friendships are bonds that can't be broken. 'Liaisons
for Laughs: Angie & Ella's Summer of Delirium' tells
the story of two best friends in a frank and entertaining
method. A hilarious and endlessly entertaining collection
of stories about the little things of life, 'Liaisons
for Laughs' never stops its assault on the funny bone.
A fine and entertaining novel, 'Liaisons for Laughs'
is a choice pick for fiction readers."
Midwest Book Review (in "Small
Press Bookwatch"; 5 stars on Amazon)
absolutely love Robert Scott Leyse’s Liaisons
for Laughs: Angie & Ella's Summer of Delirium.
Leyse is the editor of the popular erotica website Sliptongue
and his first book release is fun, steamy, and intelligent."
Ian and Alicia Denchasy, LA Weekly
and Alicia (aka Freddy and Eddy) are proprietors of
the couples-oriented site freddyandeddy.com
and LA Weekly columnists.
can feel the humidity in your own backyard as Angie
and Ella soak up the summer in New York with various
paramours with their super sexy, sex-positive attitudes.
This is one of those books that, finally, puts sluts
in their rightful places. They aren’t shameful
or shamed. They’re proud of it, and having the
time of their lives, and the reader will, too.”
DiPlacido, author of 24/7 and House Money
Salacious. Those rich, naughty, mannered words from
another era are given a cunning and contemporary twist
in Leyse’s reinvigoration of a classic literary
form--the epistolary. At a time when so many ‘real
life’ intimacies are overlooked because we’re
too tired to be seduced or to instigate some imaginative
new direction in our mortgage anxious relationships,
it’s refreshing to be reminded of the pleasures,
prurient and also just plain human and often very funny,
of overhearing other people’s intimacies. Fun
and eroticism don’t go together nearly often enough.
They do in Leyse tit for tat. This is clever, humane,
Kris Saknussemm, author of Zanesville and
for Laughs re-enlivens a venerable literary tradition,
the epistolary novel, but now in an arousingly contemporary
form. The erotic e-mails of these two libidinous heroines
recount their escapades with wicked charm and droll
humor. Their tales memorialize the lusty landscape of
the New York corporate world, and the bratty sophistication
of their narrative voices makes their sensual adventures
all the more appealing. Angie and Ella are trollops
for our time, and Robert Scott Leyse is a Trollope for
William T. Hathaway, author of A World Of Hurt
and Summer Snow
ANGIE & ELLA'S SUMMER OF DELIRIUM
Overture (Summer's Delirium)
return to Chapter Index click: HERE
Ella to Angie
Saturday, June 21, 2003
(First Day of Summer) 9:47 AM
Hey there, Snoozikins! Time to shake the slumber from your
bones! Summer’s here! ’Tis the first day! Not
that we haven’t already tasted of summer sensations
aplenty, mind you: it’s just that it hasn’t been
made official yet and, as you know, I’m a stickler (a
bit superstitious!) concerning dates! The first day of summer
might only be a date on the calendar, but for yours truly...
OK, accuse me of being in thrall to delusion—insist
I’m enslaved to an imagination-fabrication—but
I’m convinced it’s necessary for us to
play in the park today if our summer-to-be’s to be chock
full of the sort of escapades that keep our complexions fresh!
So indulge me, Dearest: flog your lethargic carcass to life
and get over here!
What a bust the first day of spring (Seemingly thousands of
years ago!) was: ’twas still frigid outside, with no
flowers or buds in sight! We celebrated, sure (And thereby—ha
ha!—ensured ourselves of a memorable spring!), but we
were draped in fur, shivering the while! It didn’t seem
like winter was going to end anytime soon...
So, considering the disappointment of the first day of spring,
today’s the day for us to finally celebrate
sprouting-of-leaves and buds-into-blossoms time, giddy unity
with the abundance of new growth! It couldn’t be more
perfect! The first day of summer, and it’s happened
to fall on a sunny Saturday!
In honor of the summer-inauguration frolic that we’ll
be indulging in (Because you will shake yourself
awake, or I’ll come do it myself!), I’m putting
on a pinafore I’ve been saving for the occasion. “What?
