An Alpha Encounter


Part One

It was a welcome relief, sitting in the quiet hotel bar. I was going to be here, in godforsaken Ohio, for at least a week. It might even take two or three. Sipping my wine, I thought about Steve again. He’d taken me for dinner, hoping to convince me not to shut down his company. He even tried to seduce me, though whether that was because he thought it would work, or he just wanted in my panties, only he knows.

Poor Steve! He’d thought we were going to absorb his business. Jack acquired this obscure little software company because they had an analytics program we need. They also had any number of other platforms, some of them, admittedly quite good, but we don’t need those. I had my orders: get what we need, find any assets, and get the company ready to close.

I’d let the ritual play out. Expensive restaurant, plenty of wine, the tentative hand on my thigh … His crushed look when I said, “Babe. You got more for your company than you could have dreamed. Go home to your wife. Tell your employees to send us a resume. ” He looked miserable, but nodded. He was defeated. I waved the waiter over, and asked for the check. Steve did not object when I threw my corporate card down.

My reverie was interrupted when I heard a deep voice next to me say, “Can I get a vodka martini.” I glanced sidewise and was pleasantly surprised to see an attractive, late 30ish man.  My eyes traversed his body. He was tall, and lean, and wearing a pair of jeans that hugged his hips just the way I love. His tee moulded his chiseled chest, and his bare, well-muscled arms made me want them wrapped around me immediately.  I knew he knew I was checking him out.

“May I?” he asked, settling on to the bar stool beside me. The bar was nearly empty, so this was encouraging.

“Oh, sure,” I said, shifting my purse on the bar.

“Another glass of wine, too, please,” he called to the bartender, pointing at my nearly empty glass.

“Thank you,” I said, looking into his eyes. They were blue. I have a weakness for tall men with blue eyes. A Friday night in Bumfuck Ohio suddenly held some appeal.

“I’m Brett,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile.

“Hi, Brett. I’m Rowena,” I responded, holding out my hand. His hand was strong and warm, and his handshake was firm. I did the apply pressure thing, as well. He gave me a wry smile and scrutinized me through half-closed eyes. I wondered if he’d made the same mistake so many men do, assuming that, because I dress the way I do, I was going to be easy.

I mean, I am easy, but I get to choose. Brett, looking as yummy as he did, was already on the short list, but he still had to convince me. There are certain things I look for, to make sure that a confident man isn’t really just a selfish, conceited prick. Selfish men are the worst in bed!

We chatted over drinks. I learned that Brett was self-employed, also travelling for work. He was in town to sign a new client. He lived on the east coast, but most of his clients were in the Midwest, so he was frequently in the area. He was bright, and friendly, and his deep voice was sexy as hell.

“So, Brett,” I said, tossing back the rest of my wine. “Would you like to come up to my room with me?”

He smiled, and turned so he was facing me. I turned in my seat as well, until my legs were between his. I dropped a hand, and ran it up his thigh, in case he had any question as to what the invitation entailed. He surprised me by taking my hand in his and lifting it from his leg.

“You’re an attractive woman, Rowena,” he said, interlacing his fingers with mine. I was shocked! I hadn’t thought I’d misread the signs. Maybe I was losing my touch. There had been the incident with Zach a couple of months back … I was disappointed, though. Brett was positively exquisite, and I really wanted to get him out of those jeans.

“Wow,” I said. “Really? I got this wrong?”

“If you mean that I want you,” he said, bringing my hand to his lips, “then no. You’re not wrong.” I squirmed on my seat when his tongue slipped out over his full, sensuous lips, and he licked from the palm of my hand to the tip of my middle finger.

“Oh, damn, Brett,” I said, my voice breathy and deep. “Then what?”

“I like the way you wear your nails,” he said, examining my hand. “I usually have to send my dates to the salon, so they get a proper manicure. You’ve already nailed it. Excuse the pun.”

He smiled, and turned my hand over, tickling the palm with his long, tanned fingers. The intimacy of his casual touch sent a jolt of desire through my body that settled deep between my legs. He wore no wedding ring, and his caresses were deliberate. Why was he hesitating?

“I have certain … proclivities,” he said. The way he was looking at me! I could see my own desire reflected in his eyes. There was no warning flare, just curiosity. What unexpected fetish did this Adonis have?

“Such as?” I prompted.

“I’m sure you struggle to find men who appreciate your confidence and independence. I like those qualities in you.”

“Brett …” I had no idea where he was going.

“I need to be in control,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

“Oh,” I said, turning back to the bar, and flagging the bartender to bring me another glass of wine.

