Dear Anne,

True confession: I never believed in love at first sight. I never believed I could fall in love with someone I met on the internet. If you asked me that question six weeks ago, I would have said it was ridiculous. Your letters fill me with unbounded joy. Each morning, I rush to my laptop first thing and look for your email. That's before coffee or shower or really waking up. I want to see what you have written, how you have responded to my jibberish.

You put light into my footsteps. Although I walk sedately with my easel and paints along the Parisian streets, I feel as though I'm skipping every place I go. That is because someone/somewhere is thinking about me and maybe loving me. I never thought I could fall in love like this—so utterly and completely.

I sold another painting yesterday morning. A man with a monocle, would you believe it. He studied each one with a distinctive air and finally settle on a street scene with umbrellaed sidewalk café tables. I have the feeling the old gentleman is either an art critic or owns a gallery. I thought monocles went out of fashion during the 1800s. He was an odd sort of chap, really.

I'm going to paint him. It's inspiration, you understand. I'm sure you do, since you are a writer. You must find inspiration in the same way I do. I'm pictures; you're words. Hey, maybe I'll illustrate your book. How does that sound? We'll work as a team. You write 'em and I'll draw for you. What fun! Say yes, Dear Anne.

My dreams are about you, Anne. Wild sexual dreams. You in my arms, me kissing your entire body. I can see your white skin against my dark sheets. Beautiful, sensual Anne. Have you had dreams about me? I visualize myself above you, canting my body to meet yours in an expression of never-ending love. I would endure everything of one taste of your deliciousness. Or is it all a fantasy? Do you dream of me? Dream a little?

I am a sexual creature. I won't deny my obsession with sex. It possesses me. I've had wild and crazy sex for the sake of having sex. It doesn't matter with who or where or why. Would it upset you if I confessed to having male on male sex? I liked it, but something in the back of my mind nags me about it. Woman or man, should it really matter? It's the experience, the instant pleasure that I seek.

Another true confession: I never left home until I went to college. I did all the high school stuff: football games, homecoming dance, prom, I took girls to the movies and pizza afterward. I crammed for exams and spent the summer lifeguarding at the lake. Normal teenage stuff, you know. When I went to college, I went wild. I slept around, developed an appetite for sex. Did I study? No. I hung out, had a fake ID and picked up nighttime companions I barely knew. Crazy, huh?

I discovered I was spinning my wheels. I wanted to paint. My life became a kaleidoscope. Every event, every person was a swirl of color—moving, changing, becoming something else. Finally, I had to get away, do something, become someone. I wanted to paint. The gap year is important to me. I want to find myself. I want your help, Anne. Please help me.

Come to Paris soon!

Love

Corey

xxx