With my nose buried deep in a bunch of fragrant flowers, my eyes peered over the top and rested on a spectacular specimen.

Across the aisle in the frozen food section of the grocery store, I found Tom.


One glance at his broad expanse and my heart fluttered, I must have this guy. Though he appeared chilly and aloof, my legs propelled me forward toward the stranger, and in an instant, my hands rested on his rock hard body.

Three days later, we meet in my kitchen, and within seconds his naked body lies on the cold hard granite of my countertop. He beckons.

I float to him, fully clothed, and stand over this intriguing creature, unafraid and more than ready to get it on.

My eyes scan a hairless chest, and I grab a bottle of oil. With ease, my fingertips glide along meaty pecs and massive limbs.


He’s motionless, soundless as my examining hands apply delicate pressure to the inside of his thighs widening, opening, exposing more.

Damn! To my astonishment, he’s frozen, and in an hour ole Tommy boy must be elsewhere. What’s a girl to do?


The tension is on, and I’ve got to get things moving fast if I want this to happen. No choice exists except to plunge him into tepid water to unleash the glacier tenaciously gripping his insides.

Yes, Mr. Butterball is a real turkey, and after following the directions for the proper thaw time, though the skin is soft and supple, the interior is a solid brick of ice.

Why did you not succumb to the higher temperatures of the refrigerator?

This predicament now requires the insertion of my quite arthritic hands into the cavity. A battle ensues as I attempt to loosen the 100 degrees below freezing iceberg.

Frostbite sets in, and I cry and curse the agony that is stabbing like a knife into my paws. A half hour passes, and aha, a chunk breaks free.

With zero minutes to spare, goal accomplished, no more frigid cubes and Tom is packed with stuffing and sent on his not so merry way into the oven.

With fingers restored to comforting room temperature, and as a delicious aroma wafts through the air, the corners of my lips turn up, and my mouth moistens.

“Oh Tom, I really want you!”




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