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I was challenged by a friend the other day: How is it that as a writer you’re into love, romance AND porn – isn’t there a conflict of ideals there?
Not at all. For mine it comes down to the idea of a slut and of objectification.
Let’s deal with objectification first: Men, do you quite often objectify women? Of course you do. That’s why half naked hot girls work in advertising…. And women, do you quite often objectify men? Of course you do. Ripped and shirtless sells every bit as well.
It’s all perfectly natural and healthy. Just a part of procreation.
Now let’s deal with sluts: Women are beautiful during any act of sex. Makes no difference if it’s in the marital bed or in a hotel room for money or even if it’s in the back seat of a car and there’s a line-up of men having turns – she’s a thing of beauty…. It’s really that simple. Sex is a purely physical act and has absolutely nothing to do with integrity.
That’s right. I’m contending that a hooker and a bride are simply two women, and there is no indication of what kind of person either of them are so far.
And so – how does the back seat gangbang co-exist with sweet romance? Well, the fact is that if you are able to offer yourself for physical sex with a person other than your partner, you are not in love with your partner…. Debauchery and love co-exist quite easily because they never meet.
It’s easy to write about either.
“What guy? What did he look like?” Lena asked Anita. They had called in for dinner. Anita was cooking.
“He looked creepy. Dressed in a long dark coat with skin as pale as the dead. He had such dark eyes that I saw when I was close enough.”
“And he was hiding? From you or from my crow?”
That was an odd question. “Actually, he was watching Samson. He could have been scared of him.”
Lena frowned. “Oh shit!”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
“It’s just that my kind don’t get on so well usually. We don’t like crossing paths or messing with each other. It takes a lot out of you to deal with a fellow witch.”
Anita gulped. “A fellow witch?”
“Yes, I’d guess so—hanging around the old cemetery the day before Halloween… Did you read the sign?”
“Yes… Never linger! And did you linger? Inviting the interest of some freaky undead creature?”
“I lingered,” Anita confessed. “Only until I saw him, though. Then I ran.”
Lena huffed. “And he was at the grave of the Hawthorne boy? That’s particularly bad news. This would be the dark rising I sensed. It would be Alex Hawthorne come for another bride.”
“Yes. For his willow tree. Every generation or two he comes back for a new young spirit to feed to his three hundred year old whispering willow. Which apparently grew from the body of his wife, who the townsfolk of Apple Glen burned as a witch.”
Anita turned from stirring sauce to face the strange witch girl. “The willow tree story is true?”
“Well, it was before my time, but yes, I think it’s largely true,” Lena said quite seriously. “And it would be tomorrow night that he comes for you, if he’s chosen you, that is. Maybe you just disturbed him and he’ll pick someone else. It’s always a local girl.”
“I’m not a local but I was actually born here.” Anita had been born right there in Apple Glen, at the local doctor’s clinic, though she was taken to the city to live before she was three months old. “Plus I had this really weird feeling today. But I didn’t grow up here or anything. I haven’t been here in years.”
Lena took her hands. “What weird feeling? Nostalgia, right? Yes, I can see it in your eyes—like you own the place, right?”
“Yes. Like that,” Anita uttered, her heart fluttering.
“Oh boy, this is big. This is huge!” the witch went on. “I can’t quite see… There’s something…” She paused in thought for a moment, struggling to grasp some idea or other, it seemed. She met Anita’s eyes again. “You might be more local than you think, Anita. You may have lived here before—in a past life.”
Lester came into the kitchen sniffing the air. “Are we eating soon? I’m hungry.”
“Come on. We’ll talk more later,” Lena said. “Don’t worry. This could be a good thing.”
A good thing? Anita couldn’t see how having a reincarnated dead guy choosing her for his bride could be a good thing…….
What is true wisdom? A young and pretty mortal girl scares the hell out of a reincarnated dead guy….. Powerful meaning-of-life themes underpin this short, fun Halloween read.
He was saving them. He was gathering them unto his spiritual flock, and he would shepherd them there. He was protecting them from the evil materialism and godless destruction of nature that had become the modern world. How long would it be until the end of humanity was brought about in nuclear devastation? This was the way to peace and salvation, Warren Trelor reasoned as he depressed the trigger and discharged a bullet into the back of Star’s head.
The woman’s bloodied hand slipped from the door handle, and her body slumped with her head coming to rest against the door frame at an odd angle. Her eyes were wide but life had abandoned them. Her mouth was open, and there was a strained gurgling sound, then her body convulsed softly in a final nervous spasm.
Trelor met the eyes of his daughter as they lifted from the woman’s face. “She’s in a safer place now, Summer,” he said. “Lock the door now and wait till I come for you.”
Summer didn’t quite close the door. She watched through a tiny crack as the woman’s body was dragged away. There had been sounds of fighting and screaming, and there had been other gun shots. She understood that the adults were being executed. She had been told to stay in the room with the children, and they were all huddled on a bed in the corner with tears dripping from their faces and snot dripping from their noses. They were past crying, though. She had soothed them, and they were all calm in their trust of her.
