Vive la lettre… or maybe not?

In a yet another moment of madness I decided to write Mr P a letter. No text message, no mail, but a good old-fashioned paper letter. I haven’t written a letter since my grand-ma died, around the year Finland got independent, and as I really am someone making something from nothing, I managed to write two pages of nonsense. My purpose was simply to make Mr P happy; this was thanks for the good old times together, for the two days he spent in Copenhagen, thanks for the chocolate, thanks for the champagne.

I could not know that his secretary opens his mail, and as Mr P wrote back, according to the expression on her face, she also had read my letter. He wasn’t referring to rooftop walking in Stockholm, neither to my adventures in Chichen Itza in Mexico (my minds travels, one thing leads to another) but to a small innocent sentence: “And I would always prefer kissing with you for one hour to 20 minutes of sex”. This was just to point out what a wonderful kisser he is.

.

Now the secretary is chasing the poor Mr P; can he really be such a wonderful kisser? She won’t leave him alone, she does anything in attempt to get Mr P to kiss her.

Why doesn’t he just confess to her that he is gay?

PS. Don't climb to the top of Chichen Itza if you suffer of acrophobia. I wish someone had warned me!