“Does that bother you, Rowena?” he asked, his lips close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“It doesn’t bother me, necessarily,” I said. “I’m just not sure what you mean. Are you talking about the BDSM all the girls are twittering about?”

He laughed. “No, that’s not it,” he said. “I would never hurt or humiliate you. I just want you relinquish control. I want to show you the pleasure of submission.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. Don’t get me wrong. I like to be pushed up against a wall, my hands pinned over my head, and kissed passionately as much as the next girl, but sometimes I want to push him back in the pillows and pin his hands.

“You’re an open-minded woman,” he said. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

“You know what?” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I paused, worrying my lower lip between my teeth. “Okay.” I held my wine glass up, noting the sparkle in his eye as he smiled, and tapped his glass to mine.

We lingered over our drinks, and the sexual tension was palpable. Every smoldering look, every casual touch, every charged word. I wanted him so much! I couldn’t believe I wasn’t going to have him in my bed that very night.

“The anticipation is just part of the fun, Rowena,” he told me, sensing my need. “I want you to do something.”

“What?” I asked, knowing in that moment there was very little I wouldn’t do, if he asked.

“Go into the ladies room and take your panties off.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Do it,” he commanded. His voice, which had been gentle and caressing up until now, was forceful.

I stood up and looked at him. Judging by the look on his face, he was completely serious. Well, I’d told him I was down to try this. I might as well embrace it. It’s not like I had never been in a bar with no panties on before, after all.

I walked across the room, feeling his eyes follow me. In the stall, I wondered if I was going to be able to follow through. I was not used to, nor was I particularly fond of, being told what to do. Pursing my lips, I slipped my lacy black panties off. Crumpling them in in a fist, I returned to the bar, where Brett sat, waiting expectantly.

He held his hand out, as I stood before him. I reached up and pushed the panties in to his waiting hand. He took them, and I glanced furtively round the bar to see if anyone noticed as he shook them out, then lifted them to his face, inhaling deeply.

“Good girl,” he said, slipping my panties into his pocket. “These are mine now. Sit back down.” He patted the stool. “Let’s talk about tomorrow.” He handed me a slip of paper. “This is the restaurant where I want you to meet me. 7 o’clock.”

“Is there anything I need to do,” I asked. “You know … to …Should I do anything before we meet?”

He put his hand on my chin, and turned my face up to him. “I’m going to let you dress yourself, Rowena,” he said. “Just keep in mind that I like heels.”

“Okay,” I said.

He smiled, then leaned in and tenderly brushed my lips with his. My body trembled at the touch of his mouth. I wanted him to really kiss me. I wanted to feel his lips crushing mine, wanted some indication that he wanted me as badly as I wanted him, but he pulled away. My eyes dropped. I clearly saw the outline of his hard-on pressing against the front of his jeans. It was the sign I needed. I smiled and licked my lips.

This, I thought to myself, might be well worth the wait.

I tossed and turned in bed that night. I was titillated now by the game Brett had suggested, and curious to see how it would unfold. I kept hearing his voice, “I want you relinquish control. I want to show you the pleasure of submission.” It  sounded so sexy when he said it.




Part 2

An Alpha Encounter – Part Two

You can read part one here.

I had only a lunch meeting scheduled for the day, which was good, because while I generally pack for my trips with the possibility of adventure in mind, I tend toward a simple negligee for such happy occasions. My lacy red nightie was not what an evening with Brett called for. I knew that. So, a trip to the nearest lingerie store was my morning mission. I love shopping for lingerie. All that silky, sexy, suggestive frilliness.

What to wear? What would please my sexy alpha? You can never really go wrong with black, I decided. My final choice was a laced up the front corset that was snug, and of course, pushed my breasts up to accentuate my cleavage. Sheer black thigh highs, with a seam up the back to add just the right slutty flavor.

I got a text from Brett. Good morning, beauty.

Good morning to you, I responded. I was thinking of you.

I know you were, his next text read.

“Cocky,” I thought. But I was thinking of him. His lips, his body …I sighed. My fingers, lost in the jumble of silky panties on the table in front of me curved with the desire I had to touch him.

7 o’clock sharp, he texted. Do NOT keep me waiting.

Back at the hotel after my meeting,  I preened in front of the mirror in my underwear, admiring my shape in the tight-fitting corset. Chewing my lower lip, I contemplated my travel wardrobe. Short skirt, or tight jeans? I decided on a tight, black skirt, barely long enough to cover the top of my thigh highs. A sheer red blouse, top buttons undone to entice. Having selected a skirt, now I had to decide panties or no panties? What was it Brett expected from me? Well, if he had expectations, he should have told me. I grabbed a pair of pretty, red panties and slid them up my legs. He could remove them, if he didn’t like it.