There had been single gun shots at short intervals. The massacre had been in progress for only ten minutes. There had been two more shots in the time since Summer had closed the door. There was another, and then another that sounded like it came from the back of the house.
She peeked from the curtain to see Joel Dixon lying in the doorway and her father stepping over his body and stalking away toward the kombi van.
Summer knew what was planned. She needed to get to her aunt and make her stop her father from killing the children. She snuck from the door, tip-toeing along the edge of the narrow hallway to avoid stepping in the trail of smeared blood. She looked in the living room where the adults were all lined up against the wall, dead. She saw her Aunt May sitting on the floor in the kitchen. Her head was slumped forward, her arms by her side. Her hand moved, and she made a sound with her head lifting a little then rocking forward again.
“Aunty, you have to wake up!” Summer implored. She was on her knees beside the woman. “You have to wake up and stop him! You have to stop Daddy,” the young girl pleaded, crying and trying to hold her aunt’s head upright.
There was a loud yell from outside. Summer recognised the voice of her friend Bert Dixon. She crawled past the prone man lying in the doorway and snuck with her back pressed against the side of the house until she could see around the corner. It was her father fighting with Bert. She watched the two men thumping and trying to strangle each other, hoping and praying Bert would win, but her dad was strong.
It had been only a week since Summer’s eleventh birthday. There had been a party where the women had dressed her up. They were all dead now, those women. They were lined up against the wall in the living room covered in blood with their eyes and mouths open. Summer could smell the blood. It was a thick, syrupy smell like sour milk and lemons.
The men had all bathed and combed their hair for her birthday party. They were nice men. They played guitars and sang. They were all dead now too. They were all lined up against the wall with their eyes and mouths open and blood all over their shirts.
“Summer! Now put that down!” Trelor commanded, but Summer depressed the trigger of the rifle she had picked up off the ground and discharged a bullet into her father.
She had been taught how to use the rifle by her aunt. She had been shooting targets since she was eight.
She fed another bullet into the chamber and worked the bolt forward and down. She pulled back the hammer until it caught. Then she lifted the rifle to her right shoulder and looked through the sight on top of the barrel.
Her father was sitting on the ground holding his stomach. He looked up from his bloodied hand and met his daughter’s eyes. Bert Dixon staggered to his feet and swayed there against the kombi van. He held out his hand to Summer, motioning for her to give him the rifle.
“It’s okay now, Summer.”
His voice was strange. He was struggling to breathe, but it was more than that. It was as if he was in another dimension or something, and Summer didn’t believe him—that it was okay now.
She aimed the rifle at her father’s chest, at the left side, imagining where his heart would be, and she depressed the trigger, discharging another bullet that made his eyes pop open and seem to focus on the far off distance.
The rifle was then taken from her grasp and she was led back into the house and into the room with the children. She was told to stay there, and she did. She waited until she heard someone sneaking along the hallway, and she peeped out to see her aunt edging along the wall toward her room. And a while later there were police lights and people everywhere. And Summer made sure to collect her shoulder bag as she was taken out through the back of the house and placed in the police bus.
In her shoulder bag she had her makeup and jewelry, her small beaded purse with her money, and a bone handled hair brush that she took out to brush her hair….
The Children’s Room is a romantic suspense novel featuring two of the children who survived that massacre. The setting 35 years later…
Brad drove on into the scrub and the setting sun. He spotted the Athol Grove turn-off this time, and stuck to the road beyond there. It was getting on dusk when the small grading of gravel became two wheel tracks, then the trees closed in, and there was a huge bump before the 4WD bounced from the scrub to hit a broader, gravel road. They had landed directly across and needed to decide left or right. There was no sign.
“I think left,” Isabel said. She had buttoned her dress fully and was sitting properly in her seat with her seatbelt fastened.
Brad had not gotten it right all afternoon, so he decided her choice of directions was worth a try. The broad, smooth road entered a stand of pines where the shadows were deep and dark. There was a small stream to cross, and when the road emerged from the timber, there was a driveway to what looked like an abandoned service station. The building had a glass front section that could have been a café, and it had a dull, candy-striped awning. There was a house extending from the back. To the side was a large workshop with a faded, brown sign on top: Dalton’s Scrapyard.
“Hey, look—they’ve even got a cabin to rent,” Brad said as he pulled up in front of the awning. There was a large caravan and annex under a sprawling shade tree. It was brightly painted and had a small garden and neatly trimmed lawn.
He looked at Isabel. She still had the puppy eyes. He pulled her close and kissed her. “Should I ask if it’s available for the night?”
“If you want to,” she uttered softly. “You can have me anywhere you want… Or just take me home to keep.”
Brad kissed her again—hard.
