James Joyce's Love Letters with Michaela Watkins

TO NORA.
TH OF DECEMBER, 1909, DUBLIN.
OH, MY SWEET NAUGHTY GIRL,
I GOT YOUR HOT LETTER TONIGHT,
AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO PICTURE
YOU FREAKING YOUR CUNT, IN THE CLOSET...
HOW DO YOU DO IT?
DO YOU STAND AGAINST THE WALL WITH YOUR
HAND TICKLING UP UNDER YOUR CLOTHES,
OR DO YOU SQUAT DOWN ON THE HOLE
WITH YOUR SKIRTS UP, AND YOUR HAND
HARD AT WORK IN THROUGH THE SLIT
OF YOUR DRAWERS?
DOES IT GIVE YOU THE HORN NOW
TO SHIT?
I WONDER, HOW YOU CAN DO IT. HMM,
OH, DO YOU CUM IN THE ACT OF SHITTING, OR
DO YOU FREAK YOURSELF FIRST, AND THEN SHIT?
IT MUST BE A FEARFULLY LECHEROUS THING
TO SEE A GIRL WITH HER CLOTHES UP, FREAKING
FURIOUSLY AT HER CUNT, TO SEE HER PRETTY
WHITE DRAWERS, PULLED UP BEHIND HER AND
HER BUM STICKING OUT, AND A FAT BROWN THING
STUCK HALF WAY OUT OF HER HOLE.
YOU SAY, YOU WILL SHIT YOUR DRAWERS DEAR,
AND LET ME FUCK YOU THEN.
I WOULD LIKE TO HEAR YOU SHIT THEN DEAR FIRST,
AND THEN FUCK YOU.
SOME NIGHT, WHEN WE ARE SOMEWHERE IN THE DARK,
AND YOU FEEL YOUR SHYTE READY TO FALL,
PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND MY NECK IN SHAME,
AND SHIT IT DOWN SOFTLY.
[INAUDIBLE]
WHEN I PULL UP YOUR DRESS...
WELL, NO USE CONTINUING.
YOU CAN GUESS WHY.
JIM.
MMM, CHOCOLATE.