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The Edge 

Holiday Forecast: Wet and Hot

Sweet erotica! As a holiday treat, The Edge is delighted to present a tasty sampling of this neglected genre, penned by none other than the local TV weatherman whose amorous exploits were recounted in this column several weeks ago. Instead of charting storm fronts, it seems our starry-eyed prognosticator was busy composing flowery entreaties to his lady love. In his prolonged absence from the station, these have become popular reading among his colleagues -- and in light of their literary merit, why not all of Cleveland?

But even a cutting-edge column must respect legal constraints, which is why whimsical euphemisms (in bold) have been substituted for certain terms of affection. Still, the meaning is clear, the emotions true, and the contortions of love rapturous -- even on the highway, where we pick up our libidinous meteorologist's first-person narrative in medias res . . .

There was an exit coming up.

"Elmer, you don't know what you're missing," you told me. "My creampuff tastes so good, honey! I need you to frost me! Please Elmer, pull over and give me your chocolate eclair!"

I took the exit and as soon as I found a dark, deserted spot I pulled over. As soon as I stopped the car you leaned over and unzipped my jeans and pulled out my eclair. You immediately took the chocolate into your mouth. You closed down on it and I could feel your tongue swirl around the chocolate as you worked to suck the custard out.

"I have to frost you now, Bobbie Sue," I told you.

You got out of the car and walked behind it. I followed you to the trunk and you bent over.

"Frost my tight creampuff now," you yelled. "Frost me! Please frost me!! Elmer give me your eclair!"

I walked behind you and saw the tiny string of your gift wrap. I reached down to pull it out of the way.

"No!" you shouted. "Take me! Frost me like you say you are going to do! Use me! I am your pastry chef, Elmer . . . treat me like it! Make me take your eclair!"

I ripped that string right from your muffins. I got right behind you and just started pushing the chocolate of my swollen eclair right into your creampuff. You were just pushing down on me because you needed my eclair as much as I needed your creampuff.

I just started pounding you! I was frosting you like an animal!!

"Harder, Elmer. Frost my creampuff!" you screamed.

You started baking and I was not far behind! I took one final stroke and pushed as deep as I could and held it there as the custard from my eclair filled your creampuff.

We laid there for a few minutes. Then you pushed me back and squatted down. You took my eclair into your mouth and started to lick me clean.

"My custard and your custard, Elmer," you said. "The taste is great. I love tasting our custard all mixed together."

We got back in the car and started out like nothing had ever happened. "Oh my God," I said. "I can't believe this is happening!"

"Honey," you answered back. "I told you that you had turned me into a pastry chef and I meant it. I will do anything for you.

"If you liked this," you said, "you just wait. It gets even tastier!!"

Spice and hot tips to edge@clevescene.com.

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