An old man appeared, ambling from the side of the service station. There was a huge man behind him who hung back kind of bobbing his head and shoulders, trying to see who had come to visit, it seemed. The guy was massive with narrow shoulders and a barrel shaped abdomen and knees that touched with his boots wide apart and pigeon-toed inward. He was craning his neck, excitedly trying to see in the vehicle.
Brad lowered his window. “I have a tractor part here for Victor Turak of Dalton. Am I in the right place?”
“That’s me,” the old man replied, leaning down to look across at Isabel. He grinned. His breath was like petrol fumes. “You got my new ram? Been waiting long enough,” he went on gruffly.
“Sorry. It took some time to get on order. It was an older model that had to come from overseas apparently.” Brad showed the guy to the back of the 4WD. The part was in a metre-long wooden box that weighed enough that help had been needed to lift it in.
There was a delivery docket that the old man scribbled his signature on. “Boy!” he called out, and the bigger man approached, still bobbing his head and shoulders and eyeing the inside of the vehicle as he got close enough to see through the tinted windows. “Get that, Boy!” the older man commanded, and Boy lifted the box and tipped it up onto his shoulder with ease.
Brad’s height didn’t even reach the guys chin. He was the biggest human he had ever seen in real life. He had buck teeth and a broad, flat forehead. His eyes were small and set too close to his nose and far too deep into his skull. At that, he was also cross-eyed, Brad noticed. He lurched off around the corner of the building carrying the tractor part as if it were nothing.
“Mama’s got hot meatloaf and fresh coffee brewing,” the old man announced, slapping an arm around Brad’s shoulder as if he was suddenly a long-lost relative come to visit.
“No, thanks. We’ve already eaten!” Isabel announced just as forthrightly. She had gotten from the vehicle and stood on the side-step looking over the roof.
“We were wondering if the cabin was available for the night?” Brad asked. “We’re good for food and all, but it’s been a long day driving to find this place.”
The old man rubbed his chin. “That right, Girl? You want to stay the night?”
“Yes,” Isabel replied, kind of meekly that time.
“Just the one night, eh?” The old man included Brad in the question that time. He was grinning between the two of them and nodding his head.
“Yes. For just one night,” Isabel answered him. “That’s all—”
He chuckled. “Well, I suppose our fine cabin here is available for the night.” He had taken Brad by the shoulder again. His grip was of iron, and he was kneading a neck muscle with his thumb. “I think you young folks might find our cabin mighty comfy after a long day out on the road.”
“Very good. Do we sign in somewhere? I have cash,” Brad offered.
They were strolling toward the cabin. Isabel had taken Brad’s hand and was clinging to it. She kept him between her and the weird old man.
“Let’s worry about payment when you check out in the morning, eh?”
“Fine. Thank you.” Brad waved as the old man turned and ambled off. The big guy was back, but the old man turned him away and pushed him through a gate and closed it.
Isabel was already in the cabin somewhere. Brad heard her steps coming from deep within and returning to the open door where she appeared smiling broadly and looking at him with her puppy eyes.
“One second,” Brad said to her, and he quickly moved the 4WD over to the cabin, grabbed his bag and locked up.
The entry to the cabin was the annex section attached to the caravan. There was an open bathroom door with a toilet visible. Isabel was standing in a living area with her arms behind her back and her chest forward, still grinning as she was obviously waiting. Brad pointed to the toilet, and she nodded. He found that room to be surprisingly spotless. It was sparkling clean, and there was a fresh floral aroma in the air. There was a pile of fluffy towels on a stand beside the shower cubicle. There was a vanity with soaps and a mirrored cabinet stocked with a range of toiletries. It was well set up for any female occupants and had items for men as well.
“This is very clean,” he said to Isabel when he approached her sitting on a long blanketed couch. There was a polished wooden dining set and a fully equipped kitchen.
“Yes, it is very clean,” Isabel replied, standing and peering up at him. There were even fresh flowers in a vase on the bench.
Brad took Isabel’s hand and led her to the bedroom. He turned her to face him with her back to the bed. He lifted her chin and kissed her lips. “It’s been years since I’ve been with someone so young and pretty,” he said to her. “Haven’t had much of this at all lately.”
“You can have me now,” she uttered softly. “You can have everything you’ve been thinking about today—however you want me,” she added sensually, looking directly into his eyes.
Brad’s penis firmed instantly. It lifted and hardened almost painfully at the look of her—at the slight parting of her lips and the total submission in her stare.
He claimed her. He lowered her to the bed and dropped on top of her, forcing her legs open with his thighs and grinding his bulge into her crotch during another deep, searching kiss. Her legs had fallen aside, and her arms had flopped above her head. She was twirling hair in her fingers as he knelt and ripped his shirt off. Her eyes widened as they caressed his chest, and she let out a tiny giggle.
Brad undid the buttons of her dress and opened it. He left it parted either side of her on the bed and looked at her breasts. They had goose-bumps, and her nipples were tight. He cupped both mounds and thumbed the firm little raspberries. She was watching his hands. She hummed softly as he bent to one nipple and sucked it into his mouth. He had to move down the bed to get at them, and he worked his jeans and shorts off and pulled her little, chequered panties from her legs while sucking from one nipple to the other.
