What are you talking about, dear? I thought it was a very clever pun, although none of the stuff I fed you was all that fattening…
I’d like to take this opportunity to mention that I wouldn’t be averse to recieving some mash notes from all of YOU. coy smile If anyone’s inspired to take it to an NC-17 level you can email it to me.
Live a Lush Life
Da Chef
Dear Grace,
I am SO glad you got in touch. I agree that it’s time to set the record straight about what really happened after the Dallas Doper Debauch that Zyada recently hosted.
I remember it like it’s still happening (and in some part of my mind, it always will be). The rest of the table saw only two married people flirting harmlessly with each other and missed, or decided not to see, the overwhelming mushroom cloud of passion that was growing over us. You kept touching my arm, a clear sign of interest that even I can see (I’m flirt-impaired), and I contrived an excuse to touch you back. Wham! I felt a surge of desire like an electric shock. The rest of the night’s conversation passed through me without registering…all I could think about was you and whether it would take a wink, or a gun, to get you alone.
It sure was hard to keep up my flow of witty banter when I felt your stockinged foot slip under the cuff of my pants and caress my leg, working its way upward. The end of the debauch couldn’t have come soon enough for me. We all said our goodbyes and left the bar; unknown to the rest of the crowd, I whispered something in your ear and headed to the front desk of the hotel to book a room.
We stood across from each other and looked at each other. “This is wrong. We’re both married,” you said. “Look at it this way…” I replied, and then stopped. “What?” you eventually said, and I replied, “Give me a second, I’m trying to think of a way to look at it that lets me undress you. Because maybe I shouldn’t, but I do believe I’m going to.” “Good, keep working on that,” you said.
“Got it. Look at it this way…what the hell.” “Works for me,” you said, and stepped closer. “We shouldn’t,” you said, raising your face to mine. “It’s wrong,” I whispered as my lips brushed yours. “It’s…forbidden,” you mumbled around your mouthful of my earlobe. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” I murmured as my hands slid down to tug your blouse free of your waistband. And that was all she wrote. I hope the hotel doesn’t decide to charge me for that broken bedframe…it would be awkward to explain.
Lessee, now what have I got here…
A sig by Wally, a profile by UncleBeer, and two naughty letters, one from Mully and one from Chef. Damn. My treasure box just gets fuller & fuller by the day!
Chef, that was an absolute classic. Did I ever tell you that I saved a pork rind, as a keepsake? I’ve got it in a little glass case on my desk…
Cristi, Slayer of Peeps
I made my husband join a bridge club. He jumps next Tuesday.
(title & sig courtesy of UncleBeer and WallyM7!)
I almost forgot–I got a postcard from ChiefScott, too.
:::Cristi looks around for the next man she can charm into bestowing a gift upon her:::
Cristi, Slayer of Peeps
I made my husband join a bridge club. He jumps next Tuesday.
(title & sig courtesy of UncleBeer and WallyM7!)
Dear Shadowfox,
There’s one little word I want to hear from you. It’s not a noun, or a verb…in fact I don’t know what kind of word it is. The word is…
Yes.
Just say yes, and I’ll step behind you, sweep your hair out of the way, and kiss the back of your neck while my free arm snakes around your waist. Say yes, and my caresses will drape you like the finest silk, leaving fire trails of sensation on your skin. Say yes, and I will kneel before you and plant kisses wherever I think desire will blossom. Just say yes.
Just say yes.
Chef…you are amazing…that was incredible…
I think that’s the best love letter Ive ever gotten.
Hey, sweetie! You want a Danish with that coffee? – another custom design by the mind of Wally
Dear Tengu,
I never thought I’d hear from you again after the way you ran screaming out of my hotel room at the Gay Animé convention in San Francisco last year. I was surprised but pleased to get your letter of apology. I was hurt by your panicked exit, but I can understand how your irrational fear of snakes might have been inadvertently triggered that night.
I hope to see you at this year’s convention. I’ll be the one at the bar dressed like the Overfiend if you’ll wear your Sailor Moon costume, Tengu-chan…
Live a Lush Life
Da Chef
Oh, Chef, that…::Gigglefit::
Oh, dear gods…the idea of me in a Sailor Moon outfit…::Half giggle, half gag:: That doesn’t bear thinking about…
You rock, m’man. Best laugh I’ve had in a long time.
Eschew Obfuscation
Cheffie forgot me! :: :pout:::
MaryAnn
I’m into superstition, black cats, and voodoo dolls (<—written in case Ricky reads this board)
there, there, maryann.
i brought some pillows so maybe we can catch a few z’s while we wait for cheffie to beg our forgiveness. sure, he may have to trip over us to realize he’s forgotten, but oh, how we will remind him!! 
“Organs gross me out. That’s organs, not orgasms.”
-the wallster
I have NOT forgotten you, ladies. I am answering requests for mash notes in the order they were received. You two still have a couple of people ahead of you, but believe me… intense stare with a hand caressing your cheek I have big plans for you both.
