Mr. Sir, Is That You?

My Soothing Sir,

That first night after I texted you after all those years, I had trouble sleeping. My head was still reeling with the reality that we had just exchanged messages. I felt surreal. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that we had actually communicated. The next day at work it was all I could think of, and I know there was a part of me that couldn’t quite believe that it was indeed you.

With that thought process weighing on my mind, I surprised myself (and you) by ringing you out of the blue the next evening after work. I kept thinking that if I heard your voice, it would all be genuine. I had never forgotten your voice. I needed and wanted that connection to be able to accept that it really was you who was responding to my messages.

I dialed your number and you answered. I heard you. You said words and sentences to me, but I felt bewildered. I could tell it was you, but you didn’t sound as I had remembered. I felt let down and dismayed with myself. I was appalled to think that my memory of your voice – the one thing I had prided myself in remembering – was flawed. I tried to hide my disappointment in myself. I couldn’t contain my emotions, and I finally disclosed to you what I was thinking. You told me later how that made you feel. It’s really quite comical now, and I think I’ll let you finish this story.

Suffice it to say, that it all worked out in the end, and the puzzle was solved. I wasn’t as erroneous as I assumed. You are Sir – voice and all.

Mesmerizingly yours,

Darling

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My Shocking Darling

I remember that call all too well. Yes we had texted earlier in my day, and I had postponed an appointment so we could continue to do so. When I finally left I headed out and I can remember standing at my friend’s back door with tears streaming down my face. I was an absolute dribbling idiot. I headed home and cracked a bottle of wine. I just sat at my computer desk and tried to distract myself by playing some old computer game or another.

Night began to fall and there I was sitting in my darkened home with no light other than the evil glow of my neglected computer screen. There was a knock on my door and my same  friend had arrived to check on my well being.  It did not look good.  Here I was sitting alone in the dark inhaling a bottle of wine. All I could do was think of you. My thoughts and emotions were a blur. I reassured her that I would still be alive in the morning, and that I would not be on the next flight to America. She left and I continued my consumption. 

Well one bottle led to another and suddenly it was 10.00pm and my phone rang. I knew it was you. I had saved your details into Tango. At that point I don’t think I even knew that Tango had voice capabilities. I remember registering a modicum of surprise at that fact. In the context of my day it was small change however, the fact we had spoken for the first time in 14 years was the killer on that front.

You my love, had at least been to sleep. I however was one glass away from finishing my second bottle of what was quite frankly pretty awful wine and I was emotionally overwrought when my phone began ringing. Of course I answered, there was never any question. I remember being devastated when you said I didn’t sound the same. As you know I have always been a little vain when it comes to my voice. I tried to explain that the emotion and the wine weren’t helping. I could tell by the incredulity in your tone that you were more than a little doubtful on that fact. If for one moment I had thought you would call I would have remained stone cold stone sober. 

So there you have it. Our first conversation after fourteen years, and I was an emotional drunk. Why did you call again?

Imbibingly Yours

From Sir With Love

©2014  Darling and Sir

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All of Me

Love is beautiful.  Love is real. Love is true.

Believe.

Love Darling and Sir

Fifteen Years Ago on March 7th

Dear Sir,

I met you sweetheart. You held me in your arms. You kissed me. You loved me. You changed my life.

I love you.

Yours truly,
Darling

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My Dearest Darling

Has it been fifteen years? I l still remember that woman who walked down the airport ramp pushing her luggage on a trolley. She came to meet a stranger in a strange land. You changed me too my Darling. I love you still.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2014 Darling and Sir

I Hold a Candle For You Too

My Dear Sir,

For our 100^th letter, I want to share another song that you play. I love knowing that you’re playing it. I love that it’s your beautiful hands working their magic over the keys.

Thank you for sharing yourself with me. I know you. I see you. I love you.

Love always,

Darling

 Sir Playing Elton John’s Candle In The Wind

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Hello My Darling

I love that you love me. I also love that you love that I play the piano.

Happy 100th. This was all your idea and so the credit must go to you.

I love you my precious Darling

From Sir With Love

I Sweeten Your Tea With Scandal

My Dear Brooding Sir,

In the mornings you have a ritual of making tea. I was not a big tea drinker myself except for the occasional fruity and herbal teas steeped from a bag. We had plans for the day, and you wanted to go shower and get ready. Mindful of the time, I volunteered to make your tea.

You gave me the world’s quickest tea making tutorial then went off to do your daily ablutions. I remember looking at the tea leaves, the kettle, the mugs, and thought to myself, “Okay piece of cake.”  I set off to make my Sir his morning tea. I was happy.

