...I get hard. Find myself staring at you and I have to snap myself out of it fast before anyone notices, especially you. Spend quite a bit of time resting heavy books in my lap when weíre at Gilesí place.
When youíre sleeping though, your eyes are hidden. Canít see me looking at you. Canít see into me in the way you seem to. Freaks me out. Sometimes I get the feeling you can read my thoughts. So I make sure you know what a disgusting thing you are. How much I hate you. Because I do. Donít forget that.
But when youíre sleeping, sometimes a bar of moonlight comes in through the basement window where the curtains donít quite close. It falls across your face, and your cheekbones are outlined in pale light. The rest in shadow.
Aw fuck. Iím going to be writing sonnets next. Youíre probably safe though. Never could remember the rhyme scheme. So, youíre a pretty handsome guy, okay? And you should see your lips. The top lip is thinner than the bottom, but perfectly shaped. And, swear to God, your lower lip has become like one of those songs you canít get out of your head. I keep seeing myself chewing on it lightly, pushing my tongue past it into your mouth and....
Okay. Back again. Had to go and take care of some business in the bathroom. So I could concentrate. Once I realized I was becoming Mr. Obsesso guy about watching you at night, I began sneaking looks during the day. Youíve got a great body, you know. I never see you working out, but your arms are built. And when you pull your t-shirt over your head and fling it in the corner--and canít you ever tidy up around here by the way?--and your abs kind of flex, I have to go to the bathroom and stay there for a while. Wait till you get covered up again. Okay, and take care of the little problem I get. You havenít noticed I spend more time in the bathroom than the average bear? Didnít used to. Just since you moved in.
So, Iím tired of it. Just want it to go away. Want you to go back to Gilesí place and let me have my peace of mind back. Maybe just writing this down will help. God, I hope so. Canít take it much longer.
Jesus Harris. Get a grip. And if you donít want me reading your girly letters, donít leave them lying around. Your sock drawer isnít exactly the last place Iíd look if I was interested in your feeble thoughts.
Oh, we need milk. 2% Donít want to get clogged arteries. Hate black coffee.
p.s. What makes you think I donít know you watch me during the night? Wanker.
Spike you bastard.
What are you doing pawing through my underwear drawer? Iíd have punched your fucking lights out last night if youíd been home. You asshole. Where the hell were you all night?
And I want that letter back.
You fucking bastard. I hate you.
p.s. Did I mention how much I loath your skinny white ass. You are scum. No, lower than scum. Youíre a bacteria. A creepy crawly little pustule of infection.
My my. What a temper. Didnít think you had it in you. And you love my skinny white ass. Said so in your letter. Black and white. Canít take it back. Sweety. Honey. My little brown haired billet doux.
And you canít have it back. Lost it.
p.s. You donít know how close you got to being buggered till your eyes bulged that night. Think those ropes could have held me? Vampire. Just in case youíd forgotten.