Live a Lush Life
Da Chef
I’m glad I got you all hot and bothered reading other people’s mash notes. Imagine what I can do to you with a letter of your own…
Dear elelle,
It’s time I let you know how I feel about you. I want you desperately. I lay awake at night thinking about all the ways I want to pleasure you and how I can make it a special occasion that will stand out in your mind. Let me whisper in your ear and tell you what I have planned…
We’ll start with dinner. I’ve prepared an Indian feast for you; the pièce de resistance is a five-boy curry of sneaky potency with a subtle afterburn. All too soon we’re wrapping leftover tandoori chicken in fragrant sheets of naan to take with us as we head to the airfield, where a discreet friend of mine is waiting with his plane to take us for a moonlit flight. We make ourselves comfortable in the back as my friend pulls the curtain between the cockpit and passenger area and we soar into the sky.
I look at you, watching the moonlight caressing your face as you look out of the unusually large windows of my friend’s customized plane. My lips are still tingling from the curry – or is it just the anticipation of kissing you? Only one way to find out…I feel the vibrations of the propellers in my knees as I lean over and touch my fingertips to your face, turning you toward me. Tenderly cupping your face in my hands, I close my eyes and kiss your soft, full lips. We allow the kiss to deepen as our bodies flow against each other. You climb into my lap and entwine your fingers in my hair while I kiss my way down your neck and nibble at the spot where your neck curves into your shoulder. My hands slip around to cup your buttocks and pull you tight against me. The vibration of the plane is adding another layer of sensation to the ecstasy of caressing your body at last.
My hands are everywhere on you as our kisses become frantic and our bodies grind together. I have never been so aroused, and the amazing view both inside and outside the plane is adding to it. I’m fleetingly disappointed when you stand up, then delighted when you start to undress. I hasten to follow suit; you gently push me down onto the floor of the plane and crawl over me, teasing me for an endless moment before bringing our bodies together with a groan. We spend the rest of the flight making love, me feeling the plane’s vibrations all through my body and you arching your back and gazing out the windows before lowering your lips to mine again. Finally we feel the plane descending and reluctantly struggle back into our clothes, knowing the timeless flight will live in our memories forever.
Dearest Zyada,
I have a confession to make: belly dancers turn me on like a switch. Ever since I saw you belly-dancing to Santana’s “Smooth”, I was terminally smitten. I imagine myself as an old-time sultan, reclining on velvet cushions and waiting for entertainment. Every diversion that is presented to me produces only a yawn until you step out of the shadows. Your voluptuous beauty so captivates me that I actually open both eyes all the way, something I normally do only for executions. I watch transfixed as you dance; with a sultan’s greed, I decide I must have you all for myself. I have you brought to my bed chamber and I can sense the fear beneath the bravado. Reassuring you that intend you no harm, I bid you dance once more. The music soon overrides your nervousness and you give yourself to the dance. I stand and walk over to you and you falter; I sink to my knees and bestow a kiss on your jewel of a navel. Terrified at first by my attentions, you slowly yield to the sensations flooding your skin and at length agree to be my concubine…
Now you know why I didn’t answer when you asked me what I was thinking about at the last Dallas Doper Debauch… grin
Dearest cheffie,
Who could make my heart feel woozy? Only thou. Please get me cookin’.
Love always,
Matt
Uhhhhh*** Could somebody help me over to Dr. Zotti’s Big Psychic O thread??? We have liftoff…
And Cheffie, those propellers on your knees are somethin’ else!
Lickin’ curry off my fingers…
The ride is short and the thrills are cheap- Men and rollercoasters. - - -Courtesy of Wally, that Signifying Guy.
Ohhhhh, Cheffie… you were wonderful…
Heck is where you go when you don’t believe in Gosh.
Oh Cheffie darlin! I don’t want you to think I’ve been ignoring this love letter. I was so lost in the memories of that night that I am just now barely recovering from the effects of that passion induced haze. Who needs to experiment with drugs when I have your letter and erotic memories? Your letter may very well qualify me to be an expert on Ed Zotti’s topic “…Psychic Orgasm.” Oh! There goes another one.
Work is fine for killin’ time, but it’s a shaky way to make a living.
Ah, Chef - from now on, whenever I hear that song I’ll think of you.
And now, I’m going to have to find a boyfriend just to take him flying!
I do not merely dance. I bewitch. I seduce. I enchant and I bewilder. Throw money.
(Gee, Wally must have seen me dance!)
smacks self in head I guess I deserved to be called on that bit of ambiguous writing.
I meant, of course, that I could feel the propellers’ vibration in my knees.
(looks over all the moaning women sprawled here and there in this thread and preens) yep, I am Big Sexy.
The best part is that several of the women who have just been aroused by me ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT I LOOK LIKE and it doesn’t seem to bother them. bewildered shrug
Live a Lush Life
Da Chef
Thanks, NTG…coming from someone who mostly thinks men are only good for making women look better by contrast, that really means a lot to me.
Live a Lush Life
Da Chef