When you came into kitchen looking and smelling damn fine, I had your cup of tea ready. You came over and hugged and kissed me. You smiled and thanked me for making your tea. I watched you take your first sip. Then you took another. You told me that I made really good tea, and that it tasted better than when you made it. We started cooking breakfast with you intermittently sipping your tea. I think you got suspicious after a time, because you asked me how I made the tea exactly. I showed you what I had done. You started laughing. I asked you what was so funny. You explained that I used 3 times as many tea leaves that you did, so no wonder it tasted so good. I became exasperated because you never said how much to use (I guessed), but you just kissed me again and told me it was fine.

I took the tea strainer and pot over to the sink to clean them. You told me that you just throw the wet, used tea leaves out in the garden. “You’ll see where,” you said. I took the pot out to the garden and looked around. I walked around looking for the obvious tea leaf graveyard. I started feeling foolish because I couldn’t see where you threw the damp leaves. After taking two turns around the garden, I decided that it didn’t matter where I threw the leaves. I took off the lid and hurled the wet mass. Evidently I throw like a girl, because that soggy mound went flying and hit the side of the garage. It stuck to it briefly before it slid down the wall to the ground leaving a slick trail. I was relieved that there weren’t any witnesses to see my disgraceful treatment of innocent tea leaves.

As I turned to go back into the house, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. There was Maisy staring at me with her mouth open in disbelief. I’m sure she was trying to figure out what this dumb American was attempting to do by tossing tea leaves at the garage. I smiled and waved and hurried inside.

When I confessed to you what I had done and the nosy eyewitness, you laughed and laughed and laughed some more. You apologized for not showing me where to put those leaves. You were sitting on a chair by the table and continued to laugh. You said to me, “Come here.” I walked over to you and you put your arms around me and kissed the daylights out of me for who knows how long. Needless to say, I forgot about the tea, the leaves, the garage, the beast next door, and even what day it was.

Puckeringly yours,

Darling

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My Infused Darling

You made a damn fine cup of tea. I know it was not your beverage of choice and being a tea heathen your only experience was with the bagged variety.

I remember quite fondly that moment when you told me the Maisy Beast had witnessed your assault with a deadly tea leaf on my garage wall. If it was one of your fruit or herbal teas I could actually describe it as a drive by fruiting. I still long to see the look on her face at the moment of impact. She would have been torn between racing to the phone to alert the media and standing firm to stare at you down in an attempt at humiliation.

Thank goodness she was of an age where new technology was slow to be adopted. She didn’t own a mobile phone and even a cordless phone would have been beyond her comprehension. How happy she would have been to be on said phone/s gossiping to her friends while witnessing your transgression. It would have been Maisy Beast Nirvana.

Back to the tea however. Being a man means more is always better, to put it quite simply “more is more.” More air in the tyres – better. More food on my plate – better. More wine in my glass – better. More tea in my pot – well of course it had to be better?

Come back to me my Darling. I’d love a cup of tea, and only you can make it how I like it.

Spooningly Yours

From Sir With Love

©2014 Darling and Sir

Hey, Guess What

My Clever Sir, (To listen to Darling read her letter, click on the greeting.)

The other day we were talking on the phone, and I said, “Hey, guess what?”

You immediately responded, “I love you too.” We both went quiet and then you chuckled, because you knew you got me. You instinctively knew what I was going to say and preempted me.

How cool is that, my dear Sir? Pretty damn cool indeed.

Drats, I was foiled again.

Always yours,

Darling

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My Quick Witted Darling, (To listen to Sir read his letter, click on the greeting.)

It is a rare day indeed when I can say I have foiled you. You keep me very much on my toes. In fact I am there so often that I was thinking of investing in some pointe shoes (there’s a picture none of us need.)

I love telling you that I love you.

                    My Darling I love you.

I sometimes feel that I don’t tell you enough. I know we tell each other all the time but I need to take the opportunity to get in first when it presents itself.

Let me say it again. My Darling I love you.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2014 Darling and Sir

The Wedding

My Darling

This will be a difficult letter to write and no doubt to read. I am going to tell you about my wedding. I have only been married once, and you and I both know I married the wrong woman.

I married the woman whom I abandoned you for. I knew before the day that I was making a mistake. For someone who is used to making decisions, decisive decisions, bold decisions, important decisions, I was like a rabbit in the headlights. I was inert. I was catatonic. I was frozen in fear.

It was April 2002, a little over three years since you had left these shores. The day was perfect. The morning was brisk and clear, as the hours passed the late morning witching hour arrived. The were no clouds in the sky. A faint breeze troubled the autumn leaves, and the guests milled in as I awaited my fate.

