Jack & the Giant’s Wife Part 4: Peeping Tom


Heather Erotic short story by Alyssa Spice

The next chapter in the series has been posted on Wattpad. How does Jack deal with the sight that meets his eyes on the dining room table at the castle? Heat level: High. This spice is for mature audiences only.

Click here if you’re ready to read my spicy bedtime story…

6. Emotional Pain


A PERFECTEXAMPLE by Alyssa Spice YA RomanceOne of the worst emotional pains a typical teenager will experience is a broken heart. In A Perfect Example, Crystal’s heart is breaking when Kyle tells her they can’t see each other anymore. He was her first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first love. Now she must learn to live without him.

As she deals with her pain, she turns to art as an emotional outlet. She discovers a passion in painting that she hadn’t previously known she had. While her subject matter is dark, reflecting her emotional state, even her mother has to admit that she is talented and her pieces are impressive.

Pain to Art

Sometimes pain and suffering result in a positive contribution to the artistic realm of society. Considering the lives of many well-known artists, pain, whether emotional or physical, has inspired many of their great works. Vincent van Gogh fought poverty and mental illness while creating his world-famous artworks. John Lennon and Paul McCartney joined to work as an artistic team after they both lost their mothers. Woody Allen filled the roles of filmmaker, screenwriter, actor, comedian, jazz musician, author and playwright while fighting depression with humor in each of these positions.

In his book, Tortured Artists, Christopher Zara suggests that all real art stems out of a tortured soul and it’s the emotional turmoil that puts authenticity and greatness into their works, whether it be a piece of music, a painting or an acting role.

Can something positive evolve from pain?

When we feel pain, we want to escape by doing something we love. Therefore, the artistic world benefits when creative people feel pain.

Do you have a better understanding of love if you’ve had your heart broken? Do you have a better understanding of life if you’ve lost a loved one?

Read on for a spicy story where emotional pain transforms into something else. Art? I’ll let you decide.

By reading past the heading below, you acknowledge that the story is for a mature audience and will include content that might be offensive to some. As many of my readers know, I love challenging myself to write these stories in a gender-neutral way. You fill in the gender blanks with what pleases you most and enjoy!

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I downed the last mouthful of my third glass of wine like I was drinking water after a run. The smooth, tart liquid was not quenching my thirst or numbing my pain.

I caught the flight attendant’s eye and he nodded his acknowledgement of my order.

“I know it’s not my business, but were you planning on walking off this plane or being carried off?”

I had a sentence ready for this nosy seatmate that started with “Fuck” and ended with “off,” words that never even entered my brain while sober.

When I swung my heavy head around to look the intruder in the eye, my words froze in my throat. I swallowed them as I looked into vibrant green eyes that peered into my soul. I wanted to pull the blinds on my own hazel windows to prevent the invasion of privacy.

I knew my pain was not attractive. My lips had forgotten how to smile, my dimples hadn’t been seen in weeks. My drawn eyebrows were creating permanent tracks in my forehead since the skin never had a chance to relax and retreat. But my lungs continued to push and pull air in support of my heart’s insistent need to continue pumping blood through my veins, while forbidding me to give in to my desire to shut down permanently.

The face I looked into, however, did not in any way mirror my pain. Those green eyes reflected concern and the warm smile, sincerity. The smooth, tanned face was perfectly shaped with high cheekbones, a strong, straight nose, and lips that were full and seductive. Dark, naturally wavy hair framed the face and stopped just before the shoulders. My hand twitched with desire to run my fingers through it.

I nodded my thanks to the flight attendant for the new bottle and set it on my tray without opening it.

“Do you want to talk about it? We’ve got at least two hours to be neighbors.” I couldn’t tear my eyes from those lips as they moved to form the words.

I mistakenly allowed them to meet those twin emeralds for a heartbeat before having to look away toward the window to hide the tears that formed.

What was there to say? I fell and fell hard. I gave my heart away to someone I trusted with it. For four beautiful years, my lover held it and protected it as I did with theirs. Then a weekend apart, an affair with a business partner, and an open email on a laptop caused an implosion that only dynamite on the inside could create. As my lover placed my heart back in my chest, it blew up and killed my soul, my emotions, my will to live. I functioned for the past two weeks in darkness like an early winter in the Arctic.

I angrily wiped the escaped drop of sorrow from my cheek. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t give in to the weakness of tears. The alcohol usually helped keep me stoic, hardening the shards of my heart so no one else could handle it.

I flinched as warm fingers made contact with mine on the tray in front of me. I felt them thaw out just a little with the touch.

“I’m a good listener.”

But I wasn’t certain I was still able to talk. Muteness had been another symptom of my destruction. I hadn’t willingly spoken to anyone in the past two weeks. Friends and family all tried to find out what was wrong with me. I couldn’t admit the betrayal, the demolition, the failure. I embraced the silence and shut out the world’s prying concern.

