An Appetite for Passion (3 page)

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.

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?

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.

She had printed his picture out, and now she taped it up on her computer, keeping an eye on it as she typed away. She had any number of online friends now, but the letters she searched for most eagerly were those from Max. His letters mixed passion with prosaic matters, ranging from what he’d like to show her in his town to what he’d like to do to her when he got her alone.

Have you ever had your toes kissed? You can’t make love to a woman’s “private area” only. You have to make love to the total woman. You have to be a connoisseur of fine women as you are of fine foods. You have to appreciate the full woman as you do a full banquet.

I would love to make love to 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 cannot undertake a four-hour drive each way lightly. So for the moment, we will have to let this
affaire du coeur
remain a matter of email and dreams.

Sweet dreams to you then, my Kari, and think of how you will feast on my body in return.

Eagerly,

Max

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.

Would he like what he saw when he met her? She studied her reflection in the mirror for the bazillionth time. Her face wasn’t that of a chubbette. Though softly, gracefully rounded rather than angular, it didn’t betray the degree of excessive heft she carried below. To look at Kari’s face, one would think she weighed a little over what she should, but one wouldn’t expect the extent to which her body was out of proportion.

Could she lose weight quickly? Years of previous attempts had failed, but she’d never had the same incentive before. Max was in her life now. Max wanted to come for a visit some time. Max thought she was a banquet. He could find plenty to feast on without discovering this much amplitude.

With all the new recipes coming in from her new online friends, she knew she hadn’t a hope of dining on tuna salad at night, but maybe if she stuck to salad for lunch...?

Returning straightaway to her chair at her living room desk, she wrote right back to Max.

A six-course feast? I have been called many things, but that’s not one of them...not that I’m objecting, you understand! You would eat this banquet by hand, wouldn’t you? Forks would seem out of place, and knives...ouch!

Teeth are excellent for eating, and fingers work well at such a banquet. I can feel your fingers now, holding my face as your teeth softly graze my nose, then drift to my lips, softly, gently chewing on each lip while my heart leaps in delight. Can you feel my heartbeat in every fiber of my body, every inch you touch?

I could continue in the same vein—I, too, appreciate fine and exotic tastes—but I confess, I’m a bit shy of speaking as frankly to you as you do to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not at all upset by your candor. To the contrary, your descriptions thrill me. I just don’t know you well enough to dare to be too candid in return, yet. But I hope that in time we will get to know each other much better.

Any plans for driving in this direction yet? I’m eager, and not just for the sex. (That too!) I feel we are compatible people with similar interests—cooking, the old movies you’ve spoken of enjoying, and the sunrise walks you’ve mentioned.

As for your political involvement, which you’ve spoken of, I’ve recently had it suggested to me (by a friend’s husband) that I get involved with a local mayoralty race. I’ve been thinking of doing it—I want to see a candidate named Larrimore get elected—and your example has pushed me into deciding to definitely volunteer.

Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ll log on when I wake up, and see if there’s any mail from you (or anyone else—but don’t worry, I don’t carry on the same kind of correspondence with the others!) and then I’ll head over to Larrimore’s headquarters. I’m going to do more than just vote to make a difference this year!

And now I think my pork chops in cider are fully baked and ready, from the smell of them, so I’m logging off to go enjoy them. I would rather be dining on select parts of you!

Yours,

Kari

Chapter 3

She could have slept later. It was Saturday, after all, and Kari had no commitments. But her head was a froth of plans and possibilities, and how could she sleep with so much bubbling around up there? Opening one eye, she peered warily at the clock and confirmed her worst suspicions—though she was wide awake, it was only 7:00.

Well, at least she had managed to sleep later than if it had been a workday...though not by much. She closed her open eye, rolled over, and made a determined effort to return to the cloak of oblivion. But sleep played hard-to-get. Her mind kept boiling with the day’s possibilities, chief of which were more email from Max and volunteering at Larrimore’s headquarters.

After ten minutes of remaining prone but restless, Kari acknowledged that sleep was not an option, and she threw back the covers. The house was chilly. An unseasonable early fall chill had the late September morning in its grip, and even the carpet felt cool to her bare feet as she scurried to the closet to get out something to wear.

Selecting something casual, yet not sloppy, a loose-fitting dress that she’d feel comfortable wearing to Larrimore’s headquarters, she left her clothes on the bed while she went into the bathroom. Her nemesis was in there—the scale—though this morning it was kind and reflected the loss of a pound. Elation on top of anticipation—a good way to start the morning.

