My Dear Brother,

Karl, things are getting bad. I would like to see everything through, but it has become impossible. What follows is all I know. If you hear anything, please let me know. When I have an address, I will be sure to inform you.

I’d known Alexandra only one day—one full day and one evening, really. We met at the embassy, at a party for the consulate’s daughter. She was one of the daughter’s friends, or so I assumed, though now I’m not sure. We talked about architecture—as you know, a special interest of mine—but right away I was more interested in her lewd eyes than in anything made by man. She had a way of laughing that inspired lust, and before the night ended we came within an inch of kissing. I can still taste her breath. I can still see those eyes, eyes I wanted to disappear into.

Before she took her leave, she mentioned ruins I’d never heard of and asked if I fancied a day trip. “Tomorrow?” she said playfully, “even though it’s really today, and if I don’t get out of here soon it will be yesterday.” She laughed again, a stunningly sexual laugh, and again we came within an inch of kissing. “I’ll take care of hiring the car,” she said. “Meet me out front here at ten.”

The next day, that same day really, was a Sunday, and I was out in front of the embassy promptly at ten. Alexandra was waiting. The car was something tiny, a Standard Superior, I think it’s called, polished within an inch of its life. Alexandra introduced the driver, a fellow named Aubin, and apologized that there wasn’t much room. “Do you mind if I sit on your lap?” she asked. “I’d be pleased to be your chair,” I answered. She laughed, and those lewd eyes touched my groin. Already I had the beginnings of an erection.

The roads were smooth at first, but then not. Alexandra discussed horsepower and aerodynamics with Aubin and I breathed her hair and absorbed the bounce and jiggle of her pillow-soft, apple-hard bottom. Several times Aubin stopped along the roadside and got out to tinker with one thing or another. “If we break down irrevocably, will you carry me back on your strong back?” Alexandra asked me. I assured her that I would. “You’re so kind,” she said, “a kind gentleman such as we rarely see these days,” and her bottom shifted and wiggled, even though the car was motionless. By the time we arrived at our destination, at least an hour later than we had planned, I’m sure I had a wet spot in my trousers, concealed, I hoped, by the pattern of the weave.

Aubin said he knew of a place in a town not far away, and he would be happy to bring us some sandwiches and beer or a bottle of the local wine while we explored the ruins. Alexandra readily agreed. I thought she wanted us to have some privacy, but when I sought to embrace her, she pulled away. “Not now,” she said sternly, but I caught a twinkle of lewd tease in her eye which I hoped belied the tone and sense of her statement.

“Isn’t it marvelous here?” she asked, after we had strolled the grounds for the better part of an hour. “The fresh air. The ageless buildings, crumbling to dust. Did you take a camera? You should take some photographs.” I had along my Leica Model II, a present I’d bought for myself with Mother’s birthday money. I removed it from my knapsack and, after adjusting the exposure and aperture according to my estimate of the light, aimed it at Alexandra. “Smile.”

“Oh, no, not of me,” Alexandra said, covering her face. “The pretty scenery.”

“But you are the prettiest scenery,” I said.

“Do you think so?”

“I do.”

“Really and truly?”

“Really and truly.”

“At least you should have the ruins in the background.” She kicked off her sandals and sat on the sun-baked earth in front of a crumbling wall.

“So beautiful,” I said, as I framed the picture. And then another, and another. I’m not sure Alexandra realized that because I was below her on the little hill, I could see quite a long way up her short dress, but maybe she was well aware, because at one point she let the dress slide off her shoulder, and I think it was only her erect nipple which kept her breast from being completely bared to the warm sun and the eye of my camera.

With that last tiny click of the Leica, Alexandra made an objection, or pretended to. “Nothing to worry about,” I said. “I ran out of film long ago. I’m just pretending.”

“Oh,” she said. It was impossible to tell if she was pleased or not. “Well, if you’re just pretending...” And she shrugged her dress well off her shoulder. Her breast, now completely exposed, was so beautiful in its creamy roundness, with its fat, pink, upturned nipple, that I almost forgot to take the ‘pretend’ photograph.

“Do you like my breasts?”

“Very much,” I said. I was going to add that they were the most beautiful breasts I’d ever seen, which was true, which I suspect will forever be true, but I recognized just in time the mistake such an admission would be.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, for just then something startled Alexandra.

“What is it?” I asked while advancing the film.

“Oh, nothing. Just a silly stick. For a moment I thought it was a snake.”

Sure enough, in the grass just a few feet from where Alexandra sat, lay a small stick, perhaps a foot long, a foot and a half at most. Alexandra reached for it and picked it up.

“It does have a forked tongue,” she said. “No wonder I was confused.” And she brought the stick to her mouth as if it were a cigar and pretended to take several hearty puffs. Then she waggled the stick, as if knocking off ash or flicking an elongated tongue. “Do you think I make a credible viper?” she asked.

“The finest,” I said. “I wish I were that snake.”

“Oh, you do, do you? And if you were a snake, you’d like to come into my mouth?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer this. Finally I decided on the truth. “Yes, in your mouth.”

“I see. And where else, Mr. Snake Man, sir?”

I used the camera to cover my inability to formulate a response.

“Here?” Alexandra said, stroking the snake stick between her breasts. “Or here?” and she moved the stick between her legs. I couldn’t be sure if the end of the stick actually penetrated her, and if it did, which orifice. I couldn’t even be sure if the stick touched her down there. The wretched camera was in the way.

A moment later, as if bitten, Alexandra jerked the stick away, flung it to the ground, and got to her feet. It was Aubin, the driver, approaching us. He carried a basket. Alexandra hurried to him, her sandals in hand. “Yahoo, Aubie!” she called out, “I am so famished.”

I packed the Leica in my knapsack. As an afterthought, in addition to a heart-shaped leaf that Alexandra may have been sitting upon, I picked up the little snake stick and stowed it in the sack, but not before determining that the tip of it was perceptibly moist.