I applied smoky eye shadow, and vibrant crimson lipstick to match the manicure Brett had admired the night before.  My eyes scanned the half dozen pair of shoes I had brought with me. I finally decided on  red heels. I glanced at the clock as I exited the room and realized I was cutting it short.

“Good thing I drive so fast,” I thought, as I slid into my car, feeling the leather on my naked thighs as my skirt rode up. I couldn’t help it – I dipped my fingers between my legs, and rubbed myself. Just a bit. I was already wet with anticipation.

I arrived at the restaurant with time to spare. Brett was waiting for me. He was standing just inside the entrance looking hot as fuck in a well-tailored suit. The man simply exuded sex-appeal. I smiled as I approached him, noting all the female eyes that were glued on him. When I stopped in front of him, he took my hands in his and spread my arms, as his eyes raked over me. I knew, by the way he was looking at me, as if I were some tempting morsel for him to devour, that my clothing choices had been correct.

“You look beautiful,” he said, raising my hand to his lips and kissing it. His eyes narrowed, and he passed my fingers under his nose slowly. I blushed, remembering my quick touch between my legs in the car. “Did I tell you I have a heightened sense of smell?” He smiled and took my index finger in his mouth, then slowly drew it out over his lips. I watched, entranced, as the pull of his mouth on my finger tugged somewhere deep inside me. Hot, sweet desire flowed through me as he withdrew my finger from his mouth and looked down at me over my hand. I drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you for the delightful and unexpected essence of you.”

“Your table is ready, sir,” the hostess said behind me.

“Are you ready to give me control, Rowena?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

“Well, Brett,” I replied, meeting his gaze, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take it.”

I could tell by the way his lips curved into a wicked grin that this was the right answer. He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. His hands moved slowly down my arms, then found my ass, and squeezed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said as we followed the hostess to our table.

I felt Brett watching me as I perused the menu. “What appeals to you, Rowena?” he asked.

“Besides you?” I asked, glancing up.

The waiter came to the table, and turned first to me. “Would you like something to drink to start off?” Before I could open my mouth, Brett spoke.

“We’re ready to order,” he said, catching me completely off-guard. “We’ll have the roasted figs with brie and spiced honey to start. For the lady, the crab stuffed shrimp, with rice pilaf, and sautéed vegetables. I’ll have the herb crusted lamb with grilled asparagus. Bring us a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and I’ll have a vodka martini.”

“Very well, sir,” the waiter said, turning to go.

“Excuse me,” I said. He turned back to the table. “Please bring me a glass of Cabernet.”

“Of course,” he smiled at me, but glanced in Brett’s direction, as though to confirm. Brett nodded curtly.

“I expect you to drink what I order, Rowena,” he said to me when the waiter was gone.

“Really? Then I suggest you order red wine,” I said.

He frowned, and chewed the inside corner of his mouth as he surveyed me. I dropped my eyes, and shifted in my seat, in the ensuing silence. I had told Brett I was willing to try this. I hadn’t said I’d be any good at it! Red wine is what I drink. Was my beverage preference a deal breaker?

“You know what?” Brett said when the waiter returned with our drinks. “Instead of the white, bring us a bottle of Pinot Noir.” When we were alone again, he said, “There. Does that please you, Rowena?”

“Thank you,” I said. I looked up with a tentative smile.

He laid his hand on the table, palm up, flexing his long fingers in invitation. I placed my hand in his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to be unhappy, my pet,” he said. His touch, and the way his deep voice caressed me reminded me why I was there. The awkward moment passed. We chatted lightly until our appetizer was served.

The spicy aroma wafted up, and my mouth began to water. I longed to taste, but had learned my lesson from the wine. I waited to see what Brett would do. He grasped one of the figs between his thumb and forefinger and brought it to his mouth. He held my gaze, as he took a bite from the burgundy-violet flesh. The juice seeped from the fruit and spilled onto his full lips. The brie dripped from the fig, and I watched, mesmerized, as the honey dribbled slowly down his fingers.

He leaned forward, holding the fruit out to me. “Taste,” he said. I understood that he expected me to take the proffered tidbit from his fingers. Our table was in a secluded corner, but we were in no way shielded from the view of others. I didn’t care. I leaned toward Brett over the table. I closed my eyes, and parted my lips, and Brett rubbed the juicy bite across them, before sliding it onto my waiting tongue. His finger rested on my lower lip as I savored the spicy flavors.

