Chef, you really need to go over to Sunshine’s thread and check things out. 
I’ll second Michi’s comment. You’ll enjoy yourself.
I’m curious enough, Cheffie. Send one of those mash notes this-a-way. And don’t worry, the fiancé will doubtlessly get a kick out of it–he’s not the jealous type (and really, neither am I). Send away!
Dearest Cheffie-
I’m not sure how I missed this the first time around, but please add me to your list.
Although-
the neighbors are starting to wonder why I spend more time in the kiddie pool than the kiddie’s do!
They don’t own a computer.
Scotti
Ahhhh…I remember that soft, sweet twilight. You lead me onto the back porch, overlooking the ocean. “Close your eyes,” you said, and I did; my breath quickening slightly in anticipation, my palms dampening with anticipation.
“Now, don’t open them…” you murmured. I stood, left alone with the wind blowing across my neck. “Open your mouth.” I did, and you brought a tiny, butter and garlic soaked mushroom to my lips. You brushed it gently against them, teasing me with the heady scent of garlic and smooth oil of the butter. It dripped down my chin as I lunged forward, taking it from your fingers.
"Now something to wash it down, I heard you say. Chills ran down my spine as I forked my tongue over my lips, catching the last drops of butter.
Cool glass ran from my temple down my cheek, and then slowly over to my mouth. As you tipped the glass slightly, bubbles of dry champagne tickled their way into my mouth. A small rivulet ran down the side of my mouth, and as it reached my neck you caught it with your finger and slowly ran it back up to my lips. “Waste not, want not,” you purred. I gently enfolded the tip of your finger in my lips, recovering the wayward drops of champagne.
I let go and chuckled wickedly, “If the rest of the night goes like this, we may never make it to dessert.”
Well, Hamadryad…ahem…well…aHEM…wow. I’m going to have to rush out and rent 9 1/2 Weeks, even though I know it won’t be as hot as that.
I’m thrilled that someone finally wrote ME a mash note. Keep 'em coming folks, I’m so lonely and only you can ease my pain. wink
Cheffie, I love a man who is smooth with his words (hence my delight in meeting DRY). Please, oh please, can you write me a mash note too? I’ve never gotten one before! I bet you can make me really hot, Cheffie! Please, won’t you? I’d be so happy if you did!
I was so wet.
Caught in an afternoon shower, my umbrella safe and dry in my car, I hurried into the hotel and slipped on an empty elevator. Or so I thought.
“I like that dress.”
I froze, my dress heavy and clinging to my damp skin; my eyes darting to the dark corner where you stood. You. Damn. I had always wanted out first meeting alone to be perfect. Wanted to be fresh and appealing. And dry.
I shuddered, not from the chill but the tone of your voice. It was like a blanket. Warm.
“It looks much better when it’s…dry.”
You stepped forward slowly, “Ah. I thought you were going to say something else.”
You leaned past me, brushing my arm, sending a new string of shivers through me.
“What can I get you?”
“Pardon?” I gulped.
“What floor?” You hand poised at the floor buttons, “You really ought to get out of that dress.”
“Four, I think. Thank you. I’ve probably already caught a cold.” I couldn’t move, the sudden fear that if I did I would instinctively reach for you. But with a single, swift movement, you pressed a floor button and stepped behind me. The doors closed and the lurch of the elevator threw me off balance and back. I felt the wall of your chest, the splay of your hands on my ribcage steadying me.
I closed my eyes. Just this one moment of contact. Thank you God.
But you didn’t let go. I felt your broad, firm hands move over me, settling on my waist.
“Nice.”
It was a hot, slick sound in my ear; your breath rushing over my skin. I couldn’t help it. My back arched against the heat of your body. So close.
Your hands moved again over me, pulling me back against you; I dropped my arms to my sides, tentatively extending my fingers until I felt them curl over your thighs.
One strong arm wrapped protectively around my waist, your other hand spread over the column of my throat. I felt the burn of your breath on my neck, the flick of your tongue.
I could hardly breath, so afraid any action might make you stop.
“I’m getting you all wet…” I whispered.
“Mmmmm…”
How was that? I could go on…but this is already embarrassing enough as it is.
struuter
I think Chef and Struuter and I should get together and write a series of erotic novels and make millions of dollars.
</hijack>
Hamadryad,
I’m not very good at it. But if I thought it were that easy…
Dearest Chef,
As I walked through the rainy city streets, I was flooded by memories of you. I know we promised not to write, but please understand that I could not hold back any longer.
