Dear Lindsey

Part 1

May 27th, 2015

It was after their first show in Europe, Stevie was sitting on her bed in her expensive hotel suite in London. Karen had already left, and now, she was all alone by herself, trying to relax while some stupid series was on the TV. Her mind wandered back to their show tonight and she couldn't help but think about Lindsey. How he had looked at her tonight, how he had accidentically brushed against her one or two times on stage, causing shivers to run all over her body.

She closed her eyes, pushed her head back into the matress and tried to remember how soft his lips and the weight of his body pressed on hers used to feel, his hands roaming her skin, touching her, his tongue sucking, his teeth biting her.. She sighed in frustration. It had been ages since he had touched her like that! Honestly, it had been years since anybody had touched her like this. But with Lindsey it had always been different. Being a rockstar on the road, she had slept with a lot of men in her life but no one had ever come close to Lindsey's skills in the bedroom and from time to time she loved remembering their love-making. She may be old but not dead and she still had her needs.

Her fingertips moved lightly over her body and when her fingernails brushed her breasts through the thin fabric of her black silk nightie, she felt her nipples harden by her touch. She let out a soft moan. Oh, how much she wished right now it was him touching her like that...

A familiar tingling ran through her private area and she pressed her thighs together to feel the most out of it.

All of a sudden, an idea came up on her mind and she sat upright in her bed, grabbing her beautiful signature letter paper from her nightstand, where Karen had left it, and a pen.

Dear Lindsey!

We haven't spoken in awhile, you know like really spoken, and maybe that's my fault. Maybe it's yours; I don't really know. And though, even after all this time, I have to admit that yes, I am still wildly attracted to you. I assume that I'm not what you want anymore, it's been years since we shared more than a casual kiss on the cheek but still... It's not that I wanted to stop talking to you or seeing you, but you've made it obvious that you simply aren't attracted to me anymore by choosing your much younger wife and a family life over me - and I'm fine with that, now. You seem happy to me and that's what I always wanted for you. But sometimes, I go back in time and remember our last night together back in 1997 when we were seeing each other, if you want to call it that..

Stevie took a moment to read what she had just written, then went on scribbling on the piece of paper.

And even after all this time, 18 years to be exact, I still find myself thinking about you. If you think about me like I do about you when I touch myself from time to time and my loneliness (that I'd never admit to anybody) is eating me up once again. You seem to be my sweet little oasis in my desert of celibacy.. That's how I see you.. You're my fantasy, my dream within a dream, that I keep in a secret corner in the back of my mind.. You'll never know the truth; you and I can't have these discussions face-to-face, remember?

I want to talk to you specifically about the last time we had sex. Since you have such a shitty memory to begin with, I want to know if you remember what happened that night. I do, and I think about it often. So often lately, in fact, that it's kept me up nights, my own hands tracing the path that I remember yours taking. It's kept me up thinking to the point that I'm now writing this letter.

I think it was a Friday night. It was cold outside, I remember, but wanting to impress you, I wore a low cut v-neck dress (of course, in black) with some thin nylons (yes, the sheer ones you love so much because they look sexy on my legs). I figured it really wouldn't matter, seeing as how your hotel room was just three doors down from mine and I just got back from having a few drinks with the girls. I remember being a little tipsy and feeling extremely bold that night - maybe one of the many reasons why I came knocking at your door to see you, though we had already broken up (again) back then, and Kristen was pregnant with your first child.