I worked the room like I was running for office, chatting to a family member here, laughing with an old friend there. Outwardly I was calm, confident, and very much in control. My wife to be? Well, as was her bent, she was late. I was not surprised; it fairly summed her up. I received a message that she was here and ready to proceed but, her sister was now detained. She was detained despite the fact that I had hired her family a cottage on the grounds of where we were to have our reception, no more than five kilometres from the site of the nuptials.

I had spoken to the guests, made light with the minister, joked with the bridal party and then a moment of silence descended upon me. There I was standing alone in the church, yet surrounded by people minutes away from signing the contract of marriage. I looked down the aisle and up at the stained glass window atop the eastern side the building, and in my moment of self reflection I thought of you. I knew it was you who should soon be by my side. I knew it was you who should be sharing my vows. Alas the moment was lost, my cowardice returned and it was on with the show.

We both know I went on to marry that woman. She proved my undoing in more ways than one. But as much as I would love to blame her, I cannot for it was at my own feet that the blame was to lay. I was the one who had forsaken you for her. I was the one who could not wait, and who did not communicate. It was and still is my cross to bear.

My life slowly unraveled from that point on. It was the moment that all hope was lost. The moment I lost my moral and ethical compass.  It was meant to be the happiest day of my life. It was the moment when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had truly lost you.

Regrettably Yours

From Sir With Love

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Dear Sir,

I am really struggling how to respond to this letter. I have so many mixed emotions running through my head right now. I know one of the things I wondered about all those years was whether or not you had married. I also questioned if you had children, how your parents were, and if you were happy. We mentioned and discussed these in earlier letters.

I am truly at a loss when it comes to your wedding day. It hurts like hell to know the place where you were married. It makes me realize that I was undoubtedly out of your life. I know you say I was not forgotten, but it doesn’t feel that way. There is no way I could have married in a place that meant so much to both of us – a place that reminded me strongly of you. I would have honored and treasured your memory, our memory.

That cottage you rented for your in-laws to stay in was our quaint cottage. I wonder which of your endearing in-laws slept in the bed we broke. (Of course the bed could have been a different one, or in the very least repaired.) How charming to think they slept in the bed where we made love, in the room where we made love, and bathed in the bathroom we shared. I don’t know what to say or think about all of this.

You were in total control of that day. You were in charge of your decisions. You made your choice. You could have walked away. You could have decided that you didn’t want to be with her. You could have found someone else – any one – with whom you could have been happy. As you stated on another blog of yours you dated many smart and beautiful women, were successful, and you married the woman you loved. Your actions tell me that I was a mere speck on your memory wall, and I have a hard time believing otherwise.

I expect the only thing left for me to say here is I am sorry. I am genuinely sorry that you did not find happiness in your decisions. I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to have joy. I am just so dreadfully sorry.

Forsakenly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

The Exposé That Exposed Our Exposition

My Dear Crisp Sir,

I know how you love your clothes newly washed and ironed. Well my dashing Sir, we have been virtually steamed. We have been Freshly Pressed in our corner of the blogosphere world here on WordPress. I am humbled that we were likened to those famous lovers Heloise and Abelard.

I do find it a tad bit overwhelming, Sir. As you know, sharing our story wasn’t easy for me. I realized what was private and dear to me, may not be to someone else. We opened ourselves up to criticism. Because neither of us are wallflowers, we decided to go for it.

I love you. Period. To me that is the best headline-heart-news ever, and it’s so natural. Thank you for taking this journey with me. There is no one else I would choose to walk down this path with; I adore you immensely.

Productively yours,

Darling

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My Corresponding Darling

All I can say is what happened while I slept? Here I was in the land of Oz and unbeknownst to me we had been selected to appear on the Freshly Pressed page and voila hundreds more views and dozens more followers. I blame you!

As I woke up groggily, I reached for my phone (as is my want to see what message you may have sent me) and along with one of your more concentrated series of “text bombs” there were close to 200 page views, multiple likes and quite a few comments from the world of WordPress. Now no doubt there would be users of this site for whom those numbers would be quite passé. For me they were extraordinary. I got quite a rush. The hits are still coming.

I should say that the good people at WordPress did give us a heads up by way of email. I must, however, be honest here and admit this out loud; I didn’t check my mail and therefore missed it.

The entire blog was your idea. The concept of letters was your idea. The only refinement I made was to request the right of reply. So here we are my Darling. The Sir Letters has enjoyed its first minor dose of notoriety and we have had a taste of increased visitation along with page views by the hundreds. Would it be crass of me to say I’ve quite enjoyed it?

Being compared to Heloise and Abelard was, quite frankly, astonishing. It is a parallel worth considering, but hopefully we will not be parted for twenty years to then only briefly see one another one last time before we shuffle off this mortal coil. Nor do I hope we need a famous French General’s wife to exhume our remains then rebury us together for all eternity. I have far more immediate and, quite frankly, far more carnal dreams than that.