I will never forget the first time we met, on the night train from Warsaw to Prague. I was already in the corner of the compartment, reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being and looking occasionally through the window at the black Polish night. The compartment door opened, and you walked in…
You…
You commented on the book, and we began to discuss literature, art, sex, love, conincidence. We drank the bottle of wine I’d brought in my backpack – As I drank I became suddenly conscious of touching the place your lips had just touched. You caught my eye and held it, and suddenly your mouth was on mine…
[background music swells while camera rolls to picture of Polish landscape from train window]
Do you remember how the border guard nearly caught us? I had your coat over my bare legs as I gave him my passport, and can still feel the seat of the train compartment under me as I write this.
Darling, I know some things aren’t meant to be, but I must have you again. Even if it were only once…
Yours always,
Magdalene
Oh my.
I’ve become Shephtroi, the Muse of Erotica.
Ladies, I am overcome. You are all VERY talented and have stirred me more than you will ever know with your literary gems. Struuter, what a masterpiece of internalized passion. Hamadryad, such a skillful transference from one type of hunger to another. Magdalene, your exotic locale is surpassed by your prose style.
All of you, I can’t wait to return the favor. As soon as I get caught up on my previous promises, you are all in for the most intense experience my words can give you.
Glad you liked it, Cheffie. Your previous letters had me writhing with both giggles and desire.
Perhaps my talented sisters, Hamadryad and struuter, you, and I could form some kind of erotica cooperative? Mash letters for EVERYONE on the SDMB by request? I realize I am amateur in your midst, but I’d love an apprenticeship.
Oh, and Chef, if this is the way you write to message boards, you GOTTA publish your stuff. You are very talented.
HEY!! :eek:
Well, I never…
DRY,
Hey, what can I say? You inspired me. Actually…do you think I would have left my car had you been in it?
Magdelene,
Can I call you maggie? Or is there a preferred nickname for you? I always think I’ve spelled your name wrong…
SDMB MASH UNIT…that sounds like fun. Naughty…but fun. Love on a train…that was nice.
struuter
As she requested, I have sent Shayna her mash note privately via e-mail. I suppose she figured I’d write it hotter if I weren’t posting it for all to see, and boy was she right! (Shayna honey, how’s about posting your reaction here so people can get all jealous?)
Anyway, that means you’re up next, matt. Get comfortable!
Dear Matt,
I was surprised and pleased to get your invitation. I just always assumed that I wasn’t your type, since I’m about as non-esprix (physically) as it’s possible to be and still be male. Then I went to your (wonderful) Web site to learn more about you, and I discovered your top 10 list of things you find attractive in a man:
I realized that I could lay claim to at least seven of these qualities. No one can judge his or her own wisdom, and it would be up to you to say if I meet criterion #1…and hey! I’ll rush right out and learn Esperanto if the end result is being attractive to you, viro mi. That means I could conceivably score ten out of ten! This was looking up. Add in the fact that I’ve always wanted to visit Montreal, and I there was no WAY I was going to refuse.
In person, you were even cuter than I expected. (I loved the black clothing that makes no statement!) If you were disappointed with my waistline, you were thoughtful enough not to say so. You were patient with my french (il y a plus de dix ans que je ne parle pas francais) and said kind things about my accent. We argued good-naturedly over points of philosophy as a gourmet dinner gradually vanished in front of us; we compared memories of how we came to terms with same-sex attraction as the hours flew by. All too soon we were back at my hotel and it was awkward-pause time.
I couldn’t believe how tongue-tied I suddenly was. Part of my brain was screaming, “He’s been smiling at you all night! You’re attracted to him, he seems to be attracted to you… don’t be a coward!” Finally I managed to whisper huskily, “Do you want to come upstairs?” and then braced myself for an answer. “Oh yes I do, cheffie,” you said, and ran the fingers of one slender hand up the back of my neck. I don’t believe my feet touched the ground more than once or twice all the way up to my room. A dry spell of more than ten years was about to end with Hurricane Matt.
The next morning, I lay sated in my hotel bed and relived a gloriously sleepless night of the most passionate sex I ever had. Matt, I’ll never look at the amazing architecture of Montreal or hear the sensual flow of Quebecois french without thinking longingly of you and how expertly you awakened a part of my sexuality that I thought would slumber forever. Mon cher, Je t’adorerai toujours.
Chef
is it too late for me to get in on this too? get me cooking chef. pleeeeease!!!
Okay, Doob, you’re up next! If there’s anything you need to gather up before you read, now would be a good time.
Oh, and ssskuuggiii? Can I see some ID, please?
inhales sharply
exhales slowly
fans self
adjusts shorts
Tabarnouche.