...Of course he wanted
her picture in return, and Kari selected a head shot. Her shape was not
visible. She didn’t want him to know what all that cooking and eating
had done to her. In picturing him, she’d imagined someone roly-poly.
By all accounts, Max had a good appetite. Yet his picture showed a lean
body; apparently he had a great metabolism, or else he worked out extensively.
Either that, or the picture was awfully flattering in comparison with reality.
Enviously, she mailed off her picture to him. Meanwhile, their correspondence
was warming up. From cooking they had progressed to miscellany. They chatted
about their respective jobs, friends, towns. And then Max told Kari,
You seem a very sympathetic person, just the sort I’ve always enjoyed being around. Warm, friendly, caring. And a woman with your appetite for food probably has other appetites that are equally voracious.And then the letter went on to deal with more innocuous matters. But it had left Kari with a taste in her mouth for Max. She fell to fantasizing about him. Only four hours away-it wasn’t an impossibility. They could get together...feast on each other...and maybe have time for some food, too.
Tell me, my dear-are you a passionate woman? Do those lips that love coq au vin also love to kiss? Do you pucker for a man as eagerly as to swallow stroganoff? Could this hapless, smitten suitor be a course in your banquet of love?
Have you ever had your toes kissed? A man can’t make love to a woman’s “private area” only. He has to make love to the total woman. He has to be a connoisseur of fine women as he is of fine foods. He has to appreciate the full woman as he does a full banquet.Wow! Kari jumped up from the computer and looked into the mirror. Her face was flushed with suffused heat; her eyes were glistening with anticipation. Her nostrils flared with excitement, and her hair, which she’d been running her hands through, was as wild as if she’d just climbed out of bed with the man.
I would love to make love to all of you. Not just to the flower of your womanhood but to all of you. I would love to devour you as if you were a sumptuous six-course meal.
The first course is your lips. I would feast on them extravagantly, kissing them, licking them, parting them with my tongue.
The second course is your fingertips, which I would lavish my attentions on, sucking on them and kissing them.
The third course is your toes. I leave it to your imagination just how I would treat them. (I have to reserve some secrets, my dear, or you’ll know it all in advance and be bored before I get there.)
The fourth course is your neck. Let me kiss all over it, nuzzling into it, inhaling your perfume-not just the scent you have dabbed on or sprayed on, but the scent of you, your skin, that personal essence any woman has, individualistic, sensual, and seductive.
Let me nibble and graze at the soft skin of your neck, burrow into the warmth of it, feel the satiny skin enfold me. Perhaps the other courses will be the subject of another letter; or perhaps I’ll let you tell me what you’d like me to do for you. But rest assured I am a man who knows how to appreciate a delicious woman as well as a delicious meal. And, my dear, I know you are a feast for the soul, a treat for the eyes, a lavish banquet for all the senses.
Now the only question is when we can get together. I can't undertake a four-hour drive each way lightly. So for the moment we’ll have to let this affaire du coeur remain a matter of E-Mail and dreams.
Sweet dreams to you then, my Kari, and think of how you will feast on my body in return
. Eagerly - Max
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