Have you kissed your fashion sense bye-bye, become a fuddy-duddy
frump?” you’ll doubtless cry in amazement. After
all, a pinafore’s basically an apron, something I wouldn’t
be caught dead in (So domestic, reeking of puttering about
indoors!); but, listen and learn: this particular pinafore’s
of the finest pink silk, with a hem of scarlet ruffles! I’ll
wear lacy black half cups and a G-string underneath it and
nothing else; plus it’s sleeveless, which means: the
boys will have an unobstructed view of my breasts from the
sides! Ah! When I sit on the lawn, knees raised to my chin,
I’ll allow the hem to slide at least halfway down my
thighs, come maddeningly close to fully revealing the goodies
underneath! Yes, there’ll be exhibitionist games galore,
oodles of hungry man glances feeling me up and making me wet!
And the silk absolutely glimmers, catches and reflects the
light something fierce! Pinafore? Ha! It better resembles
a skimpy nightie, and I’m going be brighter than a neon
sign! Nor to forget the parasol: white as the driven snow,
with scarlet edges and little white fluff balls dangling on
curly pink ribbons from each rib! Yes, pinafore and parasol
in a pink, scarlet, and white color scheme: the hint of prissiness
of this ensemble only serves to heighten the sex impact! For
sure I’m going to upstage the other cuties in the park
today, outdo them in flipping the boy’s heads about!
Nothing like resorting to an apron and umbrella to be the
So cast aside your grogginess and hurry and get girly for
me in that backless white polka-dotted aquamarine number you
scored at Saks last week; then come over so’s we can
celebrate summer’s arrival on this made-to-order day!
P. S.: Or wear something else, so long as it screams: flirty
frolicsome floozy! Remember, I’ve flung down the gauntlet
with my pinafore and parasol: now you’ve got to keep
pace, be an eye-snatching pussycat I’ll be proud to
be seen with!
Angie to Ella
Saturday, June 21, 2003 10:29 AM
What the hell, bitch? You phone me on my secret cell (Only
you and my parents have the number!) as if it’s an emergency
(Because, allow me to refresh your memory: that phone’s
for emergencies only! That’s why it’s
never turned off! Get it?), and chide me for still being in
bed? You phone up like a reproachful mommy when I have a very
good reason for still being in bed, the reason being Stevie
and I were up late wiping the kitchen floor clean with my
Stevie’s extraordinarily fascinated with my kitchen
floor! He says he likes the way the tiles blaze bright white
in the overhead light; says he likes the way my ivory skin
merges with and gets blurry in the luminescence; says: “What
a fine figure of an alabaster girl floating like a butterfly
in the swirling light!”; says the white symbolizes purity,
and that he’s going to purify me! Also says—ha
ha!—that a naughty thing like me needs to be ground
against the tiles while he’s plowing me lest I forget
the path to Paradise is paved with thorns! Sometimes even
reads from Genesis, where it says (I’m looking it up
so’s to be accurate!): “And the Lord God said
unto the woman, What is this that thou hast
done? And the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I did
eat.”—at which point he solemnly declares: “Woman,
thou shalt be disciplined for effecting the fall from Paradise
with thine wicked inclinations! This unpadded floor shalt
remind thou of thy shameful acquiescence to temptation! Penance
is required of thou, and it is penance thou shalt serve!”
There’s often a religious motif mixed in with Stevie’s
games, right? I wonder if his Sunday school teachers would
approve of him growing up to use their lessons to add titillating
religious atonement dimensions to funtime with tramps like
Listen: Stevie didn’t depart until sunrise—yours
truly spent at least two hours on the kitchen floor getting
fulfillingly sore, plus participated in plenty of other divertissements,
as pleasing as they were plunderish; and then you have the
nerve to phone me on my secret emergency line and: cry
wolf! Needing to romp in the park hardly qualifies as
an emergency; so never again, do you hear?
Ella, the hell with your first day of summer ritualistic nonsense!
