You would not expect a story about the future to begin with an old-fashioned letter. Yet here we are; with the novelist Asha Winston, watching as she stands by her front door, turning an envelope in her hands. This envelope is where the story begins and I shall try to report it as fully as possible.
The envelope is smooth, velvet-textured, neon pink, with Asha’s name and address written in fancy black handwriting on the front. On the reverse are two rubber-stamped imprints; one of the outline of a vulva and one of a what looks like a blue bean-shape. As Asha inspects the envelope, she find that it really feels extraordinary – it’s made of paper that feels as sensual as the softest skin, or a well-worn cotton sheet. She cannot resist lifting it to her cheek, closing her eyes as she feels the silky paper touching her. She is almost taken off, from right there by her doormat, into one of those febrile fuckdreams – gifts often sent by her kind-hearted clitoris.
Now upstairs in her study, Asha sits with the letter, still unopened. It feels exquisite, like no other paper she has touched – a paper not yet discovered, perhaps. She thought of how it would feel if someone were to stroke her with it all over her body, especially in certain private places. The thought causes a flush of heat in her cheeks. Asha is surprised at the intensity of the reaction she is having to the letter. She puts it back down on her big oak desk. Not one to often be lost in a daydream, especially when she has a story to write, Asha wonders if she should have masturbated this morning – perhaps this is why she is getting so caught up in the letter. She just needs an orgasm. Asha doesn’t have time now though. She needs to get down to writing, but she knows her own mind; if she doesn’t open the envelope now, then she won’t be able to concentrate. It might even work its way into her story.
Asha turns the letter so it’s facing down, and begins to work a finger under the flap of the envelope. She finds it difficult to open, especially with short nails. Asha keeps her nails short because it helps in certain hot intimate situations where she might be sinking her fingers into someone – her recipients appreciate it. Her clitoris swells faintly as she remembers, while also sensing what pleasures may be foretold within the envelope. The letter is now open, and inside is a black piece of card, striking against the neon pink of the envelope. Asha extracts the card, which looks like an invitation, and on its dark surface – almost miniscule neat white handwriting. The language of the invitation is strange. It is written in English, but the style is unusual, like it has been written by another being trying to please a human with fancier words than are necessary. It was fiercely clever, yet adorable. What is for sure, is that Asha is holding the invitation of a lifetime – let’s take a look:
Dearest Asha,