He moved back to her lips and tasted them. Her legs had fallen open again, and he felt between them to find her very wet. Lowering down fully on top of her, he curled his hips, entering and surging up inside of her. She bit his lip, and her fingernails dug into his back. He withdrew then surged again, lifting her slender body and thrusting deep into it.
Brad kept the pretty young face in his hands so he could kiss those cherry-bomb lips at will. He supported his upper body on his elbows and cradled her head while humping with his lower body, building a steady rhythm. He had been aroused all day, so it was difficult to be controlled and patient. He wanted to just take her selfishly, and he could have. She was clinging to his back with those painted nails, but her legs were limp either side of his, and what he wanted—what he needed—was there for the taking.
Brad lost all control. A frenzy of powerful thrusts ended in a tremendous climax that had him crushing the slender young thing to his body and trying to fill her with the burst of ecstasy that exploded from within him.
When his climax abated, he held her face again, smoothing her hair aside and kissing her clumsily. “Oops—lost it a bit there.”
She took a breath under his weight. “That’s okay. It was nice.”
Brad was still firm inside of her. He withdrew and inserted again. Her eyes closed and slowly opened.
She grinned. “Come shower with me? We’re all sweaty now.”……
The road rolled beneath the smooth, powerful vehicle. It had been an hour since Kangaroo Flat with a number of small roads branching off left and right. The signpost for Athol Grove was at a crossroad pointing right. It said fifty-five kilometres, which would be about an hour with a short stop to deliver the tractor part factored in.
Isabel had dozed off with her legs swayed toward Brad. Her head had rocked against the door, and her lips were relaxed with a light, contented smile. Brad could see up the skirt of her dress to her chequered panties.
The girl’s half my age. What am I thinking?
He watched the road but kept glancing to have another look at her exposed like that. He looked up from her slender young thighs to meet her well-knowing, slightly animated gaze. He couldn’t help another quick flash down to her open dress as well.
He shook his head. Oh, boy…
“What?” she asked sweetly.
“Nothing. Just—” He looked her over again, glancing sideways. “You’re not like, fifteen or something are you, Isabel? You’re not a runaway?”
“Do I look only fifteen?”
“Damned if I know with you girls. Fifteen, twenty—who can tell?”
She was fixing her hair, plucking at it in the vanity mirror on the sun-visor. With her arms raised, Brad could see her small, white breast and firm little nipple in through her dress. There were actually two buttons undone, he noticed, swallowing hard again.
“Well, how old are you?” she asked.
Brad let his eyes lower to her thighs again. It had been months since he was last with a woman. It had been twenty years since he was last with a slender girl.
“Well, I’m pushing twenty something. So, is a fifteen year age difference too much?”
Brad looked at her. She was smiling.
“Well, is it?”
“Too much for what?” It was in no way too much for him. She was legal.
“Too much for what you’re obviously thinking,” she shot at him with eyebrows raised.
“You know what I’m thinking?”
“You’re thinking the same thing you men are always thinking,” she said, without meeting his sideways glance that time. “Except, I don’t mind you thinking that.”
She glanced. “No.”
Brad had to watch the road—or gravel track as it was—but he managed to find time to look his increasingly interesting travel partner over again. She had moved her legs down from the seat, so he could no longer see her panties, but the short skirt of her sundress was bunched up beneath her and only just concealed them. With the two buttons at the top of her dress undone, the fabric gaped and sagged, allowing him a view of a lot of pure white skin even with her sitting back as she was.
She was wearing a tiny gold leaf pendant on a thin chain. “Do you like it?” she asked, shifting around to face him and fiddling with the pendant.
“It’s pretty,” Brad answered.
With her legs swaying back toward him, her thighs had parted to reveal the crotch of her panties again. He swerved back onto the road after having veered from it momentarily. She giggled and bit her bottom lip then applied some cherry-bomb gloss.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” she asked.
She pointed to a rocky hill in the distance to the left of the road. “Up there. It’s a really nice view, and we could stop for a while.”
There was a fork in the road. “That way?” Brad asked.
She shrugged. “I forget the exact way. The roads all look the same around here if you ask me.”
The fork looked like it was headed in the general direction of the rocky hill. Brad figured with the country being so flat and open, he would be able to find his way back easily enough.
The girl was looking at him as much as he was checking her out. He flexed his bicep once or twice when he felt her eyes. He had powerful thighs that were nicely defined by his jeans. The vehicle was automatic, so he was able to sit relaxed with his legs open and his package bulging with the state of his arousal. While they chatted, she would be watching his face, and he had no trouble keeping a smile on it.
There were three other intersections and choices of roads to be taken before a short, steep climb up a rocky trail to a promontory overlooking the arid expanse of country they had been travelling. Brad pulled up and turned off the engine. The girl was sitting there with a light smile on her face, uninterested in the scenery, it seemed.
