Wednesday
Chiswick
My darling,
I have just read your letter and my bowels are yearning within me. I’m one big ache for you today. It was bad enough even before I got your letter, because on the way home on the bus I developed an outsize in erections which made my bellbottoms look like a miniature marquee. Sweetheart, I’ve never ached for you so badly as I do today and it is not all sexual desire, either. My one desire at the moment is to hold you tight and to lose myself in you while you fuss me and love me and do and say and leave unsaid all those things which only you ever can do. Angel mine, it’s stupid that in the 20th century the English language contains only the inadequate and hackneyed phrase “I love you”, but I do, sweetheart, more and more with each passing day, and that is why I have been so utterly morose and churlish to everyone and everything since you have been ill. Sweetheart, do tell me how you are. I keep asking and asking but you just ignore my inquiries.
Angel, great as the temptation is, I mustn’t drift off into a coma because if I do you’ll never get this letter. By the way, I didn’t get one yesterday, but I suppose that was because you were busy coming home on Monday. I’ll let you off this time, but don’t let it occur too often. Many thanks for all the news in your letter but I won’t refer to all the things in it – just the points that need answering. My letter which has crossed yours gives the latest leave information and we have nothing to add to that yet. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.
It looks as if there was a plot against Harold and you having an afternoon out. I’m glad to know you have a three-beer limit still before you get all sensuous in your mind. What did Chris think of the three specimens she saw exhibited? What a shame she was in front because without your glasses on you’d have got a close up before you realised it! So you wouldn’t talk about me, huh? Alright, young woman, I’ll settle with you.
I’m still not clear in my mind as to what the children got from various people. Is there any chance of them writing me before the Xmas impressions fade from their minds – if that hasn’t already happened. I’d like to know what they got from various sources. I’m glad you like your jumper and that it fits well. But should it tuck in at the back? I thought it would keep its shape better if it was just worn over the skirt. By now you’ll have the money for the frock and don’t forget you promised to tell me something about it.
On the religious question, you have raised a lot of points which had honestly not occurred to me and I think you have been very honest about the whole thing. I’ve always had complete faith in your fairness on this subject more than on any other and I always will, love. And, despite the other bedroom occupations we have, we must try to spare a little time to talking that matter over when I’m home. Oh, angel, the mere thought of our bedroom has raised John to full fury again. I’m sure that at the first sight of Mary he’ll tear her to pieces. How is Mary these days – and nights? Still her own loyal self, waiting to welcome the master home with all her arms? What a delightful welcome she does give me. I can feel her arms, so many of them, wound tight round John in so delightful an embrace. Passionate and yet tender, urging him to still greater efforts and yet warning him to be gentle. Oh, angel, it can’t be long now, can it? What wouldn’t I give to feel you hard pressed in my arms now, or to know that tonight I would have your mouth pressed close to mine. I never can satisfy my desire to kiss you. I never have been able to. Oh, my sweet, my sweet, it will be grand to have your mouth close to my ear as you reach the climax and to hear all those dear delightful things you never fail to say. We must experiment a little more on this leave. What do you say? Will you think of some nice things to do? Although you, as you are, are so delightful.
Precious girl, I’m in a bad way today. Xmas is gone and yet the days haven’t begun to slip past for me yet, perhaps because I want them to do so. Stella, my own, I adore you and could make you so very happy if only you were here today, trembling beneath my hands. I have never got over that delightful power I have over you, to make you tremble at will. Angel, I can feel your lovely body beneath my hands now, and even my face is getting flushed. I can feel it and I must stop before something happens.
Sweetheart, there’s no news except that I love you more deeply and gloriously than ever. Do tell me how you are. See how many things you can do now which you couldn’t do a week ago, and let me know. Don’t forget, angel. And please can the children write to the man they used to call Daddy, ages and ages ago?
Bye, my love, before I start all over again and miss the post.
Always your own,
Arthur X
P.S. Calendar not arrived so far, nor tobacco. Without fail let me know what you did about paying for the tobacco. Will you please send me a copy of the handbook I did about Bootle. There’s one in the bottom drawer of my desk, I think. Did you ask Dave about a Xmas picture? If there’s any chance, perhaps you can include the fort, but most of all I want a decent picture of the three of you. I can take it!
Dec 301942