I swallowed, and opened my eyes. Brett nodded his head almost imperceptibly in answer to the question he saw in my eyes. I slid my tongue out over my lips, and licked his honey coated fingers. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a small whimper when he slid his finger into my mouth. He teased me, moving it gently in and out over my lips, as I sucked, and swirled my tongue. My body trembled with wanting Brett, and I squeezed my thighs tight, feeling the jolt of pleasure that it sent through me.

This was not food. This was foreplay.

When dinner came, he poured my wine, but told me to wait when I reached for my fork. I sipped my wine, and watched him attend to his own dinner. After a few minutes, he looked up at me. “You have honey on your lips, Rowena,” he said. My tongue immediately snaked out over my lips. “No,” he said sharply. I quickly drew my tongue back into my mouth. He stood up and walked around the table.

I looked up at him as he stood over me. He placed one hand on the back of my chair, and one hand on the table. He surprised me then, bending down and licking my lips. He sucked my lower lip between his, and I felt his tongue and teeth tease it. I opened my mouth, my body quivering with wanton abandon. Finally, he was going to kiss me! He stopped though, his tongue never plunging into my mouth, and straightened up.

“Stand up, Rowena,” he said. Still lost in a lusty fog, I nodded, hoping my knees would hold as I slowly rose. Brett stood behind me, and I felt his breath on my neck. He pulled the collar of my blouse aside and planted a hot kiss on my shoulder. Without thinking, I pressed back against him. My body melted into him, and I could feel, through our clothes that I was not the only one of us that was aroused.

“I didn’t say you could do that,” he said quietly, near my ear. I felt his teeth sink into my flesh. I tensed, but before I was able to register the pain of his sharp teeth, his tongue was licking the small plot of skin he had just bitten. The sights and sounds of the restaurant faded. I felt as if I were suspended in some lascivious subterrane where only Brett, and the burning need I had for him, existed.

I watched as he moved my chair around the corner of the table. “Come. Sit down.” I would be sitting next to him now, instead of across from him. I smiled and eagerly took my seat. I rested my chin in my hands with my elbows on the table as he settled back into his own chair.

“I like you looking at me with your eyes wide, and glistening with desire,” he said, reaching out and brushing my cheek with his hand.

In the back of my mind, I understood what was happening, how Brett was taking control. I believe the method is called sticks and carrots. His gentle rebukes were warnings. Letting me sit next to him was a reward. What surprised me was how readily I responded. God knows I wanted to lick the hand that fed me.

And he did. He scooped the food from my plate, and held the fork to my mouth. He kept one hand on my leg, under the table, and teased me, sliding it up and down my inner thigh,  as he fed me small bites of food. To be honest, I felt silly and a little embarrassed. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching an adult woman being fed by a man so obviously much younger than she. I felt a giggle bubble up under my ribs. I tried to swallow it, but it stuck in my throat. I think Brett sensed my poorly suppressed mirth because I felt a sharp pinch on the inside of my thigh.

“Ouch!” I jumped. “That hurt,” I accused him, the threatening laughter replaced by the sting tears forming behind my eyes. The pinch, on my sensitive flesh had hurt enough that I knew it was going to leave a bruise. I glared at him.

He returned my stare, his hand now gently rubbing where he had just inflicted pain. “I’m sorry, pet,” he said, “but I want you to concentrate on this delicious food. Your thoughts were wandering.” His voice soothed me, as did his soft caress. But I was on my guard now. “Don’t pout, pretty Rowena.” He flashed a grin at me.

It was hard to resist, but I regarded him warily. He shook his head, and “tsked.” Before I even knew what was happening, he had reached behind my head. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he pulled my head back and leaned toward me. His mouth came down hard on mine, crushing my lips as he forced them apart with his tongue. As surprised as I was, my immediate reaction was to stiffen, forgetting how much I’d longed for this kiss. His tongue probed deep in my mouth, and I felt his hand move higher on my thigh, until his fingers brushed my panties.

As the heat of his kiss spread through me, I responded. My tongue danced with his, and I parted my thighs, inviting his touch. My senses were filled with him. My fingers recalled the ache to touch him. I reached out, placing my hand on his chest. I felt his lips curve into a smile against my own. As abrupt as his onslaught of my mouth had been, he pulled away as suddenly. My eyes fluttered open, and I looked up at him, dazed and breathless. He reached up and took my hand, still pressed against his sexy chest in his, pulling it away, settling it in my lap.

