Beautiful Aishah,
My velvety sweet—Ezudash forgives you for slapping him, and stepping on his tail, and hitting him in the face with your bailiff club. It was wrong of this one to send word of an arsonist in the stock house. But what can be said? Ezudash is foolish and impulsive in matters of the heart. And there was some truth in in my story. When you arrived, you lit a great fire in in Ezudash's loins. The heat is unbearable, my vivacious honey pot. It must be smothered, yes?
You needn't deny your urges. Why keep pretending? You are a spirited maiden, Ezudash is a vigorous knave. This is a tale as old as Jone and Jode, yes? The story begins with reticence, yes, but ends in long nights of passionate grooming and eager love-wrestling.
You may protest, yes. You may call Ezudash names, and write warrants for his arrest. But in your heart and your haunches, you feel the longing. This one has seen it! The wetted lips, the flush snout, the bristling fur on the small of your back. Even as you kick him, Ezudash sees the straining of your thighs, the lusty curl of your tail. Your desire is unmistakable.
Meet me tonight in the Arboretum at sunset, my fiery love-kitten. The criers say it will be a hot night. A humid night. Perfect weather for a lively game of "hide the mutton," yes? This one will be waiting underneath the juniper tree with a bottle of spiced wine … and nothing else.
Sealed with many wet kisses,
Ezudash
