One Night (A Fantasy) – Part 1

A light scent of lavender wafted up when she opened the drawer. She sunk her hands into the soft, silky jumble, smiling, running her fingers pantiesover her array of lingerie. She was looking for something specific, something skimpy, and sexy, and soft – a pair of black lace panties, that, when she put them on, would hug her ass snugly, and outline her lips – provocatively, not blatantly. She spotted what she was looking for and fished the panties out.

“Perfect!” she thought, bending to slip them on. She straightened, and pulled them up, turning to preen in front of the mirror. She frowned, wishing she still had the body of her youth, not that she’d appreciated it when she had it. She shook her head and shrugged. It would simply have to do. She returned her attention to the lingerie drawer.

What should she wear? He liked sexy underclothes, but getting undressed was an important element tonight. She shivered with anticipation, thinking of him fumbling with the zipper on her pants, and felt decidedly damp when she imagined him pulling them down.

“Careful, girly,” she said to herself. “You’re going to have to change underwear if you keep thinking like that.” She looked at all the pretty silk. “Why not both?” she thought, and picked out a lacy red teddy. It was nylon, not silk, but it stretched and it clung to her body and accentuated her tits. He’d like that, she was sure of it. So she slipped it on. She grabbed her jeans and shimmied into them, tucking the teddy in.

This was not a bad look, just like that, she thought. But no, she wanted him to undress her. She riffled through her blouses. Unbutton, or pull off? She couldn’t decide. Her favorite floral chiffon top caught her eye. It did have buttons, but could be slipped easily over her head, as well. She’d wear that one, and let him decide.

She neatened up the room, and went to the kitchen. She opened a bottle of wine, not sure if or when they might drink it, but he had once intimated that he would enjoy licking wine off her breasts, so she figured it was best to be prepared.

She looked at the clock. Less than an hour. She was so excited, she couldn’t stay still. He was coming this time, surely he was. He had promised. He wasn’t going to disappoint her again. He wanted this as much as she did. Didn’t he?

She checked her makeup, and brushed her long auburn hair yet again. She was so nervous! Why? She’d done this before. It was because tonight it was him. The man who, through design, or chance had managed to tap her deepest desires. She had wanted him for so long. And tonight! Tonight, she would finally feel his touch, hear his voice, taste his kisses.

lipsShe realized her hands were shaking. She reapplied her dark, vibrant lipstick. The sun had set, so she made sure there was soft lighting in the bedroom, and in the front room. She didn’t want any harsh light to start off with. He was younger than she, and despite having entertained younger men before with no complaint, she was still self-conscious about her age.

Her heart skipped when she heard his car in the drive.  “Oh, god,” she said, trying to catch her breath, putting her hand to her chest, as though it would still her fluttering heart. When he knocked, she stood and walked to the door. She stood perfectly still for one second before taking a deep breath, and opening it.

Her eyes widened with pleasure as her gaze swept over him, taking in his height – he was tall, she loved that! It was cold outside, so he was wearing a coat, but she got a sense of his body, the jeans that hung just right on his narrow hips.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “Come in.” He walked through the door, and dropped his bag. They stood there, and she stayed still as his eyes now raked over her. She willed herself not to give the “What do you think?” questioning shrug.

“You came,” she said breathlessly, and stepped close to him.

“I did,” he responded, and reached out, pulling her to him. Her arms snaked up around his shoulders and she turned her face up to him.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered just before she felt his lips on hers. It was the kiss she had dreamed of …

kiss

to be continued

The Internet is SO Shiny! The Uneasy Author/Internet Relationship

The author/internet relationship is never easy.

As a writer, I love the Internet. There is no better tool for researching even the most minute of details. I needed a timeline of cell phone development – when did they become commonplace? When did texting become the most prevalent form of communication? At what point did a camera become standard on a smartphone? When did phones become smart?phone

The novel I am working on now scans decades, and It was only a couple chapters in that I recalled cell phones were not widely used prior to the 90s, and texting and connectivity came even later. A quick Google search returned a number of results that gave me the details I needed.  Did you know that the Nokia 3510, released in 2001, had a functional calendar, and an FM radio? Très cool …

It is so convenient to be able to find the menu of a particular restaurant, an exotic vacation destination, or the name of an interior design technique without ever leaving your desk. You are already at your computer, because it is here that a writer works. It allows you to keep the rhythm of your writing while not requiring a come back to this notation. “1978,” you can type with confidence, “was the year of the Great Blizzard.”

On the other hand …

As a writer, I hate the Internet. It is so damn shiny! It is so easy to be distracted from the task at hand. So many ways to veer off track and waste some time! There is social media (FacebookTwitterPinterestInstagram and more!), news, videos, cooking sites, travel sites, history, humor, pictures, shopping, books, discussion forums from a-z, pages with lists of links to things you never even knew you wanted to look at, and CATS! So many cats!phembly

And all that is before you’ve even opened the file containing your current project!

Even when you are really working you can be so easily sidetracked! For instance, for this article, I found myself scanning articles and looking at old pictures of the snowstorm that paralyzed Michigan in 1978. That was a helluva storm! Or when researching cell phones, I read about the Motorola Razr, and remembered when I had one, I hacked it so I could use my own ringtone … which led to finding the song, which reminded me of another song … and next thing I know, I’ve spent 45 minutes listening to old songs I love on youtube.

While it’s true I do get a giggle out of telling people that part of my job is scrolling through endless picture of hot guys, this can be a serious pitfall. Go to the Adobe stock photography site, and do a search for “sexy man” You’ll see what I mean! I don’t consider that time wasted, by any means, as marketing is part of our job, and a romance writer needs pictures, but certainly it can be a distraction (albeit a super pleasant one).

So what is the solution? I do not know. Most days, I can put my blinders on, and stay focused. Other days, I strike an acceptable balance.

Then there are the days I am so completely distracted, I wonder if I should be writing a retro sci-fi story about what the Great Blizzard of ’78 would have been like if hot guys had cell phones back then …

melting snow, hot kiss
melting snow, hot kiss

The Saddest Words …

I fell in love. A little bit, but just a little.

He was a shy, sweet, sexy man. An intelligent, witty, young man. Tall, and lean, with blue eyes, so he told me. About the eyes. His pictures bore out the truth of his physique, but none revealed his eyes clearly. His smile was appealing, and sincere, but who knows what his eyes would have told me?


We met online, and only ever online. We were members of the same forum. Not a dating site, or a place to fall in love, it was a mutual interest discussion forum. We enjoyed our exchanges so much, we eventually abandoned the forum for our conversation, and switched to email.

We exchanged personal information, and a few pics.  We talked about meeting, though he lived far away. The conversation intensified, and so did my fantasies. I wanted to meet him, in fact, I was sure that we would spark in person, as we had online.

It was not to be. Our correspondence faded. Where we had once emailed each other daily, sometimes several times a day, there were now intervals of weeks between emails. I sent him a happy new year message yesterday, wanting him to know that I still think of him. Maybe he will respond. Maybe he won’t.

So I can be sad for those saddest words “…what might have been.” But I don’t really have to be, do I? Because nothing ventured, nothing gained…or lost. And nothing was, was it? `