Liaisons for Laughs
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6 x 9, 332 pages,
four-color cover
ISBN 978-0-9821710-0-4

ISBN 978-0-9821710-1-1

Published by
ShatterColors Press


"Some 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)

"...we 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

Ian and Alicia (aka Freddy and Eddy) are proprietors of the couples-oriented site and LA Weekly columnists.

“You 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.”

--Susan DiPlacido, author of 24/7 and House Money

“Licentious. 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, word-sensual writing.”

-- Kris Saknussemm, author of Zanesville and Private Midnight

Liaisons 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 our time.”

-- William T. Hathaway, author of A World Of Hurt and Summer Snow




Chapter I,
Overture (Summer's Delirium)

To 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 vampishest tramp!

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 twitchy behind?

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 us?

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 relief!

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 it.

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 alive!

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 day!

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 I’ll be!



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!

Enjoy thyself!



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 flesh!

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 emasculating mirrors!

That’s all, my Dear!




Chapter I, Overture (Summer's Delirium)

Copyright © 2009
by Robert Scott Leyse
All rights reserved.

To return to Chapter Index click: HERE



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