Home > PS... You’re Mine(3)

PS... You’re Mine(3)
Author: Alexa Riley


SGM Gunner, USMC


I think for a second about what to write in the postscript. I want to put something that makes her smile, but then I’m afraid I might come on too strong. She seems like a nice girl, and I don’t want to scare her off.

Deciding to leave it blank, I seal the letter up and put it back in the self-addressed return envelope.

Now, I wait.



“What’s this?” Tammy picks up the letter that has been sitting on my kitchen counter for three days now. I’m a little ashamed of how much wear the thing has gotten. Three days and I’ve read it probably thirty times.

“Drop it.” I point my cookie-dough-covered finger at her, which seems to have no effect, because she keeps reading the letter, a smile on her face. It makes me wonder if I looked just as goofy every time I’d read the thing.

“Wow. Six-five. That’s freaking huge. That’s more than a foot taller than you.” She eyes me up and down like she’s taking in my height for the first time.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying he sounds like one of those guys who could pick you up and fuck you against a wall.”

“Your husband is barely six foot; how do you know anything about wall-fucking?” I tease, because Tammy herself is almost six feet tall.

“He doesn’t fuck me against walls, but he fucks me everywhere else.” She wiggles her eyebrows, letting me know that not having wall-fucking in her life isn’t that big of a deal. “I’m just saying, you could do some wall-fucking and tell me if it really works like in all those books we read.”

I giggle at her. Tammy is my best friend, and we’re about as opposite as two people can get. She’s tall where I’m short, she’s got blonde hair where mine is bright red, and I seem to have all the curves, even though she eats my cooking just as much as I do because she lives next door and is always stealing food right out of my fridge, even when I’m not even here.

But what really makes us different is our personalities. She loud and bold and doesn’t have one shy bone in her body. There’s no filter from her mouth to her brain, and I adore her for it. She talks about sex as much as I talk about baking. Maybe that’s another reason I’m still hanging on to my V-card. With all her sex talk, I often feel like I know all about it. Every single detail.

“Give it up already. Don’t make me beg. I only do that in the bedroom.”

“Pretty sure I’ve seen you beg for food.”

“Don’t change the subject. Who’s this giant writing you dirty letters?”

“That was not dirty,” I retort, but hide my smile by looking down and rolling the cookie dough into perfectly spherical balls. I’ve been so giddy over the letter. It’s as if it really was a love letter or something.

“He was describing his bod for you. Sounds like it’s dirty to me! Even more so when the letter is for you. Now, give it up.”

I bite my lip, trying not to rock a stupid giant smile like I do every time I think about the letter.

“It’s silly. I did one of the pen pal letters with the class, and that was the letter I got back. But now I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, which, like I said, is silly. It’s just a note, no big deal.” When I look over at her, her face is all soft. “What?” I ask, wanting her to stop looking at me like that. For some reason I’d rather have a dick joke right now than that look.

“You’re all dreamy over some guy. I like it on you. Your face is so warm, it’s glowing. It’s sexy.”

I snort at the word. No one has ever thought of me as sexy.

“I’m warm because I’m baking.” I place the cookie balls on the baking sheet and slide them into the oven. I make my way over to the sink and wash the rest of the dough off my hands.

“What’s with the blank PS?”

I shrug, having wondered myself. Then her gaze darts over to the Polaroid camera sitting on the counter, and her eyes widen.

“You were going to take a picture!”

“Was not,” I lie.

“You freaking liar. How many have you taken already and trashed?”

I scrunch my face at her and glare, but she just bursts out laughing. Because she’s right. There are about twenty pictures in the trash can at this very moment.

“Let me do it. Come on. I’ll make sure you look hot.”

“I changed my mind. Besides, it’s not about looking hot. We’re just pen pals.”

“The man wants a pic. He’s serving our country. I feel it’s your duty to let me take a picture of you to send him. Just think about the poor man over there, pining away for a picture of you.” She says it like she really feels sorry for the guy, but hell if it doesn’t work.

“Fine,” I yield. I like the idea of giving him what he asked for. It’s just a picture. Not like I’ll ever meet him or have to see the look on his face when he sees it for the first time.

Tammy claps happily and picks up the camera.

“Show me those pearly whites.”

I tilt my head and give her a smile. The camera clicks, and the picture pops out. She waves it in the air, wanting it to develop faster.

“Perfect,” she says, and hands it to me. “The warm glow you’re rocking really shows. Now he has something to spank it to.”

“Shut your mouth!” I shout, not believing he would masturbate to a picture of me.

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