It’s a sunny Saturday like many another—always
a nice thing, of course, but hardly worthy of “flogging
my carcass” awake and hopping to and dressing lickety-split
like a soldier in boot camp prepping for a drill! So, if you’ll
excuse me, I’m going to return to bed, languorously
twist myself back to snoozy under my fluffy comforters! Yes,
the air conditioning’s turned on high and I’m
going to vanish into sleepyland below mounds of down! I’m
going to live in my blankets today and, thank you very much,
do not wish to be disturbed again!
Ella to Angie
Saturday, June 21, 2003 10:59 AM
Angie, I must confess I’m stunned—out and out
disgusted—at your refusal to galvanize yourself to life
on this special day! Since when do you balk at springing to
action the instant some frolic’s proposed? Since when
do you allow a night of recreation to get the better of you,
complain it’s tuckered you out, as if you’re some
wheezing half dead thing who doesn’t take care of herself?—as
if you aren’t in the prime of life, bursting with health,
fit and feisty as a tomcat thirsting to send a rival packing?
Since when do you whine like an old maid who nearly got kissed
(Such a horror!) against her will? Since when do you embrace
that very worst of the seven deadly sins, sloth?
Damn! Maybe I ought to cast about for a new girlfriend! Yes,
maybe I’m plenty itchy and am depending on you to fly
to my side to assist me in scratching the said itches, and
am feeling disgracefully neglected! Maybe I’ll find
myself a girl who doesn’t turn pusillanimous on me when
I need her to be strong, and thrives on the fact I need lots
of lustful attention! Hell! You’re so far gone into
prissiness you probably wouldn’t care if I found someone
else! Who knows? Maybe you’re so far from being the
girl I thought you were that you’d breathe a sigh of
Living in your bed? What kind of pathetic sticking-of-your-head-in-the-sand
avoidance of life is that? Who lives in bed besides an invalid?
It beggars belief, Angie! Under your blankets when the sun’s
beating at your windows, calling, “Come out and play!”?
What sort of girl avoids a beautiful day? Are you a wilted
flower on the sidewalk, waiting to be swept into the gutter
and washed down the drain?
For shame, Angie! I said it once and I’ll say it again:
flog your sluggish carcass awake and join me in doing honor
to summer’s first day! Otherwise, I’ll be coming
over to flog you to life myself!
Angie to Ella
Saturday, June 21, 2003 11:56 AM
Guess what, summertime strumpet? Your call (Despite the fact
’twas on my emergency-only line—which, may I remind
you, I sincerely do not want you to do again.) prodded me
alive as much as you could wish! Yup, I was jus’ playin’
wi’ cha, you emergency line hijacking—false alarming,
crying wolf—girl! Jus’ prankin’ wi’
cha, you gullible goose of a goofy girl!
A night of sex thrills, far from flooring me, always primes
me for more action: the more this nubile gets, the more she
needs! First day of summer? Count on sentimental calendar
watching you to be aware of such things! As for me, I don’t
need an excuse to ready myself for some fun in the park!
Central Park! It’s my favorite swath of greenery on
the face of the earth! I’m always aware of it being
there: it’s a force of nature unceasingly sending its
emanations throughout the upper east and west sides, swirling
about me as I stroll the streets, seeping under the door and
through the windows of my apartment, whispering in my veins!
It’s always beckoning with a promise of lush lawns,
multi-colored gardens, stands of trees swaying in the breeze;
it’s the booming croak of bullfrogs of a morning, pulsating
song of cicadas during daylight, flicker of fireflies at dusk—the
scent of wild roses and tall oaks and pines; it’s Cleopatra’s
Needle and Belvedere Castle and Cedar Hill and the soaring
elms of the Mall; it’s a golden sunset reflected on
the reservoir, the laughter of children at Alice in Wonderland
playground, a hawk feasting on a pigeon on the Great Lawn;
it’s the hidden nooks of rock outcroppings, streambeds,
shrub and tree covered hills; it’s a stare straight
up into a cloudless sky as seagulls and swallows wheel on
invisible rivers of wind; it’s serenity and freedom,
the irresistible urge to become uncontrollable with my urges!
Central Park’s my aphrodisiac of choice!
So damn right I hopped to when you phoned, Honey, like a conscript
caught goofing off by his DI! Damn right I dolled myself up
real trollopsome in a snug-as-a-glove white one-piece with
a hemline that flirts with the bottom of my cheeky-cheeks;
and, of course, with black lace brassiere and panties underneath!
