Just thought of what could make the SP/Jeff Hardy threesome even better…
Adding Rob Van Dam to it.
[sub]Yes, another professional wrestler. I like them big,toned and sweaty.[/sub]
That makes six hands,three tongues…
::Goes to take cold shower::
[sub]Best part is, SP’s cool with it if they are. They have to leave afterwards though, and I can only cuddle with him.[/sub]
Hehehe! I didn’t mean that the way I think you took it. But, it’s all in fun, right? I’m sure no one would want to know about my current status as “Mistress of Many”. 
[Fantasy] I send a mysterious note to somewhere in BFE Colorado, which surprises, yet somehow captivates the imagination of a beautiful young woman. She takes the plane tickets which have been enclosed and boards the first flight. Four hours later she is in New York City, and using the wit and saavy which she possesses, she is able to solve the first part of the puzzle, which leads her to a locker at JFK, which the key she found opens.
Inside is a leather satchel with some brief instructions on what to wear, and which flights to catch to continue her quest. When she disembarks in Geneva she finds a driver waiting for her. In her suite at the Hotel President Wilson she is amazed to find that the beautiful tailored clothes fit her exactly, even though she is fairly sure that she has never met this man.
A new set of puzzles, along with 18 red roses are arranged on the desk of the suite. The clues lead her over the Rhone, where she stops to gaze at the swans in the basin to her right. The sun is still above Mount Blanc in the distance as she winds through the cobbled streets and alleys of the “old town”, past St. Paul’s and the Armory. Sitting on a bench near the playground overlooking the Universite, she notes that someone has left a bundle of papers. She looks for the owner, but no one is to be seen. On closer inspection the bundle contains this note, and a ticket which was just purchased for the tram in direction of Annemasse.
She rides the 13 tram past La Rive, all the time looking out the window, sensing she will somehow know which exit to take. But at the end of the line nothing has revealed itself, so she starts to cross back at the street to get change for a ticket back. It is here that she notices the rose petals, the same shade of red as in her room. She follows them, past the Swiss and French border police, down the street, straight for a while, but now off to the right. She finds it hard to believe that she has just crossed 8 time zones and two international borders just from a handwritten note, but her heart beats faster as she senses that the chase might soon come to a close.
She follows the petals to the right, around a corner and three doors down to a small French bistro. There are about ten tables arranged in a way which somehow affords privacy in a small place. The owner comes up to her and asks gently if she is perhaps meeting someone. But her years of studying Spanish do not help her here, and she is frustrated that so close, but… then she notices the roses, sitting on a table alone in the corner. She tries to explain to the maitre’d that this must be her table, and though he knows no English, he flashes a knowing smile and indicates that she should take a seat.
As she sits, she feels a pair of hands from behind, and he slips a silk scarf which has been folded into a blind fold, loosely about her head. He bends over her, lightly caressing her shoulders, and whispers to her that she should not yet speak. She is affronted by this, since she was raised to be a strong and independent woman, yet for some reason which she cannot understand, she abides by this request. Perhaps it is his strong yet gentle touch which convinces her to play along.
She is able to see just enough through the blindfold in order to successfully navigate the meal, and his hand helps to guide her. They drink a 1990 Dom Ruinart Blanc des Blancs, which he feels she will find crisp and refreshing after her long journey. She finds the food outstanding, although she cannot place most of the dishes, and as her other senses must work harder to compensate for the lack of vision, she feels that perhaps she appreciates the textures, flavours and scents all the more.
After they complete the meal he guides her from the restaurant where again a car is waiting. This car is larger than the one which met her at the Aeroport and the leather seats feel soft warm and inviting in contrast to the cool evening air. She expects, and perhaps hopes, that they are returning to the hotel, but she now feels the car twist and gradually climb a steeper and steeper grade. Her head is spinning just a bit from the champagne, and just as she begins to feel a little queasy, the car comes to a gentle stop.
The door is opened quietly and efficiently, and he guides her again, but now she feels a fine gravel crunching beneath her feet. The air is cooler and thinner, much like the mountain air back home. She is aware of the light and arrhythmic chiming of bells, carried by a light breeze from somewhere below. He traces the tips of his fingers along the line of her arm, and on her neck, down toward the tops of her shoulders. She feels something soft and cool along her cheek, and after a moment realises that it is again the a rose, and without seeing it she knows the exact color of red which it must be. Then she feels his breath on her neck just below her ears, as he brushes back her silky hair.
[sub]* … to be continued …? *[/sub]
[Fantasy]
I’m lying in bed with SP. We’re kissing and gently touching each other. He whispers in my ear as he nibbles on my neck…
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes”, I answer.
“I have a surprise for you, my little ferret.”
With that he ties first my wrists to the bed and then my ankles. He tells me to close my eyes. I hear the bedroom door open and footsteps approach the bed.
“You can open your eyes now”, SP says.
I open my eyes to Jeff Hardy and Rob Van Dam standing there besides SP. Their blondness is an exciting contrast to SP’s brunette hair.
SP leans in and kisses me deeply. Jeff leans over and starts caressing my shoulders. Rob goes down to the foot of the bed and begins massaging my feet…
[sub]To be continued…[/sub]
My fantasy at this point involves a bed. With me in it. And no one else. Just bed, and maybe the new Tool CD playing in the background. And sleep, blessed sleep. And a lot of it, at that.
Then, after 36 hours of continous perfect uninterrupted blissful sleep, I could wake up and find a brand new car in my driveway, with a thick envelope in the passenger seat, stuffed full of hundred dollar bills.
sigh And maybe a new cat. That’d be kinda nice, too.
Uhhhhh…I am melting. I think I could possibly die right now.
This isn’t very fair, I think. I need a conclusion, whether through here or possibly email…