God is Calling. I Can't Marry You.

How could you have done that to me? Tara was a really nice. A pretty girl, she wasn't as pretty as me. Back then, I looked more like Sophia Loren and she looked more like Twiggy.

I remember her being a shy girl who doted on you in college, but with you being cousins, I didn't think anything would come of her dreamy eyes staring at you. Stupidly with you not showing any outward, public affection for either one of us, I just thought she had a school girl crush and I thought you were being kind to her. I never knew she loved you and you, supposedly loved her too. Then, when you told me she was your cousin, I never gave her another thought. I figured you were just kissing cousins in the way that I had a brief fling with my cousin Mario when I was 18-years-old.

Apparently something did come of having a school girl crush on you. You married the woman. While you were with her, holding her, kissing her, telling her you loved her, you were sexually and intimately with me. I did the math and either you mystically fell instantly in love with her the moment we graduated or you were seeing her while screwing me. All I can figure is that you used me to get yourself off while keeping her as a virgin for marriage.

When you at look yourself in the mirror the next time, take a moment and try to feel what it would be like to be me. Take a moment to think about how you ruined my life. Do you have enough empathy to understand the pain you have caused me? You used me like a whore while professing your love for me. Then you lied and cheated on me during our relationship to be with your real love, Tara. Can you possibly understand how much I hate you?

You cast me aside like a cheap piece of costume jewelry instead of the real gem that I am. Seemingly content to be rid of me in your life, done with me, you never contacted me again. Maybe the priesthood would have been a better option for you as you would have been forced to spend hours on your knees asking God for forgiveness for what you have done to me. Maybe God will forgive you but I never will.

Please do not respond to this letter. I'm trying to control myself from killing you. I've suffered enough from you and don't want any further exchanges in this lifetime. My form of personal therapy and closure, this letter was for me to have my uninterrupted say for once.

Angela

* * * * *

Dear Angela,

Of course I remember you? How could I ever forget you? It was so very nice to hear from you. Oh, my God, it's been so long, four decades since we saw one another. We should get together at the country club. Tara would love to see you again. She always liked you. Perhaps inviting Sarah and her husband to join us is not a good idea.

Coincidentally, I've been thinking a lot about you lately. Tara has had a tough time medically. Even though she survived breast cancer, she's had a double mastectomy, the poor thing. Now she has no tits. In the way I was so very fond of your big breasts, you know how much I love tits, especially big tits. Even though Tara was a bit flat chested, quite the understatement, I miss her tits. Actually she had more extended nipples than they were tits. I asked her about implants but she said at 62-years old she's too old and is done with sex.

Done with sex? Can you imagine that? In this age of Viagra and Cialis, she's done with sex but I'm surely not. I'm still raring to go, if you get my drift. I've enclosed several photos of my cock.

I remember how you were in college, ready to have sex with me anywhere and anytime. I still have the topless and naked photos of you. You had phenomenal C cup breasts. You had such an incredible shapely body. I absolutely adored your firm, round, and shapely ass. With Tara exceedingly thin, as flat as a board, and having A cup breasts, you know that I didn't marry her for her tits. With Tara being a virgin, you know I didn't marry her for sex. With me the incorrigible social climber, I married her for social status.

Disappointingly shocking to me the woman doesn't even suck cock. When she has taken me in her mouth, it was only for a minute. I'm embarrassed to write that I have to seek the company of paid escorts to get what I want sexually. You without a doubt, used to give me the best blowjobs I've ever had in my life, even to this day with me having to pay professionals to suck my cock they can't compare to your cock sucking skills. I'm not embarrassed to tell you that sometimes I masturbate myself with the thoughts of you blowing me, Angela.

I've always loved you Angela in a very special way, a way that I never loved Tara. Maybe we can get together privately without Tara for a cup of coffee and dessert, if you know what I mean. I'd like to see you again, all of you.

With great affection,

Preston

* * * * *

Dear Preston,

Perhaps age has dimmed your memory but do you remember our protests, demonstrations, and sit-ins over the Viet Nam War? With all that I learned in Physics classes at MIT, do you remember how they always called upon me to make the smoke bombs, the stink bombs, and the pipe bombs? Not a total waste, my talent for making bombs came in handy in my father's family business.

Someday, one day soon, I'll be mailing you a special package or maybe I'll attach something with great affection to your car. Until that time, allow me to give you a bit of advice, if I were you, I'd never open another package. If I were you, I'd start calling a cab. If I were you, I'd start taking the subway. If I were you, I'd run and hide. Yet, no matter how fast you run and where you hide, now that I know you're not a priest and now that I know you not only lied to me but also you used me, there's no place that you can hide that I won't find you.

The funny thing with explosives Preston, you'll never know when and you never know where a tragic and fatal accident will happen. Then, boom! Just like that, you're in pieces. Just like that. "Boom!" You're dead.

With your imagined connection to God, perhaps you should start praying in advance now. In the meantime, I suggest you don't open any packages. I suggest you take care in starting your car. I suggest you always look over your shoulder. I suggest you not answer your door when Big Louie and Crazy Vinnie pay you a visit with me sitting out in the limousine.

Give my love to Tara. Tell her I said, "Hi."

Goodbye Preston and I do mean Goodbye. I'll be seeing you at your funeral. We always pay our last respects with a nice floral arrangement.

Angela