(Not much different than going out in my underwear, considering
the semi-transparency of the dress!) Plus I’ve put on
purple pumps, ponytailed my hair with a pink ribbon that sluttishly
dangles down my back; nor to forget my purple floppy-rimmed
hat with white feathers sprouting every which where! And a
parasol? How scrumptious! I’m bringing my pink and purple
one: I actually chose the shoes, hat, and ribbon to match
So yes, arrogant gauntlet-flinging Ella, I do believe I’ll
be stylishly floozy enough, a tramp you can proudly strut
your stuff with! Which, of course, begs the question: will
you be enough of an eye-magnet to be worthy of me? Because
I’ve got to see your pinafore thing before I’ll
believe it’s not utterly silly! I mean, an apron? Come
on! But do your best, my Dear: go ahead and slip yourself
into your pinky pinafore, risk being laughed at! At any rate,
I’s a comin’ ovah NOW!
Ella to Angie
Sunday, June 22, 2003 2:04 PM
Salutations, summer playmate!
Where to begin? How to do yesterday justice? The only thing’s
to plunge in:
When we entered the park at 84th Street I was so eager to
do the first day of summer proud I was as good as drunk! The
sun was shimmering up and down the slanted glass of the Egyptian
wing of the Met—dizzy silver waterfalls of light! So
reeling with excess of energy was I the lawns and trees were
swaying, dancing—flooding my field of vision with emerald
mist! It was as if I was floating over the grass instead of
walking—as if a breeze was blowing me along! A topsy-turvy
sensation bred of health—sheer intoxication with being
The ivy smothered wall adjacent to the Egyptian wing beckoned—I
don’t even recall strolling to it: I might as well have
been wafted there on the scents and colors and energy in the
air! ’Twas indeed a delight when we were standing with
our backs pressed into the ivy, gazing skywards up the wall
of writhing green! The breeze-fluttered leaves were tickling
my legs and arms and neck, embracing me; I was seeming to
fall into the wall, drown in the foliage; the tickles of the
leaves were merging with the beat of my blood; the sap of
the vines was flowing through me as my sight blurred in the
vastness of the sky! How long did we stand there, with the
rustling leaves lulling us from awareness of being puny humans
separated from nature by civilization? Ha! ’Twas only
the beginning of our wrapped-in-Mommy-Nature’s-arms
Us prancing side by side later on... The finickiest girl on
earth would be proud to be in your company—so scrumptiously
svelte in a white silk flimsy ineffectively veiling lacy-racy
black lingerie! Twirling our parasols in unison, the breeze
tousling our hair and hemlines—I was far too entranced
to be aware of, or care about, attracting the sort of lustful
stares that generally excite me! I was already excited beyond
what mere stares would do for me! Cleo’s Needle swirled
on by; then we took a turn at the top of Cedar Hill (So uplifting
the sight of the rock outcroppings set against the lawn’s
lush green, with the stately evergreens shooting straight
up: a sight as of a garden centuries ago!); and thence south
past the Boathouse and through the tunnel of Bethesda Terrace
with its representations of fertility Goddesses on the walls,
and… The elms of the Mall were towering above us in
the blink of an eye, as if we’d been magic-wanded there!
Again, I have little recollection of our stroll over there;
in my mind, our stroll was waves of warm tingles undulating
in the sunblasted sky and birdsongs and roses in bloom and
butterflies flitting and the shimmering water of the Lake!
There was a bird watching group in the Mall; we...
So that’s where I was when you called to inform me a
thunderstorm’s brewing, Angie! Naturally, I’m
going to set my recollections aside so’s to enjoy myself...
I’ll rejoin you after the storm: may you be as lifted
out of yourself into communion with the elements as I anticipate
Angie to Ella
Sunday, June 22, 2003 2:11 PM
I’ve just finished speaking to you, hung up the phone:
I’m a giggling little girl, delighted beyond measure,
like as not to jump out of my skin for joy; and why not? A
thunderstorm’s darkening the sky!