The fingers that hadn’t been scared away by my obvious discomfort, moved on mine, warm skin on frozen skin. The friction was causing an electric current to run from my hand to my elbow. I flipped my hand over and captured the fingers, halting their movement, trapping them in my grasp. Somehow, they still moved to slide into a locked position with our fingers interlaced. I looked down at our joined hands in disbelief.

“It’s okay.” A whisper. An almost imperceptible squeeze of the fingers.

I felt the constriction in my chest and my lungs struggled for my next breath.

I shook my head. I was not ready to let go of my silence, my fear. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the seat.

I resisted the panicked urge to rip my fingers out of the tangled mess on the tray when I felt the soft pad of others tracing the lines on my face. Two soft fingers moved across my skin with a pressure that was less feathery and ticklish, and more bolder and determined to ease my troubles.

They traveled up my frown lines, across my forehead, down my temple, across my cheekbone, down to cup my chin. Then they made a U-turn and did the journey in reverse. I kept my eyes closed but struggled to relax my muscles as I assumed was the intent of this exercise.

I felt a small tug on our joined hands so it didn’t surprise me when breath heated my ear with more words.

“My friends call me Chris. Maybe you can relax more if you think of me as your friend.”

I ran down through my list of friends and couldn’t think of one who would do what Chris was doing to me, not that I would allow them to. I didn’t understand why the hell I was permitting this. But I had to admit, a sharp edge felt like it had been sanded down by this stranger’s touch.

When the fingers finished their downward path, they left my face and ran down the side of my neck, stopping in the middle of my chest.

“Take deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Push against my hand as you exhale.” Chris’ voice was soft and husky, the warm, moist air caressing my earlobe.

I obeyed and took several breaths, allowing Chris’ hand to stay on my chest, acknowledging that I had pushed away the touch of every other human since my descent into misery.

The fingers tightened again suggesting a change in therapeutic method. The flattened hand on my chest rose up to fingerwalk down the center of my body and rest at the top of the waistband of my dress pants.

My eyes flew open, wide with both surprise and desire. Chris’ laugh lines deepened as I watched those luscious lips turn up into a big, seductive smile.

My face burned as I realized the flight attendant stood next to Chris’ seat. His eyes moved from the untouched bottle of wine to the joined hands, to the hand near my crotch, to meet my eyes. His eyes, unlike Chris’, mirrored my pain. He had lost something too and recognized my need for healing.

“You look like you might want to rest a while,” he said, handing me a soft, blue blanket. I took it, nodding my thanks as we kept our eyes locked. His small head movement indicated empathy and permission.

Chris laughed quietly beside me and took the blanket, spreading it across my hips, pulling it high on my chest, all the while never letting go of my other hand. I had to admit the interlaced fingers were grounding me and I dreaded losing the warm, strong anchor.

Those other magic fingers pushed my hair off my face and sunk into my dark blond mess, massaging my scalp and the back of my neck before burning a trail back to where they were when the blanket appeared.

There was a different kind of pain occurring under that blanket, unrelated to my emotional state, an ache that cried out with need.

Normally, a very private, rule-following individual, I’d check the perimeter of our seats to see if any other passengers were suspecting any misconduct in our area of the plane. But I hadn’t been normal for a long time.

I threw my head back again, closing my eyes and squeezing Chris’ hand for the first time. The rest of the world was not my worry. I had enough shit to deal with.

I held my breath while my pants were opened, and the zipper pulled all the way down. The pain intensified.

I only remembered to breathe when those soft fingers touched the heated skin beneath my underwear. I gritted my teeth, reminding myself that this had to be soundless and inconspicuous, a challenge I was willing to accept.

Chris’ skilled fingers knew where to go and what to do, even in the darkness of their confined space. They massaged, they stroked, they explored and created a wetness that might be difficult to hide later. The intensity built and built until I could no longer feel our joined fingers and a dizzying numbness was moving through my body.

I bit down on my knuckle, hard, as I released my pain into Chris’ helping hand.

“Do you feel better?” Chris’ whispered question landed in my ear seconds before I felt those warm, wet lips on mine. I opened my eyes, becoming keenly aware of our surroundings, and met those green pools moving in again for a second kiss. If this was how I could say thank you, I was happy to participate.

Happy, now that’s a word I hadn’t used in a while, even in my thoughts. I opened my eyes again and touched Chris’ face, making sure my dimples were in the line of vision. I received a big grin as Chris traced the line of my curved mouth from one dimple to the other with fingers that smelled like my gratification.

The moment was interrupted by our flight attendant warning us that it was time to put our trays away and upright our seats. He sent me a small smile before leaning in to whisper, “Would the two of you wait for me for a few minutes at the arrival gate when you debark?”

We both nodded. This special interlude was not over yet.

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As we retrieved our belongings from the overhead bins and readied to exit, I realized I still hadn’t said a word to Chris. I opened my mouth but no words came out. What words could be appropriate for what had just happened?