We have bared our souls to the world and, in the main, the world has not found us wanting. Undoubtedly things will settle back down again, and our friendly little community will continue on. The headlines for me are that you went looking for me, you eventually found me, you still very much love me and I still very much love you. Give me a rooftop to shout it from.

Pressingly Yours

From Sir With love

©2014 Darling and Sir

You Should Run For Office

My Election Winning Darling

I referred in an earlier letter to your impact on the Mayor of Cessnock. The night we dined with my mother and her friend Joy at the Casuarina Restaurant we also met the local mayor. He was an acquaintance of Joy’s.

Now let’s be honest here, he took quite a shine to you. He liked your spirit and your American accent along with some other more obvious assets. Now that was all very good and amusing but the next day we saw him again, and he did not try to hide his obvious pleasure. This time I was wearing a dodgy US army T Shirt (well it wasn’t dodgy just that I always wear a collar and felt uncomfortable being out in anything less). He made a B Line for you. I am not sure he even noticed me.

I should point out that he was old enough to be your grandfather, in his case a rather lecherous grandfather. He just happened to have some trinkets (pens and pins, that sort of thing) with him and he proceeded to ply you with them. I am not sure if he realised you couldn’t vote. I don’t think it was your electoral abilities he was trying to win over anyway.

I just stood by your side and basked in your glory. You were more than match for him and his quite frankly pathetic attempts to gain affection. I loved being able to detach a little and watch you interact with my world. You shone. Your intelligence, wit and beauty were preeminent. I loved being able to watch. I long to do so again.

You Will Always Have My Vote

From Sir With Love

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My Politically Incorrect Sir,

I remember the mayor, and I still have his city council pins kicking around somewhere. I’ve seen them recently, but I just don’t know where exactly.  He was so excited to give me those pins.

I honestly don’t recall his age, but I remember that he talked and talked with me while laying his charm on thick. I do believe it was my accent much to my chagrin and not my winning personality.  I daresay he was a little bit intimidated by you (who isn’t?), but that wasn’t surprising to me considering how refined you were and are.

Ahhh yes the sight of you in that US Army tee shirt was pathetic. You hated it, which is why we were shopping for new shirts for you at the time we saw the mayor again. I had never forgotten that you preferred collared shirts. I have no idea why I retained that memory, but I did. I thought I had left that Army shirt with you (I only wore it to sleep in anyway).

I think you always view me in the best light possible, but that is part of your charisma my love.

Civilly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

Touchy Feely

My Dear Sir,

Do you remember how often my hands would stray to your hair? I couldn’t help myself. I loved running my fingers through it. I was always waiting for you to tell me that I did it too much; you never did though. You never complained once.

Many times while you were playing the piano for me, I would get up and stand behind you at the bench. I would massage your shoulders and neck. My fingers played with your hair. I rubbed your ears. I loved touching you. I was constantly doing it. You’d lean your head back against my shoulder and close your eyes while playing. That’s when I’d kiss your forehead and face.

My hand would wander to the back of your neck while in the car as well. It was very calming to me to touch you while driving during a long, barren stretch of road. As you stated in “Driving” your hand was always on my knee. I think we found comfort in touching each other.

There were also the few times my hand found its way to your hair during dinner if we were sitting next to each other as opposed to across the table. You’d always take my hand in yours after a while and start to kiss it while staring into my eyes. Good grief Mr. Sir you would make me melt. I can still feel your lips on my fingertips.

It’s a wonder we ever left our rooms, but I suppose we needed to eat once in a while. Oh, and get some fresh air. I wasn’t worried about the exercise though; we got plenty of that.

Lovingly and touchingly yours always,

Darling

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My Tactile Darling

I do remember how much you touched me. It was a thrill every time. From that first hug at the airport, to holding your hand in the cab on the way home to our first kiss in my home later that evening. Oh how we touched.

When I played the piano? Well I am not sure how I restrained myself and if truth be told on more than one occasion I clearly did not. Your hand in my hair was the most devilish distraction. How could I hope to play?

My hand on your leg whilst driving? I could not forget that. I remember the first time I did it you exclaimed that you may not be able to concentrate. I didn’t move it an inch. It remained firmly in place for our entire time together. Your hand running through my hair as we drove; well I remember that as well. Its a wonder we even made it out my driveway.

I think what I loved best though about touching you in public (I trust you note the distinction I have made here) was holding your hand and staring into your eyes. I was like a man drowning in a sea of ecstasy.

I long to touch you again; to hold you, smell you, taste you and love you. 

I can still feel you now.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir

©2013 Darling and Sir