Still barefoot, she padded down to the kitchen, goosing the thermostat as she passed it, and stopping at the hall closet to grab a sweater. As the wool blend slipped over her arms, she fancied it was Max’s arms warming her shoulders. She put on a pot of coffee, some sausages, and toast. Taking two eggs out of the fridge, she hesitated, then put them down on the counter. Eagerly, she darted into the living room to boot up her computer. It could be doing its thing while the eggs were cooking.

A few minutes later, she walked back to the living room desk, this time precariously balancing her plate, coffee cup, utensils, and napkin, all of which she successfully set down on the desk without spilling more than an errant drop or two of coffee. Eagerly, she logged on to her email, finding the hoped-for letter from Max.

Good morning, lovely lady.

It’s 6:30 AM, and I’m headed out to jog. Thought I’d drop you a quick line first. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me—errands including grocery shopping, plus housecleaning and laundry, and in whatever time I have left, tinkering with the ’47 Plymouth I bought a year ago and have been lovingly rebuilding. One of these days, I may even get it on the road! I’ve got a full plate of things to do before me. And what’s on your agenda?

I probably won’t be back online till this evening around 6:00. I have plans for the evening, but will log on before I go out. Your picture arrived yesterday. Your pretty face is sweet—it fits your personality, as I glean it from your letters. I know I won’t be disappointed when we finally meet.

I long to do delicious, wicked things to your body, but my designs on you go beyond erotic love. I want to get to know all of you, to know you as a person, not just as a bed partner. To appreciate the whole Kari, not just the exciting parts. To meld with your mind, not just with your physicality.

But yes, I very much want your body too. At the moment, I’m not in “sex mode”—at 6:30 AM I’m more revved up for another kind of physical exertion: jogging.

Do you like to jog? I want to know what your likes and dislikes, interests and pet hates all are. I want to be a student of Kari, learning you till I could get an “A” on the test of life. Educate me, sweet lady.

I’ll “see” you here at 6 tonight.

Yours,

Max

Kari glowed when she read the letter...except for the part about “plans for the evening.” Jealousy overtook her at the thought those plans might involve another woman. Did he talk the same way to her? Did he tell her she was sweet? Did he make love to her? Wrap his arms around her? Kari wanted Max to herself.

The romance was unfolding like a rose slowly blooming, opening its petals to the sun, growing ever larger. It was taking over more of her life, more of her thoughts every day.

In some ways, she truly felt she had a lover. Yet, when she went to bed at night, there was still no one to snuggle up to for warmth, comfort, companionship. When she wanted to share a sadness or a joy, there was still no one there to confide in...though she did sometimes rush to the computer and pour it into email.

And when she was sexually needful—as seemed to happen more often now—she still had to resort to self-satisfaction. But at least she had a mental picture to accompany the solo act that had a ring of future plausibility. Her fantasy lover was no longer a faceless creation of her own imagining. She had a future rendezvous with Max in mind—and his picture on her desk to show her what he looked like.

As for Max, he had a picture, too—of just her face. There was no sense in pushing her luck. Kari had sent him a photo from the neck up.

She composed a reply to his letter:

My plans for the day? Rather pedestrian, except for the visit to Larrimore HQ to sign up as a volunteer. I, too, have laundry, housework, grocery shopping. If I get back from Larrimore’s HQ early, I plan to cook a few things in advance and freeze them in single servings. That way I have dinner on hand for nights I’m too tired to cook. What did we all do before microwave ovens were invented?

You want to know my likes and dislikes? I’m eagerly awaiting the leaves turning—autumn leaves are among my favorite things. Dare I add fluffy cats, or is that too predictable an answer? Actually, I guess the usual answer is “kittens,” but I prefer them fully grown. Soft and cuddly rather than cute and playful. I haven’t had a cat of my own, though, since Boots died. Too painful.

My biggest dislike at the moment, I guess, is waiting for you to find the opportunity to come visit me. Second to that? Recipes that say “5 mins prep time” and take 20. Recipes that don’t come out right. (There I go talking food again.) And people who break promises. And rainy days—though they sometimes bring rainbows, which I’d have to add to my list of favorite things.

Which reminds me—have you ever seen the Northern Lights? I never have and have always wanted to.

No, I don’t jog.

I’d love to see your ’47 Plymouth. My neighbor was rebuilding a ’55 Chrysler for a while but wound up selling it after he got it nearly complete. A money crunch thing. What a shame!