I woke up this morning to the sound of gentle rain. How can it be raining again?
Padding downstairs, I discovered a stunning surprise. I was alone. But wait. There was a presence. I could feel the electric energy permeating the well-lit space of the kitchen. Cluttered countertops could not distract me from the feeling that two circles of fierce amber were boring into me as if we were the only two things in the world.
I turned. The air crackled.
"You should not be with me," the voice was low, magical, meltingly musical.
Was I imagining it, or did I hear it for real?
"I must leave you at once," the voice continued. I was pulled into the ravishing handsomeness of sound.
"I don't know what you mean," I answered, barely above a whisper. Suddenly, I slipped on an ill-placed piece of buttered toast. Arms appeared out of nowhere to clean up the toast with Fantastic and a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.
I lay on the floor, mesmerized.
"Who are you talking to," my husband asked skeptically, wiping crumbs from my feet and putting away the cleaning supplies.
"Huh?" My mind was a dizzying array of desire and pain.
"Why don't you sit at the table for a minute?" My husband helped me up. "Here. Eat your pancakes." He put the plate down on the table in front of me and then backed slowly out of the kitchen, watching me for further signs of insanity.
"It is just us again," the underwear model voice began. "I tried to resist you but cannot. That fool with his magic eraser made me long for you even more."
Peering through the curtain of my hair, I was able to distance myself from the voice, gain some distance from my desire, steady my shaking hands.
"I don't want you to resist me," I whispered. "I don't want to resist you either."
"There are things about me you don't understand." The bass in the voice reflected beautifully off the linoleum.
"I don't care about any of that."
"Then you must take me now." The voice was low, almost purring. "Take me now before I get colder."
"Done and done," I answered, sinking my teeth into soft, warm folds.
"We cannot be discovered." It was the last thing the voice said. The melodious, movie star voice.
"We won't be." I murmured, mouth full. "You'll be gone before anyone finds out."
"Why are you talking to your pancakes?" My husband peered worriedly into the kitchen. "Why does your face look like that?"
"Why does your face look like… your face?" I retorted, wiping the last of the syrup off my plate. The most gorgeous syrup anyone had ever tasted.
"When you're done talking to your breakfast, there's a trach baby in here that needs some new polymem."
I blushed. Beautiful, ravishing polymem. You're next on my list…