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<TD ALIGN="LEFT"><B><FONT FACE="Georgia">e-mail to Venus</FONT></B></TD>
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<TD ALIGN="RIGHT"><B><FONT FACE="Georgia"><A HREF="bios_m2z.shtml#Regentin">Ann Regentin</A> </FONT></B></TD>
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<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">Jason calls when he’s gone, but one of his few weaknesses is that
he’s lousy at phone sex. It’s funny. He’s not the most verbal
person in bed but he’s not exactly mute, either. On the phone
he gets tongue-tied -- at least that’s what he says. I don’t
complain, though, because he e-mails splendidly. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">My husband travels a lot. I knew that when I met him. It was
fun in the beginning because he took me all over the world with
him. He was busy during the day, but I could amuse myself and
at night, I could give him something else to think about. Then
he’d take an extra day or a weekend if he could and I’d take him
to the best places I found while he was in his interminable meetings.
But that time, I could not go. I was the first of many trips
that would separate us. I lived for my e-mail, checked it obsessively,
even when I woke at night, and when I saw his name appear in my
mailbox, I dropped everything, hit the print button, and took
his letter to bed. </FONT></P>
<P><I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">My Kerry,</FONT></I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2"> <BR>
<I>You’d love Amsterdam. It’s picturesque and delightfully raunchy.
Here, they offer “someone to keep you company” the way they offer
you wine. I agreed on one condition: she had to be 5’2”, brunette,
hazel eyes and very, very pregnant with my son. They couldn’t
help me. Some of the shops look fascinating, though. I’m going
to steal an hour or two and buy you a souvenir, maybe some leather
or something that vibrates. I haven’t decided yet. What I really
wish I could do is cut you loose with a credit card. I’d love
to see what you would have waiting for me when I got back. I’d
also love to see where you would take me. The options here are
mind-boggling and I wonder what you would choose. I think the
gods sent me here without you to torment me. Yes, the women are
beautiful and mostly unclothed, but their bellies are flat and
that doesn’t do much for me these days. In fact, it looks a little
weird. I’m too used to you as you are.</I> </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">It’s not easy to get comfortable when you’re nine months pregnant.
Jason bought me one of those six-foot pillows, and I made a nest
for myself out of it, propping the whole construction against
the headboard. Before I got pregnant, my favorite position for
masturbation was to lie flat on my face, but that was no longer
possible. No part of me was flat. The baby was everywhere, forcing
his mother into a reclining half-lotus, working with a slightly
different set of sensations, learning again how to make herself
come. Marriage to a playful man who got hard when the wind blew
had relegated solitary vice to a stopgap measure. That first
long separation gave it new significance. I didn’t just want
release. I wanted to be loved. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">I set his e-mail next to me so I could read without holding it.
I needed my hands for other things: one toyed with a nipple and
the other roamed over my huge belly. After I got pregnant, my
stomach became a magnet for him. He caressed it, drew things
on it, talked to it, kissed it, sang to it. Rubbing cocoa butter
into it was his job and his alone. When the baby got large enough,
Jason played with him, rubbing his back or tickling his feet through
my skin. Even before I started to show, my husband would keep
one hand on my belly when he fucked me, as if he were reminding
himself of something. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">Our child was conceived in Rome. We had a room with a balcony,
and I brought Jason out with a bottle of wine. He pulled me onto
his lap and I took off his tie and rubbed his shoulders until
the knots eased there and reformed farther south. He laughed
low in his chest and fed me a mouthful of wine. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“Do you know what I love about you?” he asked. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“No,” I said, “tell me.” </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“You make all the bullshit disappear. I spend hours in meetings
with these guys doing this dance that’s half seduction and half
boxing match, and then I come to you and you bring me back to
life again.” </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“Apparently,” I said, grinning as I traced the bulge in his trousers.
It wasn’t his keys. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">He fed me more wine and his hands covered my breasts. “You bring
me to life,” he repeated with a lazy, lecherous grin. “We’re
in Rome, baby, and we’ll have a whole weekend when this is over.
What are we going to do?” </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“I have a few ideas,” I said, unbuttoning his shirt. The hair
on his head is blond, but everywhere else, it’s a carmely brown.
</FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">He’s got a sprinkling of it on his chest, and I buried my nose
in it, tonguing one nipple. I love the smell of him, moss and
musk and amber with a bit of soap and cologne. I love the feel
of him, too; his skin is like warm, humid satin and the muscles
ripple delightfully just below the surface. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“Like what?” he asked after a minute, somewhat indistinctly.
He’s a firm believer in quid pro quo and very good with bra hooks.
</FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“I haven’t explored the city very thoroughly yet,” I said into
his hair, “but I’ve found something here that you’re going to
love.” </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“Tell me,” he said, his hands creeping up my leg under my skirt.
</FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“No way! I want to surprise you with it.” I unzipped him. One
of the things I like about his suit pants is that it’s easier
to get him out of them when he’s sitting down than it is when
he’s wearing jeans. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">“I love surprises,” he groaned. By then, he’d discovered what
I wasn’t wearing under my skirt. </FONT></P>
<P><I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">It’s been only a day, but I already miss you terribly. I miss
everything about you, but what I miss most is being inside you.
Sometimes I wish I could stay inside forever, but coming deep
in you is so good that I can’t. That’s home to me, no matter
where I am. I want to lie here on the bed, buried to the hilt
in you, seeing your belly rising over me like the moon. I want
to rest my hands on you, feel what we have created together.
I hate being away from you, especially now. When you told me
what we had done, I wanted you so much it hurt. You are my Venus.
A lot of people forget that she had children, but she did, many
of them, and each time, she would have looked like you do now,
Love Incarnate. One look at you, one look at us together, and
everyone knows what we’ve been up to and how I feel about you.
I fuck you every chance I get because I’m crazymad for you.</FONT></I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2"> </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">He played with me that day in Rome, drew me out, tormented me.
By the time I took him inside, I was dying for him. I no longer
cared where we were or who might see. The air was cool but he
was pure heat and the sounds of the city vanished in his whispers.
</FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">We had given up. We’d tried on our own for two years. When that
failed, we saw the doctors, but they found nothing wrong with
either of us. Then another year followed of drugs that made me
sick, weepy, angry, everything but pregnant. Finally one day
we got into a horrible fight, screaming blame and recriminations
at each other. Enraged, he went through the medicine cabinet
and flushed the pills down the toilet, and when it was over, we
lay in bed and cried together, mourning. A month later, we went
to Berlin, then Tel Aviv, and then Rome. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">So when he eased me down onto his cock, I thought of nothing but
how he felt sinking deep into me, how it felt to grind myself
in slow circles against him. He leaned back, his fingers digging
into my flesh, his chest heaving, his eyes desperate. When he
came, I thought of nothing but the agonized bliss on his face.
I love to see him like that, when he is mine, totally, completely
mine. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">I had no idea at the time how much mine he was about to become.
</FONT></P>
<P><I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">I have to be up early tomorrow, but I’m dreading going to bed
because you’re not here. I would give anything to have you beside
me. Your belly is the sexiest damned thing I have ever seen and
your nipples taste sweet. You’re going to be a mother because
of me. When I look at you, all I can think of is how you got
that way and I want to re-live that night over and over again.
I want you now more than ever, and I have wanted you since I first
saw you. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the rest of the
week. It’s worse being in Amsterdam. Just a walk through certain
parts of this city are enough to put you in a state of terminal
arousal, and all I’ve got when I get back to the hotel is my hand.
I want to cry knowing you’re on the other side of the ocean.
But I’ll tell you something. When I close my eyes, you’re all
I see. I need you.</FONT></I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2"> </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">My hand slid from my breast, down over our sleeping child to my
swollen, slippery clit. God, he wasn’t the only one! Even on
paper, his lust for me made me ache for him in return and I needed
to come, needed release. I didn’t know how I was going to survive,
either. I let my fingers work, drifting from memory to his e-mail
and back again, thought of how his mouth tasted, about how warm
his hands were, thought of the way his eyes smoldered when he
was hard. He’d been hard when he wrote me; it was there in every
word. I would have killed to hear his footsteps on the stairs
or to materialize in a certain hotel room in Amsterdam. I wanted
that erection buried to the hilt in me. During my last trimester,
especially after the baby dropped, I felt so open everywhere,
as if my bones were moving aside to make room. I felt like a
goddess, a big, sexy mama-goddess. It made me even hungrier for
him, I wanted him inside me so bad, then I realized with a shock
that he was and that he had been for the last nine months. With
the shock came the first stirrings of orgasm, and when I came,
the hand on my belly was almost, almost his. </FONT></P>
<P><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">The baby squirmed a bit, then settled down, drifting off again
in his private ocean. I felt the faint ripple of a contraction
and held my breath. Jason told me that if I went into labor before
he got back, he’d strangle me. But it was just a Braxton-Hicks
contraction triggered by the orgasm. I’d been getting them for
about a week, a sign that the waiting was coming to an end. </FONT></P>
<P><I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2">As soon as I can, I will come home to you and we’ll celebrate
in the way we do best. Until then, I am…</FONT></I><FONT FACE="Georgia" SIZE="2"> <BR>
<I>…always and forever, your Jason</I> <BR>
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