Dear Sasha,
You are so much more than just a George Foreman Lean Mean Grilling Machine to me; you are a part of me. Let’s not play games, baby… I have to get right to the point.
The fact that I made burgers frozen in the cold of winter in you tonight is a dream I never dared dream; you made heaven a reality… with beef. But that’s not all your capable, sweetheart.
You crisp bacon to perfect. You grill hot dogs like a wave of orgasmic pleasure. Chicken breasts are the only set of lovely ta-tas I need with you in my life… topped with barbeque sauce and the joint love between man and machine.
What more are you capable of? Is it selfish of me to even ask? You’ve given me so much already. Dare I try to grill a cheese sandwich between your warm, ridged thighs? I wonder if I can make a smore on your slanty bottom…
…All I know, Sasha, is that you give to me so much more than any woman could ever provide me… you give me food without words. Should every man be so lucky.
Always,
d$
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