In the Mail

Compiled by Dan Kelly

Dear Crank,

I've read and enjoyed your letters for years, but I never believed they could be true...until it happened to me, that is!

One of my biggest fantasies has been to see my wife making love to another man, and I recently convinced her to help me make this sizzling fantasy a red-hot reality!

It was a sultry Friday night, and we visited a local bar. Sue was dressed in her hottest outfit, and I just knew that as soon as she sashayed in, every guy in the place wanted her. Who could blame them? Sue is 5'4", weighs 95 pounds, has enormous, milk-filled sacs for breasts and--even though we've had six kids altogether--she maintains the figure of a cheerleader.

Well, to make a long story short, we finally decided on a guy. His name was Ray, and in short order we told him what we were looking for. He looked Sue up and down, grinned, and within a half-hour we were back at our house.

After everyone stripped down to their unmentionables, Ray volunteered to fix a few drinks to get us all in the mood. You know, I'm not attracted to guys or anything, but let me tell you, Ray was packing at least nine beautiful inches of solid, throbbing manhood, and I couldn't wait to see him put it in my beautiful lady! Ray walked past me on his way to the bar, and as he did, he gave me a wink. I knew we had picked the right man for the "job."

Suddenly, I felt a bottle smash against my head, and as the room went black, I heard Sue let out a blood-chilling scream. In what seemed like only moments later, I woke up face down in a pool of my own blood. Looking around, I saw that Ray had robbed us blind: our furniture, television set, antique china; it was all gone. Sue sat in the center of the room, sobbing into her hands; her body a mass of bloody welts and bruises. Apparently, Ray had invited a few of his friends over, and had a little party with my beautiful lady. I suspect that Ray's buddies took a few liberties with me too, owning to certain abdominal pains that I won't tell you about.

Our lives are in ruin, and the domestic peace we once took for granted has been irrevocably shattered. Oh well, I just thought you might want to hear about it. Personally, I never thought it would happen to me.

Name Withheld by Request

Dear Crank,

I never thought it would happen to me! Sure, I read and enjoyed your letters many times before, but I always said, "Ah, that's bunk. It will NEVER happen to me." How wrong I was!

The other night, I was playing poker with a few of my buddies; guys I had known since childhood; real blood brothers, y'know? Well, we were sucking down the JD, smoking our Churchill rejects, telling dirty jokes and basically having a real guys' night out. I was on my way to drawing an inside straight, when Ray raises his voice, and says:

"Hey. Any of you fellas been with a guy before?"

We all kind of hemmed and hawed, and tried to ignore him, but Ray just wouldn't shut up. He kept going on about the beauty of the "love of tigers," and how there really wasn't any feeling quite like "having your fudge packed." I noticed that a few of the guys started drinking a little more heavily than usual, slamming down the Jack Daniels as if they were trying to find something, anything, to block out Ray's voice. I was doing the same, and I knew why. Ray was touching something inside each one of us, a part we denied was there, but which nonetheless WAS there. I mean, I knew I loved these guys, but didn't I maybe, just maybe, want to REALLY love these guys?

Two hours later, Ray started explaining how the real trick was in the manipulation of the prostate, then he sassily licked his eyebrows as if to illustrate. Well, that was that. Mike threw down his cards and muttered, "Oh, what the fuck. I'm in." We all knew what he meant by that. Within a half hour, the four of us were involved in a gladiatorial orgy the likes of which Ancient Rome had never seen. It was beautiful. I mean, you couldn't understand it if I spent a century explaining it to you. It was masculine, yet tender; after all, who else but a man would know what another man really wants?

Unfortunately, Ray--that flitty sonuvabitch--got it all on videotape, and he demanded ten grand from each of us on the spot, otherwise he'd send dubs to our wives, girlfriends, families and bosses. All our hard work, all our dreams: flushed down the toilet in a few heated hours of Spartan love. Since then, Mike has turned into a kind of walking dead man, afraid of his own shadow. Tom's been hitting the bottle even harder than before, and when I tried to bring up "that night" a few days ago, he pushed me against the wall and told me, "IT NEVER FUCKING HAPPENED! YOU MENTION IT AGAIN AND I'LL RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!!!"

