Hmmm. That had potential. You sipped your tea and opened the email.“Sweet Angel,” You smiled. He was so smitten with you. Sometimes he called you his muse, sometimes his angel, and sometimes even sweetheart. He was such a sweetie. You knew he was older, maybe mid-sixties. He was married, and sometimes seemed to feel guilty about how attracted to you he felt. He was some sort of engineer, or scientist, and he taught at a university. And you liked that he frequently seemed more bashful than most of your fans. He almost never used vulgarity when writing, although some of his stories had you being a complete slut. You took another sip of tea and read the text.“You know I'm quite taken with you. You know I have very strong feelings for you. I can't get you out of my mind. “For some time, I've wanted to ask a favor of you. “I want you to masturbate for me. I want you to think about me and masturbate. I've been fantasizing about you for months, masturbating, even have had. They even managed to add a couple to Rhonda’s set, worked on in a borrowed studio in New Orleans and at Max’s gallery in Chicago and during some extra-long sound checks. It seemed that Rhonda had subverted Eddie’s need to rehearse a song to death. It helped that her songs remained simple and folkish. Joe and Eddie’s newest compositions wouldn’t be added. At least not until Europe.Like Joe had felt when he returned home from the Caribbean before heading to Minneapolis to start putting together Myth, he longed to stay in his familiar huge bed with his wives and lovers. Most of the others had similar ambivalent feelings. Charlie loved the suite Tony and Laura had created for him in the former storage area beside Joe’s, Moe’s and Cheryl’s offices. Joanne loved her room too. On the same floor as Joe’s expanded master bedroom, but with some distance. Sort of the guest wing. Eddie loved all that had been done to make the basement apartment and studio his and Rachel’s. He wanted to stop and.
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