Chris put a finger to my lips. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I’m glad I was here to help you forget.” I grabbed the finger, joining it with the other four and raised them to my mouth for a kiss.

“You’re welcome,” Chris said. Then as we shuffled toward the open door, “I wonder what Jeff wants.” Of course, Chris would have heard and noted my bartender’s name, which spoke of sincere friendliness, a trait I had witnessed firsthand, no pun intended.

As we waited at the gate, Chris took my hand again and wove our fingers together in that now familiar comforting grip. Standing in the open airport was much different than in our seating row and I acknowledged this act with a finger-squeeze, and leaned in connecting our lips for a gentle kiss.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re both still getting along,” Jeff laughed as he stepped toward us, pulling his wheeled bag behind him. “I was hoping that would be the case.”

He started walking with a determined stride weaving in and out of people-traffic, calling “Follow me!” over his shoulder.

We shrugged at each other and took off behind him, laughing as our joined hands caused trouble with passing, and avoiding bumps with other passengers in the corridor. Jeff stopped at a frosted glass door and asked us to wait a second. I took advantage of the pause to greedily take another round with Chris’ lips.

I help up my middle finger to assholes who dared comment on our public display. Chris laughed and touched my face. “There’s a light in your eyes that wasn’t there when you got on that plane.” I flashed one of my rare smiles, as Jeff returned.

He grabbed my backpack and pulled me through the open glass door, gesturing for Chris to hurry through as well.

“There’s a couple of rest rooms in here for the flight crew who have a layover and want to catch a few z’s,” Jeff explained.

When we were standing in one such room, furnished with a small bed and night stand, the door closed and locked behind us, he continued.

“I thought you two might like to finish what you started up there.” He waved his hand up near my head and finished near my knees. “The transformation in this one is magical.” He looked at Chris. “The treatment you provided was so much more effective than the earlier chosen route.” He pretended to drink from an imaginary wine glass to punctuate his meaning.

“I agree,” Chris said. “But what’s in it for you, Jeff?”

Jeff looked away, his face reddening.

“I would like to watch.”

I remembered the pain reflected in Jeff’s eyes when he looked at me on the plane. He was fighting his own demons. Who were we to judge how he wished to distract from his darkness?

I took Chris’ face in my two hands and started a deep kiss that had our tongues dancing and our blood pressure rising. Chris’ hands were in my hair, pulling me in closer and closer until kissing was no longer enough.

Jeff picked up each garment as we ripped them off each other in our haste to feel skin against skin. Hardened nipples rubbed against each other as we kissed feverishly. We took turns planting wet, tongued kisses down necks, across shoulders, down chests, lathering nipples and back up to find lips again.

When the rest of our clothes were neatly piled in the corner, we took turns directing the show, rolling over to let the other choose the positions and take charge.

I glanced over at Jeff who had his pants down to his knees and watched us closely while he jerked himself off. I was certain I saw tears on his face.

His self-play incited me further and rose my desire to a level that would only last a few minutes more. Our love-making became more frenzied and our kisses were ravenous as we devoured each other’s bodies with our mouths.

I let Chris take the top position for our finale. At my release, which shook my whole body with its force, I howled like a wild animal, the first sound Chris or Jeff had heard me make all day. Chris collapsed on top of me spent with satisfaction as well.

I looked over at Jeff and smiled. He nodded, his own sated smile in place.

Chris checked the time on the large wall clock intended to keep flight staff from overstaying their welcome.

“I have a connecting flight to catch. Two more stops until I get home to my family tonight.”

Jeff returned the grin Chris sent his way and started handing out clothing.

Chris held my hand tightly before we left the room, two green eyes sparkling at mine. “I’m so glad I was here for you today. I hope you can now move past this dark place you’ve been in and find someone who will love you like you deserve.”

I pulled those lips in for one more long kiss.

I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I croaked. “I’ll never forget you, Chris.”

With a final wave, Chris was gone.

Giving Jeff an awkward salute, I walked toward the baggage claim. My back was straighter and my steps lighter. The frown lines were easing themselves back into my forehead and my dimples were making a comeback.

I looked forward to the upcoming conference and meeting new people who worked in my field. Maybe that person Chris spoke about would be there looking for me.

Thanks to Chris and a two-hour flight, I was now open to love. I winked at a flight attendant just to prove I still could, and received a smile with a raised eyebrow.

I got this.



Sometimes the challenging part of getting your writing noticed is selling yourself! Here’s a little about me and the manuscript I’ll present to mentors for #Pitchwars this year.


Alyssa Spice

Born in Northern Newfoundland, living in Ottawa, Ontario, I have many hobbies. I LOVE to read and have been doing a lot of beta reading for other writers. I love to travel with my hubby of 26 years, especially cruising. I love the sun and should really live somewhere where it’s bikini weather all year ’round. I enjoy painting, although I’m more of a copy artist than a creative one. I love red wine, chocolate-covered almonds and loose leaf tea. And I love to write!

