Here's an original spoof on porn letters.
I am an avid reader of the fantasy column and I had always hoped that I had an experience of my own that I could share with the fellow perverts. I am glad to say that my dream came true recently. Last month, I was on my way to Seattle to attend a computer conference when my plane got delayed indefinitely at Chicago's O'Hare airport. I was in the horns of a dilemma: I could either call home and talk to my wife about watering the plants I had hitherto kept secretly under our bed or I could call my girlfriend and make plans for the weekend. Neither prospect was very appealing. Finally, I decided to buy a copy of "IQ Pervert" and spend my time reading the fantasy column.
I had just read the fantasy of an author, whose name and address had been withheld, when I found myself grunting uncontrollably, much to my own embarrassment. "Reading the fantasy column?" a husky voice enquired, and I found that I had been sitting next to a nerdish blonde all along without noticing. She, however, noticed my embarrassment and removed the shawl which she had spread across her lap and revealed her own copy of "IQ Pervert" lying underneath. On the cover were a couple of Russians, stripped to their waist and playing chess. My embarrassment turned to delight at the prospect of having something going with a fellow pervert, not to mention a hot nerd.
We started talking about this and that and suddenly we found ourselves discussing the contents of the fantasy column. "Did you read the one by the young exec who fantasizes about reading Proust with his boss's wife when the boss is away on business?" she asked. "You just caught me reading it," I replied with a sly grin. As the conversation went on, I found myself turned on like never before. The blonde must have sensed it, for she suddenly stood up and removed her winter jacket to reveal a Harvard Poetry Club sweat shirt. She sat down and when she looked at me, the invitation in her eyes was unmistakable. The sight of her perfectly shaped Harvard emblem made me perspire and my heart started pounding in anticipation. "Is there some place in the airport with a smaller population density where we can go and talk Byron?" I said with a wink and the blonde took the cue.
She took me to the dimly-lit airport restaurant and as we waited for our cocktails, she leaned towards me and started reciting Yeats in a husky voice. Soon I was flushing and when she stopped to catch her breath, I was growling, "Don't stop, baby, keep going." But then she was in total control. She'd tease me with a few verses and just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, she'd stop and let me deflate and start all over again. It was crazy. I had never been out with a nerd before who could handle Yeats so adroitly.
But this was just the beginning. As soon as we finished our respective cocktails, she took out a paperback edition of Liz Browning from her purse and in a caressing voice, started on a random verse. This time, the pleasure was too much for me to handle and I was sweating profusely, not to mention the guttural noise of appreciation I was producing. A couple of senior citizens sitting in the table next to us were clearly disgusted that people would actually do Browning in broad day light in a public place, but I was past caring. When she was done with Liz, I put my hand under the table, took out my own small paperback from my briefcase and whispered, "Have you ever done Fitzgerald in a restaurant?" She was clearly taken aback. "I'm not kinky, you know," she said and I was worried that I had crossed a line somewhere. But the smile was soon back in her eyes and to my ultimate joy, she did two whole pages, in a slow rhythm. Just as she was finishing up, a couple of college co-eds walked in and were about to sit next to us. But when they saw me, the blonde and my copy of "IQ Pervert" on the table, they moved over to another table with knowing smiles. We were done soon after that and just as we were leaving the restaurant, I heard my flight being announced. I had just enough time to go to the washroom, straighten my tie and board my plane and in my hurry, I forgot to ask the nerdish blonde her name. Maybe I'll see her in a ski resort in Colorado next winter. Meanwhile, I am always going to be carrying an issue of "IQ Pervert" with me, in case I meet another pervert unexpectedly.
(Name and address withheld)