Now that I’ve alerted you... Do you hear the rumbling
in the distance? Are your windows open, as my terrace door
is, so’s you can relish the rising of the wind? savor
the atmospheric charge, sudden plummet in temperature? ’Twas
a summer day in the low nineties, a clear blue sky; now a
thick veil of clouds approaches, steadily blots out the sun;
my curtains violently rustle, a swift cool breeze flows throughout
my apartment, engulfs me; energy crackles in the air, invades
the curls of my hair, caresses me: it’s as if soft electric
fur’s swishing against my every curve! It’s like
an invisible ghost of a lover has embraced me, is pouring
vibrating sparkles into the pores of my skin; I’m becoming
tense, breathing deeply; soon I’ll be reclined on my
terrace as the rain streams down my face, chest, and thighs
while the lightning flickers and thunder cracks; soon I’ll
be turning inside out in the high winds, mixing my moans with
the rage of the storm!
So no time to read your email now, Honey! The storm’s
going to peak soon, both outside and inside of me!
Ella to Angie
Sunday, June 22, 2003 4:41 PM
You’re the delightfulest girlfriend in the world, Angie!
Oodles of gratitude for phoning to inform of the storm! Because,
though it’s with shame I confess it, confess it I must:
I was utterly oblivious of the wonder of nature being birthed
outside! My windows were shut tight, with the shades drawn,
and music (Campra’s Idomenee!) was playing;
I was so absorbed in savoring the recollections of our first
day of summer romp I was blind to the precious opportunity
for more pleasure in the here and now! Thanks to you, I’m
happily able to assert I enjoyed myself in a manner that’ll
bring a smile to your face and make you proud!
To recapitulate: you call up, say rather heatedly (So charming,
the way your voice is adrip with wantonness, oozing undiluted
lust!) that the wind’s rising and clouds are rolling
in; that it’s about to orgasm outside; that you’re
about to commune! Well, you slam the phone down before I can
say a word! Then I rapidly sign off on my last email, go to
the windows, draw aside the shades, and: wow!
I waste no time in opening the windows, flinging myself on
the couch beside them (Someday I’ve got to get an apartment
with a terrace too!), shedding my nightie, preparing myself
for reception of the sacred thunderstorm electricity: so invigorating’s
the caress of the wind upon my nakedness! Yes, I’m gazing
into the dark disturbed sky while twisting against the cushions
in response to the wind blowing across my legs, dancing upon
my tummy and breasts and throat and fluffing my hair and…
Oh, what a wild lover is the vacillating gust of a storm—now
furious, now subdued! With each surge of the wind I gasp deeper—tense
deeper—churn deeper; with each lull of the wind I seem
to spill outside the confines of my body, float upon the ceiling,
slide over the floor! I’m sinking into the cushions
while seeming to soar into the clashing gray of the clouds;
I’m being pulled outside the window, scattered like
mist, as the rain begins to fall; I’m getting dense
inside with gathering desire! So many contrasting movements
at once! Ha! Surely I’ve ceased to inhabit my body,
am now an elemental force no physical boundary can contain;
and, yet, I’ve never been more aware of my body—more
thrillingly conscious of the sensory fireworks that lurk within
me! Shsssss! The rain’s striking the screen,
splattering me! Crisssh! The thunder’s pounding
at my ears, vibrating in my bones! Flicker-flisssh!
The lightning’s hitting my eyes, turning my spine to
shimmers! Ah! Now I’m undulating inside to the tune
of an inserted finger: as finger steadily probes and caresses,
I tremble to the storm’s roar—shudder to thunder’s
shout! I’m the convulsive expanse of sky outside my
windows, electric thrill of the atmosphere; I’m the
earth being pummeled with driving rain! Ooooo! I’m inhaling
deep draughts of storm purified air, holding them hard inside
me—pitching, shaking: the storm’s blowing through
me! Yes, I’m assuredly the sky as I die—for a
few illuminated moments! Then I’m sighing—quivering,
gloriously limp—against the softness of the couch: it’s
as if the softness is pulling me down inside it, closing over
me like a sea, as the rain continues to splash...
Honey, no amount of hyperbole will ever do orgasm justice;
so I’ll stand pat with the above and thank you again,
from the bottom of my juice-oozing womb!