Kindergarten teacher by day, erotica short story writer by night, my finished manuscript is actually a Young Adult Contemporary Romance. (Well, 1980’s – is that contemporary?) Mother of three grown boys, I have fallen headfirst into this rabbit hole of the writing world. I’ve been working on this story for many years and I’m now ready to share it with readers.

As a lark, while writing report cards this spring, I made one for my main character:

report-cardLike me, Crystal grew up in Canada’s most easterly province, Newfoundland. And like me, she was a Preacher’s Kid (PK), with all the pressures that go along with that role, including being the perfect example of her father’s ministry. That’s about where the similarities stop, although I may have fallen for the wrong boy or two along the way. Kyle is easy on the eyes with his baby blues and dimply smile, but he’s got issues of his own, including acting the man of the house for an alcoholic father, two sisters and a toddler-nephew.


blueeyesWhen Crystal meets Kyle, her heart swallows him whole and her head loses the ability for logical thinking. When she is forced to choose between living up to her parents’ unrealistic expectations or loving Kyle, Crystal’s impulsive nature sends her running.

But those morals and values that have been beaten into her head, and even her soul, are not easy to ignore. When Crystal, finds herself facing a future with her older, more experienced boyfriend as her roommate, she must now deal with more adult-like decisions and situations that she may not be ready for. Her childhood friend Devin, now pen pal, is the only person she can trust with her feelings.

As life on the run becomes more challenging, will Crystal stay and face her problems head-on? Or will she run again? And who will be there to help her face her demons?


As a Mentee:

I am committed to polishing this manuscript to make it publishable. I’ve had feedback from beta readers and have spent many hours revising and editing, since finally finishing the story two years ago.

I might be a teacher, but I recognize that this is a new world for me and I have much to learn. I believe in life-long learning and want to grow as a writer.

I’m looking forward to Romancing the Capital, a writer’s conference here in Ottawa during the first weekend of August. I’ll be taking notes and soaking up everything I can about this industry.

I have a sense of humour (Newfie…) and usually get along well with most people. I’d love to gain a friend as well as a mentor through this process.

 Thanks for considering me as your mentee!

I’m on Twitter as @alyssa_spice


I’m feeling disappointed in myself today as I see how long I’ve gone between blog posts. I’ve been editing, writing and beta reading; all important in the writing world. But it’s time to get back to my thematic journey through A Perfect Example.


Crystal has been on a dangerous high as she sneaks around behind her parents’ backs to meet up with the handsome, charming Kyle. There’s been a lot of lies, deceit, and rule-breaking. Impending disaster looms around every corner since she is still a teenager and their disappointment in her actions will come with major consequences.

Both Crystal and Kyle hope that they can continue their relationship in a more accepted, open way once her birthday comes and she reaches the magical age of maturity that her father has set for her dating life. However this hope ends in disappointment. Kyle is not a suitable candidate for dating the preacher’s kid, so the sneaking around will continue.

Swift on the heels of this disappointment, comes Kyle’s announcement that he can no longer meet her in secret because of work and school commitments.

While the fissure in her heart is still wide and bleeding, the third disappointment catches her completely off guard and nearly crushes her.

Like Crystal, often at a young age we realize that disappointment is a part of life. And, while we tend to acknowledge and accept it more as adults, dealing with it doesn’t get better with age.

Are you up for a Spicy Application related to disappointment? I’ll aim to avoid disappointing you by providing some heat!

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It was the beginning of July in a year where Mother Nature forgot to turn off the taps and the spring rains extended into summer. I’d been invited to a friend’s cottage for the weekend along with six others. We could only hope the sun made an appearance so we could enjoy my friend’s cottage toys: pontoon boat, kayaks, ATVs, water-skis, to name a few.

Three hours due south we drove; two cars, four people in each. With the music turned up too loud to encourage conversation, we sang, shouted insults at each other, and laughed at everything. We didn’t allow the grey, angry sky to dampen our mood.

After a quick pit stop for a washroom break and a beer run, one more stretch of driving brought us to the lake. The trees parted to reveal the beautiful wooden cottage. With its peaked roof and walls of windows, it shone like a jewel and beckoned us in.

We breathed in the cedar smell as we brought our bags in and staked claims to our beds. The two couples got the bedrooms with no discussion. The rest of us raced up the stairs to find four beds in the open loft. This would be interesting. We were not all the same gender with a ratio of one to three. I was the ‘one’ in the quantitative relation. I had only met these people today. We all knew the host, but most of us didn’t know each other.

I threw my bag on a bed, none of them more private than the other. My grin stretched from ear to ear as I calculated the distance between beds to be about four feet. I noted an eye roll and crossed a name off my mental list as someone who was unlikely to undress in front of me.

Someone turned on music and before all the booze made it to the fridge or outdoor cooler, everyone had an opened cold one in their hand.

“Cheers to the freakin’ weekend!” the cottage owner yelled. After a glass tap with each person in the room, the party had officially started. We filled up on cold meats and cheeses to get us through ‘til dinner and kept a steady trade of empty-for-full in the drink department.

