Here is a love-letter I wrote to one of them, an indirect description of somebody I choose to call by the letter “Y” to safeguard his anonymity.

Dear Y.

I loved your kiss yesterday. It was a new experience being in some very long arms, standing next to some very long legs.

Your kiss has put me in a terrible state : it inspired me for the rest of the day and at night it stopped me from sleeping. I went to bed well before my husband to be still awake when he came – he was not prepared to comfort me, either, but went to sleep immediately. I always thought you were a kind and considerate person. You certainly invaded my mind recklessly, torturing me with your absence.

It was lovely being forced to think about you all the time. I am sure you were able to sleep and did not hear me call Y, Y, Y did you do this to me ? I think I am addicted now. What you gave me tasted of more. My problem seems unsolvable : I feel another kiss from you would be a great relief. On the other hand it might well worsen my condition.

As I was thinking of you, I suddenly had a great shock : when would I see you again ? It is true I have to return a bottle to you, but you might not be in when I come. If I telephone beforehand, your wife might say it is enough for her to be there or else tell me to leave it on the doorstep. Fortunately I then remembered you promised me a book. You will have to bring me the book, won’t you ? Bring it during the week when everyone is gone, and bring a little time as well – I might have something to read to you.