And now that I’m pristine with a thunderstorm dousing...
Ha, it’s not easy to resume my recollections of our
first day of summer romp when I’m romping inside with
post-coitus reverberations! Sweetie, it’s your fault:
had you not told me of the storm I’d still be reliving
yesterday; but now the storm’s made me far too dizzy
with energy to focus! Of course, I wouldn’t have it
any other way!
So it’s up to you to take up the thread, weave it into
faithful documentation, should you choose: there just isn’t
enough detachment in my head!
Angie to Ella
Sunday, June 22, 2003 6:50 PM
All I wish to say is that yesterday was truly Paradise Regained:
profuse thanks, Dearest, for coming under the influence of
celebration mania, dragging me to the park, uniting me with
the elemental exuberance of summer!
Central Park (Closest approximation of natural wilds any town
could hope to have!) always tosses me off-balance in a good
way, teeters me towards being rasher than my already rash
self; yesterday, the effect was heightened. I was vividly—almost
unbearably—aware of every flying, scampering, noisy
sustenance-craving creature; my blood was ahum with the struggle
each living thing shares—the never quiet urge to prolong
its stay on earth and propagate itself! Do I exaggerate? I’m
telling you the buzz of insects about the flowers, blur of
squirrels racing up and down the tree trunks, twittering of
birds in the canopy was beating in my ears, throbbing in my
temples, sizzling in my nerves: all of it was heat in my skin,
fever in my head, the exchange of thought for compulsion!
A small part of our adventures I’ll attempt to tell—the
stunt I pulled at The Boathouse:
We’re seated at a table on the deck, dangling our feet
over the sun-silvered water of the Lake; we’re sippity-sipping
Champagne and nibbly-nibbling strawberries whilst twirling
our parasols, being the sweetest lil’ well-behaved things...
Well, quite simply, I’m not in the mood to be well-behaved,
Ella! As a matter of fact, I’m plenty squirmish and
impatient, thirsting to introduce some variety of disorder
into this peaceful place! Ha! Want some communion with nature
cause and effect? Want some “Summer caused it!”
stuff? How’s this: the movement of the sun on the water
is thrusting itself at my eyes, dizzying me; the midday heat’s
making my skin itchy, discontented, clamorous; the fact we’re
here instead of off alone under the trees somewhere is making
me doubly intolerant of the polite behavior that’s being
imposed upon us by the situation of dining at a restaurant!
Yes, it’s the whispering of the trees in the distance—promise
of frolic in some hidden nook of a rock outcropping under
a tall oak—that’s causing my thoughts to dance
dervishly and needle me! It’s the proximity of the lake
that’s flinging pictures of upwelling springs, swift
mountain streams, and silver fountains into my head! Then
comes the clarity: a plan of action suddenly glimmers amidst
the churning mix of my discontent, and I quiver in response!
’Tis with blitheness in my voice and joyous expansion
of heart that I bid the waitress bring us a liter-and-a-half
bottle of carbonated water...
The water’s brought and opened, poured into tall glasses:
bubbles are rising in the glasses, bursting at the surface,
sparkling and hissing—mirroring the state of my nerves!
Ha! ’Tis actually quite innocent when I lift the bottle
of remaining water high, pour it down my neck, onto my chest
and into my lap: I’m simply chasing after a chance at
calm! And when the water sloshes over me—ooooo! Icy
fizzies! I’m sheer electrification in a second, surging
towards the sky! A fizzy frigid water bath on a hot summer’s
day does wonders for unease, Ella! All the claustrophobia
engendered by too much good behavior goes poof! like a bad
dream does the instant one opens one’s eyes! What whirlies
dance within me at touch of the liquid sparkling cold, whisk
sensations of oppression away!
Too brief is the pristine surge of relief; almost instantly,
I’m aware of our fidgeting neighbors—the starts
in their stares, hushes in their manner: their rapid whippings
about of head and snippety mutterings are intruding upon my
fields of vision and sound!
I glance at myself: nearly the whole of the front of my white
dress has been transformed from semi-transparent to transparent
on account of the drenching; seen from the front, I’m
not wearing much more than my underwear!