Noting the dismal, unreliable sky with its ever present cloud cover, our host suggested we take a ride in the pontoon boat while we still had a chance. With a Bluetooth speaker and a portable cooler, we brought the party to the boat. Our excited voices echoed across the lake, awakening the quietness and bringing energy to the calm.

Fifteen minutes later, someone pointed to the jagged streaks of light dancing across the sky. The captain jetted toward the pier as we packed things up for a quick retreat to the warm, dry cottage.

With the boat moored and the flaps all secured, we zigzagged through the heavy drops that now pummeled from the darkening sky.

The mood inside had darkened too. A heavy feeling of disappointment permeated the cottage. There were fewer laughs and voices became quieter. While the drinking continued, someone turned down the music. Standing and dancing/swaying to the music turned into finding a place to sit. The planned barbeque dinner was postponed and someone pulled out a ready-made lasagna. Yawns dominoed across the open spaces and the atmosphere started to mirror the outside gloom. Individuals began disappearing to change into sleepwear.

I didn’t plan to go to bed anytime soon, but my damp t-shirt was bugging me and I decided to go upstairs to change too. I hadn’t paid much attention to who had gone before me. I did see the owner of the name on my list still in the kitchen, eyes riveted on the person telling a personal story that was way too depressing for a cottage weekend. It was my turn to roll my eyes.

I laid down my empty and trotted up the stairs. I made no effort to be quiet, but wasn’t overly noisy either. When I reached the top step, a glance around the loft won me an eyeful. One of my loft-mates had just peeled off their underwear and stood fully naked facing me. Our eyes met and a flush crept over their face. I walked to the side of my bed, without breaking eye contact and proceeded to take off my clothes, one item at a time. My body faced my loft-mate as I boldly pulled my underwear off.

There were obvious reactions on both sides of the room as our bodies showed appreciation for what they observed. However, in an open loft with six other people around, there was nothing to do but slip into the dry comfy clothes we had come for. There was a slow, painful lick of the lips and a responding eyebrow raise. A silent promise.

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We joined the others downstairs and refreshed our drinks. Over the next half hour, we exchanged small smiles and knowing looks that made my heart race and parts of my body to ache and swell. I started losing circulation in my extremities as blood raced to other areas.

“You okay?” my host asked, probably noticing my irregular breathing.

“Yeah, I think I might head out for a breath of air though. It’s friggin’ hot in here.” I gave a small nod toward the back door as I spoke. When I met those eyes again I knew they had seen the motion.

How the others did not hear my pounding heart over the bass of the music, I’ll never know. It was all I could hear.

I sauntered toward the door, without attracting attention to myself. The well-greased hinges allowed my silent exit. It was still raining. I pressed my back to the wall of the cottage next to the door under the overhang of the roof while I waited.

Did I read the signs right? Ten seconds turned into twenty, twenty into thirty, thirty into a minute. My breathing had regulated and my heartbeat was slowing down. Was this going to be another disappointment to add to the memories of this weekend? I wished I had brought my drink out with me. I wished I was a smoker. Waiting sucked. Waiting on someone you weren’t sure was coming sucked more.

I had just pushed off from the wall with my foot to head back in when the door burst open and closed with a quiet snap. Was that a giggle I heard as warm fingers laced through mine and pulled me toward the shed away from the cottage? As we ran the few strides to the shed, the rain soaked our shirts; the bra-less one revealing full breasts with raised nipples.

My back leaned against a wooden wall again when we reached the shed. The hands released mine and wound around my neck. Our lips met in a heated kiss that had our hips gyrating against each other within seconds. Breath tore through flared nostrils as we explored each other’s mouths. Tongues danced and teased between teeth and lips.

Our hands joined the party and began to explore; first over the wet t-shirts and within minutes, underneath. As the wet cloth flew over our heads, the discovery continued with our mouths. With kisses, licks, and sucks, tongues circled and skipped over heated, wet skin touching down in the most sensitive places to explore.

The elastic waists of our comfort wear aided in this unraveling cottage adventure. Both pairs slipped to our knees almost simultaneously.

Strong, slender hands grazed skin rich in nerve endings, hot and wet, but not from the rain. Gentle, slow movements graduated to hard, aggressive finger invasions and clenched-hand pumps. Lips were back on lips violently abusing each other, tongues lashing and colliding in a passionate frenzy.

My pulse quickened more when I saw the packaged condom. It screamed premeditated. When the puzzle pieces finally aligned and fit perfectly in place, the flurry of action moved south. We took turns pressing our backs to the shed wall or dominating the speed and force of the movements.

I like things rough, so when it was my turn, our bodies slammed together noisily while our kissing was intermittent and aggressive. My fingers grasped bare ass, pulling it closer for each body slam. A nice ass is up there on my list of attractiveness and this one was beautiful.