She looked at Brad’s open packet of beef jerky in the centre console. “Have you been eating that?”
“This morning. Before we met,” Brad explained, remembering her aversion to meat.
“Do you have a toothbrush in your bag?” she asked, pleadingly. “Would you mind—before um—?”
Brad got out his toothbrush and quickly complied with the entirely reasonable request, spitting out his open door. The girl watched, kneeling on her seat at that point.
“Thanks,” she uttered sweetly.
Brad tossed his toiletries bag into the back seat and claimed her with a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to his mouth and kissing her. “You’re welcome,” he said and kissed her again.
For all of her apparent confidence, she was very submissive. Her body relaxed, and she moaned softly as he searched her mouth with his tongue. When he relented and sought her eyes, he found them glazed with willingness.
She was sitting in her seat again with her legs swayed together. The storage section of the car was taken up by the tractor part. The back seat had the cooler and Brad’s overnight bag. He pulled them aside. Isabel just watched as he reached down beside her and released the catch to lay her seat back. She touched his chest, feeling him through his shirt with delicate fingers and long, lightly penetrating nails painted purple. Brad kissed her hand and placed it back on his chest as he lowered to her parted lips again, tasting them and drawing in her sweet young essence as his penis firmed.
It was a roomy vehicle. He put an arm around her and lifted up her dress, her body shuddering as she half giggled and half squealed. Her stomach tensed and quivered, and her bottom lifted as he felt her belly and hips. He was kissing her again, though, and her moan went into his mouth. He kissed her chin and her neck, and he slipped two more buttons open on her dress and parted it to reveal her breasts. Her firm young body then undulated as he kissed his way lower and pulled a tight nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it and held it as he reached back down with his free hand and smoothed over her quivering belly to cup her chequered panties.
“Mmm,” she moaned as she gripped his head and pulled his hair. She ground against his hand and thrust her chest upward. She had arched up off the seat, and Brad slipped more fully beneath her. He moved his arm from the back of the seat and reached around to hold her and feel one breast while sucking on the other one. He kept her in place on his lap and used his fingers to keep pace with her wild lower body gyrations against his hand. He felt into her wetness through the thin fabric, and as she neared her climax, he slipped his hand down the front of the tiny garment and inserted fingers into her. He then just held her as her body convulsed, her legs clamping together and crushing his hand, her arm gripping his head and holding him to her breast.
Brad waited for the girl to come back from wherever her mind had taken her. Her eyes rolled and focused on his. She bit her lip and smile, her cheeks flushed, her body again softly convulsing as he removed his hand from down her panties.
“Um… That was um—”
“That was fun,” Brad finished for her. He was painfully erect but was thinking about where he could take her in order to meet his own desires. He could have her right then and there. The glazed look of submission was still in her eyes. He could sit her on his lap or bend her over the bonnet of the 4WD if he chose to, but he wanted something else. He needed to be pressed fully against her beautiful young body—to be on top of her and between those long, slender legs.
“You can stay with me tonight, yeah? When we get to Athol Grove, you can spend the night with me?”
“Okay,” she uttered softly. “If you want.”
“Oh, I want,” he breathed, taking her lips again and drawing in her exciting young essence. “I say we get back on the road, drop this stupid tractor part off, and find a room.”
She giggled. “Okay. I like that idea.”
Brad took another taste of her lips then extracted himself from beneath her. He helped her lift the seat back up and watched her fix her dress. It was still open, and she looked from her breasts to meet his gaze, waiting a moment until he turned away, smiling and shaking his head, then she tugged her dress closed and refastened two of the buttons.
“Going to need to find that room fast,” Brad declared.
She was smiling. “Okay.” She tucked her legs up on the seat and laid her head against the backrest, her pretty eyes wide and sparkling as she rested there looking at him…..
BOOK REVIEW: This sharp, quirky little story is kind of like the lead character in it. You don’t really have a choice – you just have to go along with everything you’re being told. It’s hypnotic. It’s fun and really interesting. I’d defy anyone to read a few pages of this and stop reading. You absolutely have to know what’s going to become of the emerald eyed thief girl… What does become of her – where this story goes – is a total surprise. The writer tackles a subject here that is always kind of strange and confusing, but she keeps it simple and does it very well. I always loved the Twilight Zone series. This little story would fit right in there and be one of the best of them.
Preview Terrible Me on Amazon
BOOK REVIEW: Terrific imagination and very easy reading style. This is a strange, foreign, alternate reality where you feel right at home and quickly pick up what’s going on. Cool, quirky characters and an interesting story that may have only just begun… A very enjoyable read.
Preview Engines of Empathy on Amazon
BOOK REVIEW: I liked this. What a weird story. It’s very cleverly constructed and intriguing from start to finish. There’s something so simple and true about The Pusher. I’m wondering why I can so easily relate to him, lol… It’s a short read – definitely worth your time.