Then you upsy-daisy your glass onto yourself, such that the
upper portion of your pinafore clings like a second skin,
reveals your half cups aren’t covering your nips! I
can’t help but giggle, and... Ha, our neighbors don’t
like my daring to giggle at all (Not to mention the fact you’ve
brazenly chosen to mimic me!): some of the looks they’re
giving us aren’t kind!
And yet, seated not too far away, are two sunbathers in bikinis:
even though they’re far closer to being naked than we
are, are any eyebrows being raised on their account? Nay!
But the drenching of our dresses has instantly transformed
us into shameless whores! If we were wearing bikinis,
we’d be inoffensive sunbathers—completely socially
acceptable—and the manager wouldn’t be darting
glances of apprehension at us! Girl presentation’s so
relative! A bikini in the park’s OK; to be decked out
in a wet dress and lingerie isn’t! Even though we’re
more clothed than a girl in a bikini, we’re Hester Prynnes
with Scarlet Letters sewn on! How utterly silly and arbitrary
are the social mores that govern our lives!
Of course, I’m also squishing my wet thighs together
under the table so’s to tickle my flowerpuss and feel
at one with the shimmering water of the lake at my feet; but
no one can see that...
Ha! We definitely do need to revisit—further
explore—the emotional nuances of self-dousings in public!
(Preferably at The Boathouse.) Obviously, we’ll do so
when you’re in more of a prankish frame of mind! (You
were far too swept up in what you mentioned earlier—too
moved by our celebration of summer’s first day to relish
teasing people!) Yes, we’ll perform a memorable baptismal
ritual, all right! We won’t exit prematurely, as we
did yesterday! We’ll shiver and quiver and turn inside
out to our heart’s content, all the while living up
to our motto (One of many!): “Unfettered joy in the
face of reproachful stares!” We’ll greet those
accusing glances with an impenetrable wall of seeming unawareness
of doing anything wrong, jus’ laugh and laugh like innocent
lil’ girls! Ha! Ha! Ha!
And on that note of future fun, Sweetest, I’ll lay my
recollections of yesterday to rest. After all, I’ve
tickled twatsie to the tune of a thunderstorm’s fury—been
element-blasted today—too! Cresting whilst being doused
by a storm: ’tis a double dose of heaven! And our summer’s
only begun! May we both be whirled from one crestful day to
another all June and July and August long!
Nightie-night, Celebrational Sweetheart!
Ella to Angie
Sunday, June 22, 2003 7:41 PM
Yes, yesterday was Paradise Regained, and that’s
why I’m always eager to consider something—anything—a
special occasion, Angie! The first day of summer, anniversary
of our first frolic, whatever! Being a “calendar watcher”
has its rewards! Special occasions demand special exertion
and, as such, lift me free of the mundane! A special occasion’s
a rebirth—an inundation of anticipation, yearning, and
daring that obliterates the day-to-day world, erases all preoccupation
with work and care! I’m suddenly a little girl again,
afraid of nothing, naive enough (ha ha!) to feel I can get
away with everything! And when I’m with you, frolicsome
strumpet, that’s the icing on the crumpet!
And now one last thing, concerning our stroll home after being
in the park all day on Summer’s Day:
As we were strolling east on 79th... Oh, Angie! I was gloriously
ablur in my thoughts, in a wondrous state of there seeming
to be no distance between myself and every sight and scent
and sound! A simple glance towards the upper stories of the
buildings, and I was suddenly there—drifting amidst
the hanging gardens of the balconies, touching and smelling
the flowers, drinking in eyefuls of their colors! It was as
if the breeze was blowing through me; as if there was no boundary
to my body; as if I’d lost the limitations of being
The park’s as close to nature in her unaltered state
as we’ll ever get without leaving town—our equivalent
of the untamed woods: I was a maenad wending my way home following
a day of bacchic frenzy in the forest—bliss inundated,
with no understanding of fear! Was there a snake or two twined
in my hair?
Delirium smashes through self-dividedness, obliterates the
distance between us and nature, does away with civilization’s
That’s all, my Dear!
ANGIE & ELLA'S SUMMER OF DELIRIUM
I, Overture (Summer's Delirium)
by Robert Scott
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