When we rotated and the rough wood sanded my back again, the pace slowed like my partner wanted to prolong the journey, take some side trips. Hands pushed against the side of the shed as one of us turned around to offer a new angle. I could handle the scenic route, but the pressure to explode was warning-label-worthy. It was only the pouring rain streaming over our skin that kept this from happening.

The slow attention to detail put my desire on a level of pain and need that I wasn’t sure I’d felt before. I nearly went mad as my lover repositioned us and pulled away to kneel on the concrete next to the shed. I tried to keep the sounds and exclamations quiet as I recalled the cottageful of guests a few feet away, but there were cries to God mingled with words less God-approved.

When the level of intensity was on the brink of my relief, I made the unselfish move to flip positions again. Now the stray pebbles on the concrete drove into my knees as I returned the favor of a tongue-bath. I was good with my mouth and my lover moaned and pulled my hair as I licked and sucked and teased.

My partner’s patience snapped like a flanker in a woodfire. Yanked up by my hair, I felt the familiar wood press against my back. The time for slowness and exploration was over. The rush of desire roared in our ears and blinded our eyes as we joined our bodies again in a natural way.

The final thrusts, with full member participation, caused fireworks to explode in the sheets of rain. Seconds apart, we treated our bodies to the most joyous release and expression of lust.

Our eyes met, laughter bubbling out of our throats as we tilted our heads back in the rain and observed the cottage. Most of the lights were off, indicating that guests had given into the tired, melancholy feelings the rain had introduced and retired their beer-soaked bodies to bed. We all respond differently to disappointment.

We held hands the short distance to the cottage door. A last gentle kiss sealed the edges of our secret.

My lover ducked into the washroom just inside the door, while I stood dripping on the welcome mat. I rose my eyes to find another pair studying me. My host sat on a stool at the island with a glass of wine in hand.

“Looks like someone had a good time at the cottage.”

I caught the kitchen towel and began to dry off, grinning in response to the raised eyebrow.

“You can invite me anytime,” I said. “No matter what the weather.”

The End

New Release

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Ottawa author, Angela S. Stone released her latest novel today. I read it from cover to cover, giving it a 4/5 star review.

My Review:
Turn up the heat in Toronto, Canada! If you like your men hot (and in uniform) and hot for each other, Angela S. Stone’s Duty, Honor, Sacrifice will keep you riveted. In the backseat of this squad car, you’ll find police officers with psychic abilities, inner office media leaks, the hunt for a pedophile deep into the child porn industry, and the ongoing quest for lifelong love and family. Be prepared for sirens and bright lights as you navigate the twisting, uneven roads that take you on a heart-touching journey of awakening and commitment to getting their man, both professionally and personally.

Detective Logan Weber feels it’s his duty to use his telepathic abilities to track down those who would commit crimes using technology. Paired with Detective Chris Muller they have the honor of working on, and solving, the toughest cases that the internet has to offer.

But when Captain Evan Grigorva pulls Logan and Chris in on an on-going investigation into a media leak, no one involved in the case suspects that to solve the mystery—someone will have to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Glass shattering on the solarium floor made him whip his head that way. Jaden stood in stunned silence, her hand over her mouth. Red wine and glass littered the floor.
“Jay?” Cameron dropped the potholder and rushed to her, stopping short of her due to the glass. “Jay, honey, what’s wrong?”
Tears streamed down her face, and she waved her arms in front of her face, distraught.
“Jaden talk to me.” She shook her head. “Can you hear me?” Fear filled Cam’s face. She shook her head. “Paul,” Cam shouted.
The older man signed to Jaden who just shook her head.
Nate joined them. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Logan looked toward Jaden. “I think something is hurting her telepathic abilities.”
Her gaze swung to him, and she started pointing frantically.
Paul reached out to her. “Jay, we don’t understand.”
Jaden balled her hands at her sides and squeezed her eyes shut. “Kkhhssss,” she half whispered, half shouted. All five men stopped and stared at her. A single tear tracked down her face. “Kkkssss.”
“Chris?” His mind jumped forward. “Something’s wrong with Chris?”
She nodded then fainted, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Buy links HTML:
|Amazon USA | Amazon Canada | Barnes & Nobel| Bookstrand| Smashwords| Kobo| Itunes| Google Play|

Connect with Angela HTML:

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A Stroll in the Forest


Part 4 in the short story collection, Cinderella’s Moment of Doubt, has been released. A carriage ride to tea with the Duchess turns into a steamy encounter in the forest…

My body bounced around like a rubber ball as the carriage bumped over the rutted road. Trees and more trees composed the scenery that rushed by my window. I couldn’t bear riding with the curtains closed. My morning pastries weren’t sitting well as it was with all this jostling.

Knowing the heavy tapestries were not covering the openings, the driver seemed to be taking care to avoid going too close to the trees on my side of the carriage. Getting whipped by a stray branch was not my idea of fun so I appreciated his consideration.