“Brett,” I said. My body trembled as I let go a heavy sigh. I craved him. His kiss …

“I know my cougar has claws,” he smiled. “But you must learn to behave.”

I dropped my eyes. I was ready to do whatever he wanted just for a repeat of that all-consuming kiss. Oh my god! His lips were an invitation to debauch myself in new and unexpected ways. I couldn’t wait.

I had walked into this restaurant in a playful, albeit skeptical, mood. I would be walking out as Brett’s pliant pet.

And he knew it.

Climactic Part Three – Coming soon! Tease:

I squirmed as he held me in place.

“I’ll give you all you want, and more, pet. But,” he said, lifting his hand, “you need to learn that you’ll only get it when I say.” I jumped more at the sound of his swift, sharp smack on my bare ass than the sting.


A Bookstore Fantasy

She delighted in the sharp indrawn breaths, the stares, the feeble attempts at striking up a conversation. Just for fun, she’d stopped by the bookstore, because she had some time to kill before meeting her best friend at a bar to play their favorite game. That game was “Tease the Boys,” and she was hoping to rack up some extra points by starting early. Early, and with a crowd that might be deemed less susceptible than a bunch of drunk guys at a club. These were literary guys!

She was dressed in short skirt that just barely covered her thigh highs and garter. Her blouse was sheer, and her thin bra hid little. She had browsed the bestsellers for a bit, bending to see something on the bottom shelf when a particularly stuffy, or middle-aged guy was standing near. She soon grew bored of that. Too many wives and girlfriends, huffing and puffing with indignation, pulling their men to safety. She overheard, as she was intended to, a snide comment. In response, she placed her stiletto-heeled foot on the third shelf of the rack, and adjusted her stocking, laughing as Ms. Offended dragged her leering boyfriend off.










She wandered upstairs to the Sexuality section. She sighed. Not much going on there. She was bored now, but still had some time to kill. She decided she’d grab a magazine and have a cappuccino in the coffee shop. As she turned, a young man appeared at the end of the aisle, as if he were a vision she conjured. He was tall, and lean, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was dressed casually in a plaid cotton button down shirt, and a pair of jeans. She looked up at him and smiled. He didn’t respond, until she waved her hand in front of her chest, and motioned, palm up, that he should lift his gaze. She was absolutely delighted when she saw a deep flush spread over his cheeks.

“Oh, yummy,” she thought. He was shy, too!  She turned sideways and reached up toward the top shelf, making sure her skirt rose high on her thighs. Failing to reach the top shelf, as she’d known and planned, she turned back to face him.

“You’re so tall,” she purred. “Do you think you could reach that book on the top shelf for me?”

“Oh, sure, of course,” he said, dragging his eyes away from her. “Which one?”

“That one there, babe. How to please a man.” He blushed again, but reached up and grabbed the book in question. He didn’t seem to know where to look as he handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said. She flipped the book open and pretended to read, but just made it up as she went along.

“According to this book,” she said, “a man is very pleased when a woman kneels in front of him and reaches for his belt.” She paused and licked her lips, glancing up to see how he was doing. He was rooted to the floor. Good. She looked back at the pages and continued. “He likes it if she unbuckles the belt, then unbuttons his jeans, and pulls down the zipper.”

Again, she looked up, meeting his eyes. “Is that true? Does that sound right?” she asked. “You’re a man, so you must know.”

He stared at her for a minute. “Poor baby,” she thought.

“Next, it says I should inch your jeans down over your hips…”













He continued to stare. She slammed the book closed. He jumped. “Obviously none of this is right!”

“No,” he said, finally finding his voice, “it all sounds about right.”

She turned her back, and bent from the waist, knowing her stockings and garter, and a generous glimpse of her ass would be visible to him. She pretended to look at the books on the bottom shelf. She knew he had moved closer when she felt the heat from his body behind her. She straightened and stepped backwards. Her body grazed his, and she could feel his breath on neck. She moved her hips suggestively. His arms slipped around her waist, and he pulled her tight against him. She could feel he was hard through his jeans.

“I could teach you how to please a man, if you want,” he said softly in her ear.

