Dear Anne,

2006 has come and almost gone. According to the cliché you are a year older – but thanks to those magic pots of face cream, you’d hardly know it – and a year wiser.
Strange as it may seem, I think you may well have matured somewhat this year, and I’d like to congratulate you on that. After all, just because you can still fit into your school uniform, this is no reason to act like a teenager. But keep the uniform handy, please. You never know when we’ll need it!
From what your friends tell me, 2006 is the first year ever that you managed to avoid getting involved with unsuitable men. I understand that you have always had a preference for these sorts simply because they are unsuitable, thus allowing you to give reign to your renowned commitment-phobia. However, should you get tired of my ‘gentleman’ routine and feel the desire for a bit of rough, please don’t hesitate to ask. A little role-playing never hurt anyone.
I know this probably worries you somewhat, but your parents actually seem to approve of me. Being the first and only man you have ever willingly brought home to meet the family, it’s no surprise that the entire Sexton clan descended upon me like hungry buzzards at a juicy carcass. The questions they asked would have made an interrogation expert blush. But after probing, prodding and asking the same questions repeatedly to try to trip me up, from what I can glean anyway, they decided I might just be good enough for their darling daughter. Your brother went so far as to ask me if my intentions were honourable. I told them they were, but that I wasn’t sure that yours are.
If there is one thing I am concerned about it’s the fetish you have developed for expensive lingerie. I know, I know. You never hid the fact that you’ve always been attached to fancy bits of lace and silk, but until this year I hadn’t experienced the hard reality that a single brassiere could make a serious dent in a weekly pay cheque – my pay cheque that is.
Not that I’m complaining. There is nothing I like more than to see you swanning around the house wearing nothing but a garter belt, stockings, high heels and perfume. Still, I’m not sure that cooking dinner in this get-up is wise. Unless it’s all part of your evil plan to ensure I feed this lingerie addiction with ever skimpier and therefore more expensive scraps of clothing. It should be against your feminist principles. Bad, bad, bad girl!
While I am on the subject, why do you still insist on spending vast sums of money on sex toys? Surely you have enough at this stage? A lesser man than myself might worry. To be honest, I’m jealous. None of my electronic gadgets get quite the same reaction from me. It’s unfair, I tell you, a flagrant case of men being wantonly discriminated against.
Perhaps it’s just as well you have the toys. This week, I am a broken man – and there’s another three to go before we ring in the New Year. And I can just imagine what you’ll want to get up to on that momentous occasion. You filthy bitch!
Actually, my jaw is still in pain from last Saturday. I’m sure you’d have been more concerned for my health and safety had you not been in a post-orgasmic haze, but if I keep this up, my bottom jaw may permanently become detached. Don’t get me wrong, I rally do enjoy your constant demands for oral sex and cups of tea, it’s just that I’d be grateful for a rest every now and again.
Next year we’ll have to buy a new bed, because the springs on the old one don’t seem able to cope with all the hammering they’re getting. I’m all for loud lovemaking, but between the springs squeaking and your shrieking, it’s no wonder the people next door moved out. Although I have to say I felt like a stud when yer man gave me a sly wink and told me why.
I blame the bed’s demise on some of the positions you’ve been championing. As your sex slave, never fear, Mistress, I am willing to do whatever you desire, but is it really necessary to make me contort into positions that generally require three years of circus training to achieve? Just remember, it’s all fun and games until someone gets a hernia.
These little niggles aside, Anne, you’re the best girlfriend any man could hope for. You are smart, sweet, and very, very sexy. I count my blessings every day I am with you. 2006 has been a great year. We’ve had a lot of laughs and as many orgasms. We’ve tried new techniques, new places and new positions. It’s been wonderful, fantastic and more than a little sweaty. I may be exhausted, but I can’t wait to do it all again.
Now can I have a blowjob?
Your ever-loving and patient boyfriend,
Thomas