Personally, life has become a bitter, lavender hell. I hang out in leather bars a lot, and in certain circles I've acquired the nickname of "Queen Bess." My parents found out somehow, and my father disowned me and told me he "never wanted to see my faggot chickenface in his house again."

I'm thinking of ending it all very soon. I want to crawl into a sewer and die. I am beneath contempt. I never thought it would happen to me.

Name Withheld by Request

Dear Crank,

I used to read your letters all the time, thinking they would never happen to me, but did they ever! Happen to me, that is!

One day, not too long ago, I was walking down the street. Just then, I noticed this beautiful girl walking toward me. Now, I mean that this girl was BEAUTIFUL! She had dark red hair, sparkling eyes, enormous breasts, an hourglass figure, child-bearing hips, and legs that went on forever. She wore a tight little black minidress, and when she walked, it was as if there was a metronome in her tush, ticking off sway after beautiful sway. I just knew that this girl's love canal could suck like an Electro-lux--I could just tell, you know?

Anyway, she's walking toward me, notices that I'm looking, and flashes me this 10,000 megawatt smile. As she came closer, I could see she was fondling her breasts, pointing them towards me like twin cannons of mammalian desire. She licked her lips until they were bright, bright red, and her eyes virtually screamed, "Come fuck me! Fuck me NOW!" Then I realized she really WAS saying that; smokily intoning all the things she wanted me to do to her; right then and there if necessary. It was a come-on, I knew it. This woman WANTED me. She'd do anything for me, no matter how cheap, sleazy or degrading.

Before I knew it, right there in the middle of the goddamned sidewalk, she peeled off her dress and let it drop liquidly to the ground. My God, she was perfect; a goddess of sex, and she wanted ME. The muskiness of her desire wafted about her like an expensive perfume. I sized her up one last time before I followed Mother Nature's edict.

Just then, I noticed that there was a slip of green paper on the ground behind her. Looking more closely, I saw that it was a twenty-dollar bill. I mean, someone losing a dollar, that I can believe, but TWENTY BUCKS!?! Holy crap!

I stepped around the girl and picked up the bill; then I went to a nearby gas station and bought a carton of smokes, and still had enough change for a six of Mickey's. Twenty bucks, wow!

I never thought it would happen to me.

Bob DuChamps, Yohan, Ohio

Dear Crank,

I always believed that everything in your letters happened, and I always hoped they would happen to me too. I mean, doesn't everyone have cheap and easy, guilt-free sex, all hours of the day, with people they barely know? I regularly fantasized about an interlude with a professional gymnast, or maybe even a sexcapade in a gravity toilet with a sexy female astronaut. These things CAN happen, right? I mean, Crank wouldn't lie to me, right?

Anyway, I've been married for twenty years to a boring yet dependable woman named Helen. She's good with our kids and keeps up the house, but she's an utter disaster in the sack. More often than not, our lovemaking ends with her falling asleep and me getting up and going downstairs to fix myself a stiff drink. Then I usually jerk off over a few magazines I have stashed away in the garage. I make my living selling wing nuts, for Christ's sake, I owe myself a little fun, don't I?

Sometimes I forget the magazines and think about a time when I probably could have had my own little Crank-style rendezvous. Y'see, back in college, I met a nice girl named Marcy. We had a few good times, but after graduation we kind of lost touch. Then about five years ago, I ran into her again at a hardware convention. She looked great. She'd been keeping herself up, and I thought I sensed a few come-hither glances on her part. Unfortunately, I was too chickenshit to follow her up on it. I mean, what if I was wrong? I couldn't have taken the rejection. I couldn't risk losing my day-to-day, humdrum, boring-as-hell but none-the-less secure life, right? We exchanged business cards and promised to stay in touch, but we didn't.

I always thought it would happen to me; but it was all a cruel hoax. My youth is gone; I blew it. Thanks for reminding me, you heartless fucks. I wish I was dead. I wish THAT would happen to me.

Name Withheld by Request, Topeka, CA