She shivered with delight when his hands reached up and caressed her breasts through her flimsy attire. She rubbed her ass against him, and heard a low, deep sigh escape his lips. She reached up and took one of his hands – only one, because she liked the feel of his hands on her tits, and slowly guided it down. Over her stomach, lower still, until his hand was right between her thighs. As sexy as this was, they would have to find somewhere at least a little more private. She moaned softly, then grasped both his hands firmly and turned in his embrace.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He readily obliged. Her arms snaked up around his broad shoulders, as he leaned into her. She heard a small sound of pleasure escape from her throat when his lips met hers. His kiss was hot and soft. It felt like a small fire burning, just a prelude to the flames that would soon envelop her. He grabbed her ass and pulled her tight against him.







The kiss continued, as the intensity of their passion grew. She was trying to think where they could go – maybe the bathroom? Maybe her car? Maybe she would just take him home! He was so perfect, and she wanted to enjoy him. When her phone beeped, he stopped kissing her. He pulled away.

“Shit,” she said, reaching into her purse for her phone. “See you there in 20 minutes,” the text from her friend read.

“Damn. Look, baby, I’ve got somewhere I have to be.”

He looked so disappointed. So was she!

A thought occurred to her. “You know what? I’m just meeting a friend for drinks. Why don’t you come with me? We can get to know each other a little better,” she said, and winked at him. She reached out and ran a hand over the front of jeans.

“Oh,” he said, suddenly shy again.  “I don’t know…”

“Babe. Life is only an adventure if you make it one,” she said. “I’ll let you drive my sexy sports car.” She pulled her keys out of her purse and dangled them in front of him. “And remember what we were just reading about…”


Kissing Zach …

“El, I have to talk to you. I’m coming over after work,” I said into the phone. I was despondent.

“Ro, not tonight. I promised Mason I would cook him dinner.”

“Ellll, pleeeease,” I said. “it’s urgent.”

“We haven’t had a date night in weeks,” she said.

“But you’re the only one I can talk to. Please, El. Pretty, super, pretty please? You can cook for Mason anytime. I am having a transcendental crisis.”

“Do you even know what that means?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “but it sounds right.” I nodded. It did. I was having some kind of crisis, that was for damn sure.

“I hate it when you get needy,” she said. I heard the exasperation in her voice, but I could tell she was going to relent. “What the hell happened? Did Jesse come by the office?”


“You’re usually only this upset when Jesse is involved.”

I closed my eyes and pictured Jesse in my mind. So sexy! Maybe that was all I needed. Something else to think about. It didn’t work. Not even the image of Jesse was enough to distract me from my woe.









“No, not Jesse,” I said. “Something else.”

“Oh, dammit, Ro,” she said. “Mason is going to be so pissed.”

“I’m leaving in ten minutes.” I had to lurk around my office later now, because I didn’t want to run into J Dub, our CEO, as I left the building. I didn’t know if he had heard about me propositioning his son, but I didn’t want to find out. At least not face-to-face in the elevator. Although that was the least of my worries at that moment.

What I had on my mind was Zach, the sweet, sexy guy I’d had drinks with– and well, maybe a little more than drinks –  the previous night. I had miscalculated something along the way, and now I was melancholy, when I should be happy.

As soon as I knew it was coast clear, I left. I slipped into my car and backed out of my space. No one got in my way – everyone knew it was best to wait until I was out of the parking lot before leaving their own spaces. I was always in a hurry, and not too good about mirrors. I slammed into to first gear, and was already in third by the time I reached the end of row. I heard someone lay on the horn as I whipped around the corner, looking in the rear view as I down-shifted. I held up my hand, middle finger extended, and uttered a few choice curses, realizing too late that I had just cut off J Dub.

“Oh, fuck,” I muttered. You’d think I didn’t need this job! Quickly, I raised all the fingers on my hand, and waved. He wouldn’t know it was me. Though I’m sure it would be easy enough to find out who the reckless woman in the black 86 was, if he wanted to. Everyone kind of recognized my car.

“You’re such fuck up, Rowena,” I told myself, as I merged on to the highway. I tapped my nails against the steering wheel, impatient with traffic. I switched on the audio, and Nowhere Fast by Eminem filled the interior of my small car, making the armrest throb and the mirror shiver. That was fine. The song suited my mood exactly. In fact, I was going to make it my personal anthem. “Fuck doin’ what your told. We’re goin’ nowhere fast,” I sang along.








El greeted me at the door. “Amelia! I’m miserable,” I said, pushing out my lower lip.

“Okay, babe,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sure it’s all going to be fine.”

I shook my head. “I made a terrible mistake.” I followed her into the living room, where she already had a generous glass of my favorite wine poured, the open bottle sitting right next to it on the end table next to “my spot” on her couch. God knows I don’t deserve such a wonderful best friend. I actually felt the sting of tears behind my eyes.

