The South American Experience: Matt's Letter

[NOTE: Matt has expressed an interested in being a guest blogger in the future. If you'd like to read more of Matt in future Tornado Slide posts, make your feelings known in the comments.]

“A Letter Written For Two Women I Saw On The South America Trip”

Hello again. Do you remember me? We met at the harbor in Montevideo where you work. You helped my good friend Dan and I after some retard in Buenos Aires fucked up our ferry reservations. I must say that I was entranced by your beauty. Your bright blue eyes were islands in a torrential sea of dark eyed Latin chicks. Your full, round, voluptuous breasts did not go unnoticed.

Let me get to the point. I love you. I think we should get married. I can just imagine how perfect our life would be together. I am not rich, but I could give you a decent life here in the United States. You wouldn’t even have to work. Our days would be spent hand in hand walking down tree-lined boulevards with flowers and bunny rabbits. Our nights would be filled with the mirth and moisture of love. Soon you would be pregnant with our first of many lovebabies.

I know that you will be a good mother to our children. The way you handled the problem with the reservations is proof of that. You made me feel so safe, so warm when all hope seemed to be lost. For the most part I will ignore and detest our children. Not so much because of the strain they will inevitably put on our finances, but because of the toll they will take on your body. After three or so children I will barely recognize you.

That is where you come in girl number 2. We caught eyes from a few tables away at Café Stranger in Buenos Aires. Your beauty is stunning. I would very much like you to consider the position of mistress. Although not glamorous, it does have perks: a private apartment, money for lingerie and a gym membership.

We could go on trips together to all the places you want to see. My wife will be busy at home taking care of our lovebastards. We will dine at the best restaurants, laze on private beaches and make sweet fuck on a nest of sea turtle eggs under a palm tree. I have to say “fuck” and not “love” because I am married and that would just be wrong, you understand. All this I offer. Also, I promise never to hit you, unless, of course, you were the stupid bitch that took the ferry reservations.

Affectionately,

Matt