pleasures of the country

Hello darling. Up in the aerie and the light is exquisite. I had a nice day. I pulled out of the driveway in the morning just as Stella the Artist came on. I got so wrapped up in it I forgot the speed limit and cruised along wailing away and beating the steering wheel and then at Van Wie I'm like, oh s**t, I'm doing 50 and I should have been doing 40 for the last quarter-mile. (I got busted one early Sunday morning over a Nields song and didn't get a ticket - not that time.) So I took it easy the rest of the way over to the conservation area, where I took a vigorous walk including sloggy stretches through mud. Then I did a bit of basic food shopping and went back home. Then I had an overwhelming desire to have in my possession once again a fresh supply of sheep's milk camembert. So I drove out on this beautiful day to the farm in Old Chatham for a half-wheel from the honor system fridge, stuffed a ten and four singles in the slot, selected my prize (only two to choose from today), and returned to the car. Ritualistically - without ripping - I broke the seal, undid folds of fastidious white wrap, revealing a glimpse of all that lay beneath. I admired the exposed end of the voluptuous half-wheel I had scored (distinctly plumper than the other one) raised the half-wheel to my nostrils, inhaled deeply, lowered it to my lap, and carefully, with my fingers, broke off a corner, and ingested a transcendent mouthful. Oh my word, good on so many levels, the pristine plump half-wheel reminiscent of an 1830s courtesan's thigh; redolent, flavorful, a sensational mouthfeel in an utterly biodynamic, sustainable, love makes things grow mini-vacation of field, feed and sun kind of way. I gave to my desire and tore off another creamy bit, messing my fingers which I then licked. I restrained myself from going all out and devouring more inches, mindful of my own thighs which I hope that in algebraic fashion might in a night of voluptuary ravishment be favorably compared to a plump split wheel of camembert...

Right. So I had the cheese along with an apple, then there was a stop at the library in Chatham, and then the drive back. KZE was all staticky in those precincts so I shut it off and talked aloud to you instead. You know, the usual. I love you. Where are you? I wish you could taste this lovely cheese. Here, have some apple, my dearest. Where are you? What did you think of the Women of Pleasure slideshow? My crazy mind keeps returning to #19 myself. Her thighs, their desire...