“Ro…” she said. “What’s wrong, babe? Come sit down, and tell me all about it.” She sat on the loveseat across from the couch. I sat down, lifted the wine glass, and downed most of it in one long draught. “So? Tell me.”

“Oh my god, El! I can’t believe I did this!” She waited, sipping her own wine. “Zach…” I said.

“Who the hell is Zach?”

“Oh. He’s this guy,” I said. She didn’t press for more, because they usually were. “I met him for drinks last night.”

“Your usual evening?”

“Yes,” I said draining my glass, and refilling it. “But no.”

“Don’t be cryptic,” she warned. “I’m not getting laid tonight, because you needed to talk. So talk.”

I downed some more wine. “I liked him.”

El stared at me. “You like all of them. That’s why you seduce them.”

“No, El” I said. “I mean I stupid liked him. Like, I wanted to say cute and clever things to make him smile. Like, I want to cook him dinner. He’s smart, and funny, and has a sweet smile. I mean, the conversation was my favorite part of the evening. Well, and the kissing.”










“Oh,” she said. Now she was beginning to understand. “How was the sex?” she asked.

“It was good. Better for me than him, though. This is the worst part, El…” I felt tears threatening again, so I poured the rest of the bottle into my glass and drank it all down in one huge, shaky gulp. “I don’t think he was into me at all. I think he was being polite.”

“Oh,” she said. She stood up. “I think we’re going to need another bottle.”

She picked up the empty bottle, and left me sitting on the couch. I felt like such an idiot. Finer feelings are simply not something I do. But I couldn’t get the memory of Zach’s kisses out of my head. “Oh fuck! Goddamn! Shit, shit, goddammit,” I cried in frustration.

“Ro,” El said, walking directly over to refill my glass. “This is not the worst thing ever.” I looked at her hopefully.

“He’s the first since you met Jesse, right?”

“Quit trying to distract me with Jesse! This has nothing to do with him.”

“Maybe it does, babe. Maybe you’re just transferring your obsession since you can’t consummate your lust with Jesse.” She laughed, and rolled her eyes. “Poor Zach!”

“What the hell good does this psychobabble do me?”

“I don’t know. I just think you need to examine what’s going on. I know introspection is not your thing, but you should probably do some. Do you want him more than Jesse?”

I sucked down some more wine, and considered. “It’s two different things,” I said finally, refilling my glass.

“Gun to your head, babe – one night with Jesse, or a dream date with Zach?”

“That’s not fair!” I swirled my wine, watching it leave viscous tracks on the glass, trying to do the introspection El was demanding. She was probably right. I counted on her to be sensible for me, because god knows I couldn’t do it on my own. But all I really wanted was to silence my thoughts. I hate being conflicted.

“Do you remember the last time you cooked dinner for someone?” El asked.

I racked my brain. “No,” I said, shrugging.

“Me either,” she laughed, “but I do remember you hated him before you even served dessert.”

I shook my head. “That can’t be right,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I would have been dessert.” We sat quietly for a moment. I could tell El was searching for the magic words to make me feel better. I was just thinking about Zach’s lips on mine. So hot! God, the man knew how to kiss! I wanted to kiss him again. And again, and again…

“I told him about my vineyard,” I said. Planting a vineyard on my land is a dream of mine. It’s a personal thing. I share my dreams far less frequently than I share my body. In other words, besides my sons, El was probably the only person in the world that knew I wanted to plant Cabernet grapes in my backyard. Her brow furrowed. I could tell she was worried now.

“I get it, Ro,” she said. “It was sweet, and soft, and fluffy. But you’re not.”

“I am too! I am the softest, fluffiest…What was the other thing?” I knew I was drunk. “You know what, El?”

“What, babe?”

“Maybe I’m too old for this.”  The tears that had been threatening all day escaped in a single, heavy drop, down my cheek. El jumped up, and sat beside me, pulling me into a hug.

“Oh, bullshit,” she said. “You just need to give up wanting what you can’t have, and concentrate on what makes you happy.”

“What makes me happy, El?”

“Hot, young guys,” she said, without hesitation.

I considered her words, as I stumbled off to bed. I knew she was probably right. She usually was. But it was the memory of Zach’s sweet lips on mine that I fell asleep with.



Lust, Unrequited

We nearly collided as I exited the changing room. “Excuse me,” I heard a deep voice say. I looked up, but bit back my sarcastic reply when I saw him. Oh my God!  He was tall, and fair, and we were at the beach, so I could see how sizzling, hot his body was. Broad shoulders, impeccable pecs, covered with a sexy tuft of hair that made my fingers immediately curve into “want to touch.” I managed to keep my hands to myself. Somehow. He was so fucking delectable, but this was a company picnic. He was attached to one of my coworkers. How incredibly irritating.