Preview The Pusher on Amazon
David grabbed the bag of Chinese food and hurried home. Clair was still in the bath, and he built a fire to take the edge off the evening chill. He set up in the lounge with the food and some beers and turned on the television. The steamy, perfumed air was drifting down the hall, so he figured bath-time was over. He waited, and she emerged from the hall in a short flannel bathrobe and sheepskin slippers. She sat beside him on the lounge.
“That was nice,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a rain-water bath before.”
“Part of the service, ma’am,” David quipped. “That’s special fried rice and that’s boiled,” he added.
She seemed a bit different. He wondered about that as he filled his plate and she filled hers. Everybody Loves Raymond was on the television.
“I can’t believe what you did with Mandy. Brent was gob-smacked,” David started, breaking a silence.
“Mandy’s beautiful. I didn’t have to do much.”
“That’s true—she is beautiful. But that was some dress!”
“It’s not really. It’s just slinky and cut low.”
David chuckled. “I noticed it was cut low. So did Brent.”
“Well, he’s supposed to notice,” Clair shot back, giggling along and seemingly beginning to relax.
They watched that old episode of Everybody Loves Raymond and the next one, sharing some laughs and chatting about what they each liked on television in general, and agreeing on comedy but splitting on sport versus true crime and craft or cooking shows.
The food had been set aside, and Clair had her legs up on the lounge. David was touching a bare knee and edging his way forward and closer to her. She was leaning in a bit too.
He met her lips once, then again, more forcefully. “Is it my turn yet?” he said.
“Hmm—is it your turn,” she repeated calculatingly. “I’m not so sure about this.”
“Not sure about what?” he had taken another kiss. She was responding. He could see where the bathrobe was opening below her waist. She had on a shiny sky-blue negligee beneath it. Maybe it was satin, he thought. It was short.
“I’m not sure about what we’re doing here,” she said. “What do you think we’re doing?”
David drew on his new code. “We’re having fun… No strings.”
“I’m having fun,” he said, going for her neck and biting it, making her giggle and squirm back against the arm of the leather lounge.
He was then lying beside her and tugging at her robe tie. She allowed that, and he opened her robe to find her body lightly veiled in a thin wisp of satin. He had decided it was satin. He could see the impression of her navel and her nipples, and that of a thin strip of pubic hair. His hand was upon her hip, and there was no under-garment beneath the negligee that he could feel.
He kissed her again, rubbing up from her hip to feel a breast. She moaned into his mouth, and he pinched her nipple, and her warm, slender body undulated against his side as he rolled half on top of her.
She turned her head away, though, and pushed against his chest. David lifted from her, giving her room. She looked at him, calculating again. “No strings, though, right?”
“Yeah, or we could watch more Raymond instead,” David answered, grinning and thumbing back at the television that was running another old episode with the volume turned down.
She frowned at him, but it looked deliberate.
He bent to her lips again and kissed her while holding her eyes. She was still calculating. He could see her mind ticking over. He tilted his head the other way and kissed her again, still holding her eyes in question as to whether or not he should back off. He didn’t want to back off. His hand was upon her hip once more, and he gripped her there as he moved to her neck then her ear. “My turn now?” he whispered.
She had taken hold of his head, hugging it as he squeezed her hip and pulled her upward against his thigh. “Out here, though. Not in bed,” she whispered hotly back into his hair.
She then kept hold of his head as he kissed his way down to her chest, nuzzling between her breasts while he gripped her other hip as well and found the bottom of her negligee. He peered up at her face as he kissed her hot skin, but her head was turned away, so he accepted that and nibbled a nipple through satin. He bit and held it while her body undulated again, and he lifted the satin garment and exposed her breasts. He then closed his eyes and took that nipple into his mouth, claiming it gently between his teeth and softly sucking on it.
David’s mind was all-consumed with the sheer beauty of the woman virtually quivering beneath him. Her body was taut yet delicately smooth and tender. Her skin was radiating pure sexual energy and the sweet perfume of the bath-oils she had been soaking in. He wanted to eat her alive and couldn’t contain that notion as he moved to the other breast and sucked and bit on it.
He had worked his way between her legs, or they had parted and were guiding him as he responded to her hands still in his hair and kissed his way down her belly. He peered up again, but her head was still turned away and had flung back as well. She was pushing him lower, impatiently. He kissed her pubic hair. It was short and neatly trimmed. He kissed his way down as her moist scent overpowered the sweet aroma of her bath and tingled the hair on the back of his neck, lifting it and setting off an instinctive surge of animal passion that made him want to growl when he ate into her.
She let out a deep, sensual moan and gripped his hair and ground herself against his mouth. He still held her hips, and he parted her from beneath with his thumbs, holding her up off the lounge and feasting on her. The quivering of her flesh had intensified into spasmodic convulsions as she writhed upward, jamming her head into the cushion to support herself, with one hand still pulling David’s hair and the other arm flung back over the arm of the lounge.