I yawned and stretched, happy to be alone and have the freedom to be so unladylike. In the castle, there was always someone watching, even if they weren’t by my side.

I hadn’t slept well despite having the bed to myself. William hadn’t been home for two days. There was pressing business to take care of that took him away from the castle. My maid, Maddy, had told me that the king’s health was not good, and William was involved in all the castle business so he will be ready to take the crown when his father can no longer fill his duties.

So I tossed and turned thinking about the fact that soon my royal status might be even more than a princess. I was already so uncomfortable with this current title. I didn’t deserve this elevation any more than Maddy did. A week ago, I had fulfilled the same daily duties as she.

Also keeping me awake was my guilt. The prince and I had only had sexual relations once, and that was on our wedding night. It was a new experience for both of us; his first, my second. And to say it was a disappointment was an understatement.

I didn’t know much about the male anatomy, but I did know that what the prince hid inside his trousers was not the same as every man’s and took up less space than others. The truth was, I had only seen one other naked man up close and God had created him with generosity.

And he was the cause of my guilt. Known to me as my footman, since he hadn’t shared his name with me, the man’s face and hard body were constantly on my mind. The memories of his touch, his passionate kisses and the feeling of his hot skin on mine caused my face to burn at the most inopportune times.

As we broke fast that very morning, racy thoughts had caused a heat to travel from my neck to my forehead in a wave which had Maddy applying a cold, damp cloth to my face and offering to find the castle healer. William’s sister had also expressed concern when I waved Maddy away with impatience. Trying to placate the two of them was making me even more frustrated, which did nothing to dispel my red countenance.

But no one could see me here in the carriage. No one could judge my thoughts. Or actions.

I pulled off my glove, snaking my arm inside my dress, and touched myself, closing my eyes and picturing his beauty. His dark eyes, luscious lips, and regal nose were set perfectly on his sun-kissed face. The image of those eyes looking up at me as he knelt between my legs and pleasured me with his tongue pulled a groan from my throat and a wetness in my petticoats.

With a lurch, the carriage came to a sudden halt. I frantically fixed my dress and sat up expecting to see a regal estate through the window. I had been summoned to tea with the queen’s sister, who wanted to get to know me better. It was likely that she would recognize me for the imposter I was; a maid dressed in a princess costume pretending that she could actually act like royalty. Yeah, she would see right through that.

My forehead creased in a puzzled frown as a careful look through the side of the carriage revealed trees and more trees. Why had we stopped? Were there bandits on the road? I’d heard of such attacks.

When we’d left the castle, I thought I had seen two guards on horseback riding with us. There was nothing valuable here except the carriage itself. Then I rolled my eyes as I took an inventory of the princess accessories I was unaccustomed to wearing: the gold jeweled crown on my head, the large pearl earrings, and the diamond bracelet twinkling on the wrist that had been bared as I took off my glove and pulled up my sleeve to touch myself. There it was – the blush that appeared when I knew I’d be in someone’s presence who could witness my shame.

But who? Should I be worried? Should I take off the jewelry and try to hide it in the carriage somewhere? I looked around for a suitable hiding spot. Other than shoving it under the velvet padded seat I sat on, there was no other place to conceal it. As if that wouldn’t be the first place thieves would look. My face heated a little more as I considered putting the jewelry where my hand had been just seconds ago. Would the thieves look there?

The hinge squealed as the door to the carriage was pulled open from the outside. I flattened myself against the back wall, all my jewels still visible and enticing.

I gasped as I recognized his brown eyes under his riding helmet. He took this off and shook his flattened mane into soft, brown waves.

“Good morning, Princess,” he said with a grin that created deep dimples near the corners of his mouth. “We’re a little ahead of schedule. I wondered if you fancied taking a stroll in the woods before we reached our destination?”

A stroll in the dark forest? Dressed in a long, flowing dress and delicate silk slippers? What was he thinking?

As he held out his hand to me, his darkened eyes conveyed the direction of his thoughts and I suddenly realized what kind of ‘stroll’ he was suggesting. My heartbeat quickened and my breath caught as I shuffled forward on the bench to reach his hand and grasp his fingers tightly.

“What about the guards?” I whispered.

“I sent them ahead to ensure our safety on the remainder of the trail. They should be gone for at least an hour.” He brought my gloved hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Heart pounding, I boldly pulled his head toward me with the other hand and captured his lips with mine. I ignored the little voice in my head that warned me that this would only increase my guilt and listened instead to my external voice that made little noises of appreciation for the sensory experience I’d instigated.

My lover began the painfully slow process of undressing me. He continued to kiss me as his fingers unfastened buttons and hooks. I stood before him with only one thin shift separating my heated skin from touching his. He laid my dress on the carriage seat with care.

It was my turn to undress him.

I placed kisses on each patch of skin that I revealed as I rid him of the barriers to my touch. His trousers had needed to stretch in the front to accommodate his swollen response to my ministrations. I pulled them off in one swift motion to free him.

