Calling Rick Springfield

Hey you! I thought you were my friend's girlfriend? I guess things aren't always what they seem. You looked at me with those lusty eyes late last Friday night. I thought it was just because you were drunk, but no, you came on to me after everyone left. How could you? Your boyfriend was just in the next room passed out on the couch, but that didn't stop you, did it? I guess I am to blame too. I couldn't help it. You are just too damn hot, or maybe I was just too damn horny to care that you were my friend's girlfriend. You acted like you were messing around at first when you told me how crazy it would be if we had sex. Then one thing led to another, and we ended up having sex in my room. I feel like shit now—can't even look my friend in the eye. All I want to say is: thank you. I know that it sounds fucked up, but I guess I fell in love with you, or maybe the sex was just that damn good. But I just can't do that to a friend, so please stop calling, stop the e-mails, stop everything. Yes, I know how you feel about me and trust me, I feel the same way about you, but whatever happened between us can't happen again. Well, maybe just one more time. You know where and when.


Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at LETTERS@OCWEEKLY.COM

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