David took his turn. He took it, and didn’t stop taking it until Clair was panting away with an arm over her face and her thighs clamped together, and her hand still in his hair as he kissed her little strip of fur and tasted her belly again.
He kissed his way up to her satin covered breasts and nuzzled beneath her arm to kiss her face. He met her lips, and she felt for his firmness as she kissed him back. “Do you have something?” she asked, squeezing him in her soft little hand.
She slid her hand inside his track-pants, closing her fingers around his erection. He had a condom in his pocket. He had that open as she freed him from his pants. He rolled it on while she turned and pressed back against him. She felt for him and guided him as he moved in behind her. She still had hold of his head, and she gripped the back of his neck and ground herself onto the thrust of his pelvis.
“No strings,” she whispered into his ear, biting it as the animalistic passion surged within his back and thighs, propelling him into her heat and wetness. “No strings,” she uttered again, but her voice ended in a moan, and David was beyond thinking or caring.
He had one arm lowered and his hand pressed to the floor to support his weight. He held her body with his other arm, her breast in his hand as he slapped his body loudly against her until she cried out, writhing and moaning. He thrust into her one last time and cried out too, bucking and grinding against her.
He receded from within but kept hold of her, and she relaxed against his chest, swivelling around to fiddle with his t-shirt.
“Tarzan,” she said, peering up with a smile.
David did a mock Tarzan cry.
“I’m hungry again,” she said……
G’day, folks. Stu Magoo reporting for HPCI. It’s pelting down here. I just passed the Goran Vale is a Tidy Town sign. Rolling into the deserted little village now. There’s the Timber Town Motel on the left. Maybe I should check in, but hopefully I can find these characters and get the heck out of here before night.
There’s a parking spot just past the clock tower. Lots of spots in fact. This joint really is a graveyard. I saw someone standing in the doorway of the gift shop back there – probably the old woman Edna, or maybe it was Margaret. She looked nosey, or it could be I’m the first car to pass through town today.
Damn it’s pouring down. I have to make a run for it. Hope my recorder doesn’t get wet. If this comes out crackly you know what happened.
Aw heck. Aw heck… Whew! Made it. The Clock Tower Café. The joint’s empty of customers. This rather attractive middle aged woman would have to be Gwen.
Me: G’day, ma’am. You would be Gwen Harrington?
Gwen, eyebrow raised: Yes. Do you want to dry off?
She hands me the roll of paper towel she was using to wipe the counter.
Me: Ta. You look just like I imagined.
Gwen, eyebrow lifting again: Oh?
Me: From the book Beauty Skin Deep?. Or books actually. I see you get a brief scene or two in The Children’s Room and a short cameo in Ever Since April… I’m Stu Magoo by the way – reporting for HPCI.
Gwen: Oh, of course. Mr. Magoo…
She fixes her hair. Must be thinking the recorder I’m drying off has vision. Being from her future, anything’s possible, but no – no vision, sorry, Gwen. Although, I’m supposed to be interviewing the main characters from this story, but what the heck…
Me: So, Gwen, say hi to all of your readers. Everyone thinks you were one of the coolest characters.
I hold the recorder up.
Gwen speaks into it, blushing a big smile: Hi, readers!
Me: So, Gwen, twenty years as a psych nurse and four husbands – how has that been?
Gwen: All kinds of crazy – that’s how it’s been. And three husbands, not four, thank you very much. There won’t be a number four.
Gwen, scoffing: Pfft. Silly men. Who needs one fulltime? I get asked out often enough. Bert’s trying to work up to asking me to go on a cruise to Tahiti. He’s mentioned wanting to go a few times. I’m thinking about my wardrobe – what I’ll need to buy. I’ll need new evening wear.
Me: A cruise is a fine venue for popping a question.
Gwen: Nope. I’ve mentioned never getting married again more times than Bert’s mentioned the cruise.
Me: Hmm. I see. And what about your daughter – how is her marriage going?
Gwen: Kate and her dreamboat policeman are going wonderfully. Now there’s a marriage that will last. There’s a man who knows how to take care of his woman.
Me: Oh yeah?
Gwen, sighing: Oh yes – if only…
Me: If only you had found a man like that, eh?
Gwen, scoffing again: Pfft. Wasn’t to be, and I ain’t complaining. I live with a wonderful man these days. Not romantically, but I get spoiled rotten at home.
Me: Ah yes – Bobby Ray. And how is the big guy getting on after all that drama he went through in the book? Readers are always asking after him.
Gwen: Well, the readers might be happy to know that Bobby Ray now has a steady girlfriend. Veronica is a lovely lady – a few years older than him. She lost her husband in a traffic accident some years ago and was left with a vegetable farm to run. Bobby went to work for her when the Cosgroves retired and sold up last year. Technically, he’s her workman, but he often stays for dinner, and just this week he’s stayed the night twice.
Me: Some would say you were brave to take Bobby in all those years ago. You never doubted him – feared for your safety?
