An Appetite for Passion by Cynthia MacGregor Page A

a hard, exhausting day. But how nice to know I will at least be “talking” to you at the end of it.
    Say, that makes me think—why don’t you send me your phone number, and I’ll call you one of these nights? What time do you go to bed? I’ll call you at bedtime and we can “get in bed together.” It won’t be as good as feeling your soft, velvety skin against mine, feeling the warmth of your body, cupping your full breasts in my strong hands. But it will do till the real thing...which I hope will happen soon.
    I long to cuddle to you—both face-to-face before we make love and spoons position as we drift off to sleep afterward. Before, I’ll hold you facing me, feeling your soft breasts pressed against the strength of my chest, feeling your bush blend with mine, insinuating my thigh between your thighs and tantalizing your love nest with the pressure of my leg. I am eager to consummate our passion.
    You must tell me your favorite position(s), and your favorite forms of lovemaking.
    My sweet Kari, think of me as you go about your evening. (You said a friend was coming over, didn’t you?) And I’ll think about you too, and try to get back online to write you a good-night.
     
    Yours,
    Max
     
    She keyed in a quicker reply than usual, mindful of the dinner that would need attention shortly, and frustrated by that damn “E” key, which kept sticking. She told him of the change in plans for the evening—the sticking “E” key, Steve’s unavailability to help, Lylah’s cancellation, and Jeff’s willingness to step in. She detailed the menu she was serving Jeff. “I wish you were the guest instead of Jeff. What’s your all-time favorite food?” she asked him. Then, she gave him her phone number, chatted briefly about her day, and told him she’d answer his questions about sex later. Signing off, she dashed back into the kitchen.
    Dinner was a half-hour from ready when Jeff showed up on the dot of 7:00. “Sheesh! Such perfect punctuality!” she said. “Your patient awaits you in the living room. You can get this chore out of the way now, or relax now and ‘operate on the patient’ after dinner. But either way, your hand looks empty. What sort of drink should I put in it?”
    “Now, and scotch on the rocks,” Jeff answered.
    Pleased that he was going to look at her computer right away, Kari fixed two drinks while Jeff sat at her computer with the bag he’d brought with him. He got the problem solved quickly, and they relaxed and talked while dinner finished cooking.
    Jeff had changed clothes before coming over and was wearing jeans, a blue sport shirt...and, of course, his perpetual grin. Kari had changed into a muumuu, blue and gold and purple, comfortable and bright, complimentary but informal. She hadn’t felt she had to dress to impress Jeff. So she was surprised when he said, “That’s a very pretty-colored dress. It brings out the color of your eyes.” Lylah had once said the same thing about the same muumuu, but she hadn’t expected Jeff to notice. Men usually didn’t.
    Dinner was perfection. Jeff did justice to her cooking, scarfing down seconds of everything, even the veggies. “Are the recipes a trade secret?” he asked. “Not that I think that, in my hands, they’d turn out as good as you made them, but I’d sure love to try.”
    “He cooks, too!” Kari marveled.
    “I’m full of surprises.”
    “Well, dessert’s not homemade. It’s sinful, but store bought.”
    “Too bad I didn’t know about tonight in advance. I’d’ve contributed the dessert. I bake a mean pie.”
    “Apple?”
    “Among others. Hey...I could whip one up now. Unless you were planning on kicking me out right after dinner?”
    “Is that a serious offer?”
    “I have been known to tease on occasion...but, yes, that was a sincere, legitimate offer.” He reached for his barely used paper napkin and withdrew a pen from his pocket, writing, COUPON. GOOD FOR ONE APPLE PIE. ANY NIGHT IN OCTOBER...INCLUDING