For those of you who read my previous guest post on Jeremy Hawn's blog, The Other Fifteen, here is a letter that was posted in response. Jeremy and I decided to do a blog swap (His picture is to the left). I posted a fantasy letter about Alex Rodriguez on his blog, and he posted the following in response:
A Love Letter From A-Rod
Dearest Grace,
I received your letter several days ago, but decided to let it’s message sink in for a while before replying. I can’t tell you how much your words meant to me. I want to let you know that I understand how you feel. I have often wondered what would happen if we were to ignore the pressures of our friends, families, the press, and my obligation to the Yankees and just run away together in lovers’ bliss. It’s no secret that I have a thing for strong older women. Remember: I dated Madonna, and she’s almost 20 years older than me.
Sometimes I think of leaving Kate to be with you. I can’t stop dreaming of stealing away to remote locations in your native Jamaica, kissing under water falls, rolling around on white sand beaches, eating deliciously spicy Caribbean foods until our bellies beg us to stop. And I know you are a delicious cook, stirring the pot with your sensuality. I would let you jerk MY chicken, if you know what I mean. But I believe our love is too forbidden. I don’t think the press, or my teammates, or my two children would understand what we have together.
How I long to shower with you in the locker room under Yankee Stadium, and kiss you tenderly, like I kissed my mirror image in that photo shoot for Details magazine.
How I long for a day when the world can accept our love, and not make jokes or question why we would be together. Some day I will leave it all behind. I’ll leave New York without telling a soul. I’ll look for you in the dance halls of Jamaican beaches, waiting for the day when you walk in and our eyes meet, knowing that we have beaten all the nay-sayers and doubters, and that our love will prevail over all. Then I will wrap my arms around you like my hands around a bat, and kiss you as our lips meet like a ball meeting a glove, then sparks will fly like the fireworks after a Yankees championship. We will spend the night dancing to Major Lazer’s Pon de Floor, paying no attention to the glances or the whispers, letting the outside world melt away as we get our freak on out on the dance floor.
How I long to shower with you in the locker room under Yankee Stadium, and kiss you tenderly, like I kissed my mirror image in that photo shoot for Details magazine.
How I long for a day when the world can accept our love, and not make jokes or question why we would be together. Some day I will leave it all behind. I’ll leave New York without telling a soul. I’ll look for you in the dance halls of Jamaican beaches, waiting for the day when you walk in and our eyes meet, knowing that we have beaten all the nay-sayers and doubters, and that our love will prevail over all. Then I will wrap my arms around you like my hands around a bat, and kiss you as our lips meet like a ball meeting a glove, then sparks will fly like the fireworks after a Yankees championship. We will spend the night dancing to Major Lazer’s Pon de Floor, paying no attention to the glances or the whispers, letting the outside world melt away as we get our freak on out on the dance floor.
Your coconut tree,
Alex
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