Dear Dick

I wrote this letter not so long ago, but I find it more and more relevant. Given how things are today. That’s why I’ve decided to share it, even though I’m somewhat embarrassed looking at it now. What can I say? There are just some moments that really do feel more like a novel than reality. I’ve changed the names for at least the semblance of privacy.


Dear Dick,


It had been so long, hadn’t it. And it was so good, wasn’t it. As good as it ever was when we were kids, though somehow better. Ha, maybe it’s because we didn’t have to do it on a golf course anymore and could do it in a room of our own and for days without pause. I can’t even remember if it was morning or evening when we went out for food again. How long had it been since we had last eaten? Since we had last even had a drink? I felt drunk in a way, but only off so long a time just lying in bed on, around, and on top of each other. I know that it was just a one time thing, that you have you’re own life back in Washington, but I’m glad that it happened. I will always love you.

But I’m also writing on a more serious note. I got to thinking on what would have happened if we had somehow slipped up. You know that I’m not poor by any means. I live quite comfortably and expect I will, but that is also because I live so well within my means. I mean if we had been less careful, life as I know it, would end. With my job, I could never hope to support a child. I mean I barely make enough to keep my cat at times. (I love Misty Tits, but lord she is expensive). Of course, I would also have to be a woman. But just imagine if I were and we weren’t careful.

Normally though I wouldn’t bring up these concerns. You know I’m not one to dwell. I hardly have the memory for it. But given your position today, I had to say something. Because you’re in a position to really make a difference. You could make that difference and see to it that women like me, but not so fortunate, are not left with a life irrevocably changed, and changed in such a way that only God could make it right. You’re a great man, a beautiful man (I know you don’t like it when I say so, but I can’t help it), and I’m trusting you to do the right thing.





Michael Loria is a fourth-year who pepper-sprays his omelets because they’re criminally delicious