This question causes Gwen some pause. She stirs her tea. I sip the coffee she has placed on the counter in front of me.
Gwen: Yes, I had doubts in the beginning. Bobby had lost a chunk of memory and I never knew what he had been through – what he was capable of. And he was a big man. He was scrawny when he was admitted to the institution, but he got healthy and grew strong. I would be lying if I said I never feared him a little back then. But it was the unknown that was disquieting, not the man himself. The kindness in his heart was always obvious to us. He was like a big lovable puppy – one who had been mistreated.
Me: And you wouldn’t have known the extent of this mistreatment, or what it would have engendered in him?
Gwen: No. Except his doctor believed Kate and I were perfectly safe. And it very quickly became the case that he was not just a puppy – he was a guard dog. Our guard dog.
Me: He became your protector? This was the incident in 1998 when he put those men in hospital protecting Kate?
Gwen: Yes – that was one incident. There were others too. One other in particular when a man I was seeing raised his voice at me and ended up pinned to a wall by his throat. But we never told anyone about that.
Me: I see. And about Kate as a teen – she found out about her medical problem at what age?
Gwen: Fifteen. There were tests, but we knew right away that she would never bear children.
Me: And that changed her? It must have been difficult for a young woman to deal with – to accept.
More cause for pause. Gwen gives the counter a wipe, her jaw set, her eyes a little watery.
Me: Sorry. Forget that question, ma’am. I’m sure readers would have come to appreciate the portent of that from the story.
I click off my recorder and pocket it. My coffee is almost cold. I drink it and reach across the counter to place the empty mug with several others.
Me: So, Gwen, do you know where I might find either your daughter or her husband? Maybe I should check in for the night. Does Bernadette still run the motel?
Gwen: You should talk to Bernadette. She still has her motel. Don’t worry about these young pups. They’re all dreamy in love. You can’t get any sense out of them half the time. Bernadette though – now there’s a lady with a story.
Me: Yes, we know. Drug addict mother who died virtually in her arms when she was six years old. Father was a crazed murderer who she shot dead when she was eleven. Yeah, I guess I could speak with Bernadette while I’m here. Although she’s not scheduled until after the end of the series.
Gwen: Is that your old bomb Volkswagen across the road there? Is that what you get around in?
I join Gwen at the door. The rain is still pouring down outside.
Me: Yep, that’s my transportation, ma’am. It gets me where I need to go.
Gwen: Hmm. They say you can travel through time in it. I don’t believe that.
I shrug: What year is this? It’s on my trip computer but I can’t remember. Is it 2012?
Gwen: 2010. December.
Me: Oh. Well my next appointment is down south – a town called Everly Cove, and in the winter of 2005. It would hardly be possible to get around and interview all of you story book characters without the means to travel through time, don’t you think?
Gwen, shaking her head: So you’re saying you could take me back to 1970 and I’d be young again?
I chuckle: Um – no. It doesn’t work that way. First of all, you would still be the same age you are now. There’s no fountain of youth, I’m afraid. And second of all, no passengers allowed. Sorry.
Gwen: Hmph – figures. But you could go visit yourself?
Me: No, that would be too weird. Plus I’d get in trouble off my boss for wasting company time and resources.
I lift my kit bag and place it on top of my head: I think I’ll make a run for it. This rain isn’t going to let up… Nice to meet you, Gwen. Thanks for the chat and coffee…
BOOK REVIEW: Julia’s life is not extraordinary, but it is fascinating. She steps off a plane, returning from an unplanned trip away, and is faced with a whole bunch of problems that have sprung up in her absence. It’s a scene easily related to – everything falling apart at the same time. Everyone who has lived a bit of a life has experienced this… What are the decisions and incidents that shaped your life and brought you to that point? Well, in this story, Julia is a flawed character. Reading through the chapters of her life, there were times I didn’t particularly like her. But she is human – brilliantly depicted as such. And I found myself cheering for her in the end. The real heroine in this story, to me, is her best friend. Raz is mysterious… strong. We don’t spend much time inside her head, but that adds to the story, lending a depth of dimension that exist in all of our lives… This is a captivating read. Authentic.
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BOOK REVIEW: Actually, I’ve been to the beach house, metaphorically. Any place with important personal history is the beach house. It’s horrible when you drive past somewhere you remember fondly from some life event years ago and find it’s been re-developed. It’s gone… This is a wonderfully uplifting read. The many stories, brilliantly intertwined, are so real and inspiring… If you’re an Aussie you will probably like this book. If you’re not an Aussie you will probably like this book.
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BOOK REVIEW: True to life characters and an outback Aussie road trip… this is a touching and shocking human drama, the telling of which begins in turmoil and takes us on two journeys. One is the road trip – onward into discovery and hurt. The other is a series of flashbacks that lead us to our starting point and an expertly crafted reveal. Wonderfully written – mesmerizing… this is a terrific novel.
Preview In Conversation With Strangers on Amazon