I’m sure I blushed when El – my nic for Amelia (Yeah, I know. Don’t ask!) – sidled up beside me and introduced us. “Hey Ro – this is Jesse.”  My thoughts went in a decidedly wicked direction as I smiled and said something inane. Imagine the lustful leap of my heart when he responded by giving my body, sexily clad in the latest “appropriate for women of a certain age” bathing suit, the once over, before his eyes settled unapologetically on my ample cleavage.

“Face here, babe,” I said, tapping my chin, not to show him where to look, so much as to remind myself that, at my age, I look better with my chin up. He grinned. And me? I worried that my suddenly weak knees would give way beneath me. There was some appeal, to be honest, in the thought of sinking to  my knees in front of him…

His turn to blush. His sweet, shy smile belied his bold glance at my tits just seconds before. I wanted to pull his head down and nibble on his lower lip. His eyes were blue, like the Mediterranean. I wanted to drown.

“Hey, Jesse,” someone called. “You ready?”

“I am,” I said, looking into his eyes, hoping my voice was as sultry as I was. I don’t know if he heard me.

“Are you playing volleyball?” he asked.

I laughed. “No.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, nice to meet you,” he said, turning to go. I watched him walk away, his swim shorts hanging just right from the hips I planned to wrap my legs around.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth and wipe your chin, Ro,” El said.

“Oh my god,” I said. “I have got to get me some of that!”

“Not this time,” she said.

I tore my gaze from the retreating form of my Adonis and looked at my friend. It was clear, from her smile, that she knew something I did not. “Why?” I asked, feeling my eyes narrow with suspicion. “I have to, El. I’m going to die without him.”

She laughed. “I’ll start working on the eulogy. That’s Jesse Winchester.” I stared at her, wondering what she could possibly be trying to tell me. “J Dub’s son.”

She laughed again when she saw comprehension dawn.

“Fuck my life,” I said. J Dub – Jack Winchester, was our CEO. Ficky-fick with the boss’s son. Bad idea. “Stop it,” I snapped at El. Her continued amusement only served to highlight my predicament. She was familiar with my escapades, and she knew I did not like “No,” for an answer. In this case, I couldn’t even ask the question.

“The proportion of this tragedy is immeasurable,” I said.

“Aw, babe,” she said, hooking her arm through mine. “There’s plenty of scenery on the beach today. Maybe you’ll find something better.” She started to pull me toward the water.

“Want Jesse,” I pouted, letting myself be led. “There will never be anything better.” I was disconsolate. Not so unhappy that I couldn’t cast my eyes around the veritable smorgasbord of male flesh on the beach, mind, but my heart was broken.

“Let’s go watch volleyball,” I said.

“Rowena. Don’t torture yourself.”

“I just want to look at him,” I said. We both knew that was a lie, but we walked in that direction anyway.

…my non-affair affair with Jesse is an ongoing theme in my stories.


Hot, Steamy, Dirty Parcheesi

What about friends and family? When you’ve written a book that contains explicit sex, what do you do about the people who might want to read the book, but be a little uncomfortable reading the steamy bits? My sons, for instance, who knew I was writing this book? We talked about it frequently. In fact, I’m sure they grew bored listening to my incessant chatter about Sara and the hot guys.

They wanted to read the book. One of them is an adult, and the other is a fairly enlightened teen. In other words, they know about sex. But knowing about sex, and knowing what your mother knows about sex are two rather different perceptions.

I wanted them to be able to read it, so I thought I could create an abridged version, just cut out the parts that were heavy with sex. Knowing this would leave gaps in the story, they suggested that I use some code, or euphemism to replace the content. Thus the Parcheesi version was conceived.

They suggested that whenever the characters in the book were making particularly descriptive love, I should just insert “They played Parcheesi,” or some variation thereof. That is what I did. It actually turned out to be fun, and often funny. I used our newly created euphemism even in places it wasn’t necessarily warranted, for instance, “Eric was a notorious Parcheesi player,” and “Sara couldn’t imagine playing Parcheesi with someone she just met!” My personal favorite: “If I was going to play a one night Parcheesi game, it would definitely be with you. Really! It’s not that I don’t want to.”

The Parcheesi euphemism has now established itself firmly in our family lexicon.

Is this a dirty picture‽