this evening.

  The boy you love,

  Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x

  April 22nd

  In The Pub, waiting for you

  Dear Aus,

  It’s my turn to sit in The Pub, awaiting you to arrive on the train. I actually just experienced one of the most rare occasions there is: A text from you.

  It read, ‘Train late. Won’t be long. Too many people. They make me feel sad.’

  We really should look into getting you help, for your anxiety verges on worrying at times. I fear one day you’ll snap and beat half a carriage to death with a large graphic novel or an umbrella. You’re like the American postal worker who loses his mind, shooting half a street to death because one too many dogs chased him.

  I love you, but I may have to reconsider if you terrorise a commuter carriage one day…

  Still, soon you’ll be in your beloved pub, and you’ll be happy to know it isn’t too busy. Of course, by the time you read this you’ll know already, for we’ll have shared a drink together, eaten a little food (you’ll no doubt order that damn halloumi and hummus sandwich like you always do), and gone back to yours where I hopefully tempt you into an old movie.

  Did you like it? Of course not, you never like those amazing old movies. You have such poor taste.

  Anyway, I should quickly end this somewhat pointless letter, because you just walked past the window (you look rather glum to say the least) and will sit opposite me any second. This is what happens when you leave me in a pub alone for a few minutes.

  You get pointless letters, so let that be a lesson to you.

  The girl you love,

  B x

  April 27th

  In bed, reading a fantastic book

  Dear B,

  Your last letter was indeed pointless, yet at the same time I find no letter from you a complete waste of time. I do remember that awful train journey though, and although my anxious ways may get the better of me on occasion, and yes, I agree they are rather annoying, they keep me safe and prevent me from creating new friendships.

  You should like this, for every new friends means less time I can spend with you. On the other hand, maybe you’d like me to have more friends. Hmmm, I don’t think you should answer this…

  But fear not, for I doubt my anxiety will ever place me on the brink of murder. I don’t think it works like that, plus, you know I’m not a fan of blood. Love not hate, remember?

  And as for that damn movie… I hated it. Well, maybe hate is too strong of a word for something I felt nothing toward. It’s not that it was bad, rather a pointless way to spend my time. Are you trying to tell me it was better to spend our precious minutes on this planet in front of a box with wires inside, rather than immersed among the pages of a book?

  I believe that movie was based on a novel, in fact, so we should have read about it rather than watch the interpretation from some director who probably never read the book in the first place. Harsh? Maybe, but I just don’t think I’ll ever understand the point of movies.

  Still, your selection and tastes are better than Joey’s… a somewhat bleak silver-lining, but a silver-lining nevertheless.

  Anyway, I must finish this letter and get back to my book. My mum recommended it to me, and although I’m only twenty-or-so pages into it, I’m a fan. It’s called The Night Circus, and I think you may like it, too. The author has quite a way with words, and I believe you’ll appreciate it as much as I do.

  I miss you right now, though. Reading in bed without you by my side isn’t the same.

  The boy you love,

  Ausdylan Elvis Ashford x

  PS: just because I ordered a halloumi and hummus sandwich the other day doesn’t mean you know me better than I know myself.

  May 1st

  At my desk having just finished my latest design

  Dear Aus,

  It took a few days, but I finished designing that dress I mentioned to you. I doubt you remember because I swear the moment I talk about clothes you drift off into some make-believe-daydream, but I’ll spend the next few days telling you all about it regardless.

  You lucky soul, you.

  As for your rant about movies, you really should remove that pretentious stick from your arse at some point. Just because you watch the odd film doesn’t mean you lose your passion for novels. And although true, most directors butcher the books that inspired them, not all do.

  Some are even better, although I doubt I’ll ever convince you of this. I suppose I have to accept you’re a very silly boy. A silly boy I love, but a silly boy regardless.

  You finished The Night Circus in quick fashion, too. You certainly made a case for it the other night, and if she spins a storytelling web as well as you say, I think I’ll love it. I plan to start it tonight, so will no doubt talk to you about it in the coming days. I trust your taste to do me proud, and your mother’s more so.

  Do you think you get your reading tastes from your mother or your father?

  They both have good ones, but rather differing. Then again, I suppose you have a rather varied taste, what with your obsession for graphic novels and such. In the same vein you may never understand my love for movies, I sense I’ll never appreciate your insistence for reading comics.

  They’re just
so… I don’t know… what’s the word… boring… ? Yes, boring’s the right word.

  Anyway, today we left April and ventured into May, so you’ve no excuse but to be chirpy and happy for the next few weeks. It began in style, too, with lots of sunshine and a calming warmth to the air. I sense colourful dress season sits right around the corner, which I cannot wait for.

  Plus, I know you prefer me in skirts that flick out and ride up. I happen to have a new one I think you’ll love, too. Who knows, maybe I’ll try it on for you tomorrow…

  The girl you love,

  B x

  May 4th

  In The Coffee Shop, watching you work

  Dear B,

  I’ll choose to ignore your graphic novel bashing because I know you don’t mean it. You’re just confused and slightly ignorant, that’s all.

  As for where I get my reading tastes from, I suppose I’m more like my mother, although I’m lucky to have a father who has rather good taste, too. But my mother has always fed me with one book after another, and like me, loves to lose herself in some make-believe world.

  It’s not to say this world isn’t good, but the ones in a good novel tend to be better, don’t you think?

  Anyway, as I write this I watch you dance around The Coffee Shop, serving drinks and grinding beans. It’s so busy, and you’ve yet to stop and appreciate the smell of coffee beans since your shift began nearly an hour ago. I’m sure you’re tired and in need of a rest. I’m sure you’d love an opportunity to sit down.

  I hope you don’t though, not because I wish to torture you through hard work, rather because I love to watch you honed in and focussed like this. It reminds me of when you run, but I know you don’t like to talk about that so let’s move on, shall we…

  Instead, let me share what I see right now:

  Your hair bounces as it flows and moves in tandem with your twisting body, reaching for a cup before placing it under one machine and then the other.

  Your eyes, and how they remain on people at all times, keeping conversation and keeping them calm, despite the fact everything around them is loud and chaotic.