25 SEPTEMBER, 2021

Dear Harry,

The slap that brought my relationship with "Melanie" to a bitter, shameful end had a surprising and equally shameful sequel. On my way back to my room, still shaking with righteous rage, I ran into Marie. And in an instant, my all-consuming love for Melanie evaporated into a new wave of hunger. I greeted this woman whose name I did not yet know and with whom I had never before exchanged a single word, and almost dragged her up the stairs to my room where, Harry, yes, I fucked her.

No other word for it. It’s a word I never liked and I’m sure not one you never used. But yes, I fucked her.

And, to be honest, she fucked me right back. But let me explain.

Marie was not one of us, not a graduate student, but you could tell at once that she was different from the other two-year teacher-training students. For one thing, she was clearly older than the students she habitually sat with in the dining hall where I first laid concupiscent eyes on her. In fact, she was a couple of years older than myself. She stood out not only for that reason, though, but especially for the joyful energy she projected, her constant merriment, and not least for the brilliant shimmer of her golden hair.

As I mentioned earlier, we graduate students kept for the most part to ourselves. In the dining hall, we ate together, a small group of friends. But for months now, at mealtime, my eyes had been drawn back time and again to the vision of that blond hair, that seductive, bubbling energy, that joyful smile.

Afterwards, impulsively, still bathed in the afterglow of those hot, erotic moments, I asked Marie if she’d like to join me on a camping trip I had already planned in Germany that summer; and to my astonishment, she immediately agreed. That trip is a whole story unto itself, Harry. Enough to say here that for months, and as it turned out, years after that first encounter, we sinned away hungrily together, on and off, until our hunger for each other’s body proved to have consequences we could never, at that moment, have foreseen.

Mea culpa, Harry. Mea maxima culpa.

Your wicked son, Peter