I kissed that part of him too. It moved in gratitude for the attention. I looked up at his face for permission, but his eyes were closed and I knew permission was granted. I licked the tip and took him into my mouth. He rocked his hips back and forth in a slow and gentle motion as I sucked on him. After a couple minutes of this, he grabbed my upper arm and pulled me up to a standing position.

He grabbed the bench cushion out of the carriage and motioned me to follow as he headed off the road and into the woods. When the carriage was hidden from our view, he laid the cushion on the forest floor and pulled the shift over my head, easing my naked body down to lie on my back.

He spent a few minutes bathing my breasts with his tongue, sucking on my nipples and causing an ache to build that only he could heal. As he attended to one nipple with his mouth, he teased the other with his fingers. I moaned shamelessly as the pressure for release built and a dizzying wave of numbness moved up my body, saving all the awareness of feelings for the lower half.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more sensation, his other hand found my liquid heat and began to explore the crater of my volcano. I dug my nails into his back as my hips rose to meet his hand.

I needed him inside me. This wasn’t merely a desire. It was pure, primal need.

I grabbed his shaft and touched myself with his tip. I almost went over the edge with this small contact. I rubbed my wetness on him then grabbed his ass pulling him closer.

Accepting the invitation, he plunged into my center, stretching me and filling me completely. The snug fit felt like I was made for him. Would anyone else ever fit as well as this? I already knew who couldn’t, but firmly pushed all thoughts of my husband out of my head.

My lover mashed his lips to mine, driving his tongue into my mouth as his hips also directed another driving force. I lifted my body to meet each thrust and to angle him to touch my most sensitive spots with his movements.

The pressure of contained sensation was curling my toes as I tangled my fingers into his hair and pulled his head toward me, even though he couldn’t be closer.

I ran my hands down over his muscled back and grabbed his ass again, feeling the muscles there ripple and tighten as he pounded into me.

I vocalized my finish with small noises of exclamation with each breath I expelled.

Whether it was my sound or the pulsing muscles surrounding his most sensitive part, or a combination of both, he bellowed his release seconds later at the same time that he pulled out and poured his hot seed onto my stomach.

I couldn’t help but feel cheated. The evidence of his desire lay in a pool on my body rather than inside me where it belonged. My voice of reason shook her finger at me in disappointment. I ignored her.

I had an overwhelming desire to taste him again. What would our combination of flavors taste like? He looked at me with surprise and what looked like admiration as I knelt before him and licked him clean.

He then shared my savory pleasure as he dropped to his knees to kiss me, his tongue dancing intimately with mine.

After a minute, he pulled away giving me three sweet kisses to finish.

“We mustn’t keep the Duchess waiting, Princess.”

He wiped at my stomach to rub away the remaining wetness, finishing the clean-up with his shirt. He then helped me back into my shift before putting his own clothes back on.

I noticed that his cock looked like it was ready for another round and smiled into his eyes when he caught me looking.

“You have quite an effect on me, milady,” he said with a grin.

“The feeling is mutual,” I responded, wrapping my arms around his waist.

He returned the hug for about five heartbeats before pushing me away and picking up the carriage cushion from the ground. He brushed the leaves and soil from the red velvet as he led me back to the carriage.

As he finished fastening me into my princess garb, I heard horses’ hooves beating on the path, moving toward us. My footman helped me into the carriage with great speed and turned to remount on his seat at the front. But I grabbed his sleeve.

“Wait. I still don’t know your name. This is ridiculous.”

He looked into my eyes for a second before looking down the road in the direction of the horse sounds.

“If you don’t know my name, Princess, you can’t accidentally call it out when you’re making love to him.”

He gently closed the carriage door and left me with his voice echoing in my ears.

My voice of reason admitted his words to be the truth.

I adjusted my crown with my gloved hand and sat up straighter as a princess should.

I wondered if I would like the Duchess.

How perceptive would she be? Would she recognize the glow on my cheeks or the smell of sex on my breath?

I wondered if there would be time on the way home to stop for another stroll.

Report Card

I apologize to my fans for being silent for so long. My day job requires many hours of concentration in the month of June: I’m writing report cards! In Kindergarten, they are called Communication of Learning. I thought it would be fun to take a minute and create a report card for the main character in my manuscript, A Perfect Example. I don’t think her parents would be impressed. I might get some negative feedback from them for this one…


For those over 47 years, here’s the readable text:

Communication of Learning

Student name: Crystal Twyler

Key Learning: Having sex is mind-blowingly awesome!

Growth in Learning: Crystal grew up only hearing negative things about sex. Well, nobody actually ever called it that. Fornication, relations outside of marriage, wrongdoing, and sin were the common synonyms used. During the past several months, Crystal has discovered through hands-on inquiry and experimentation that her preconceived notions built from an environmentally-induced mindset were not only erroneous, but pure bullshit. Not only has she found sex to be pleasurable, but she has built it into her daily routine as an activity that is necessary to find true fulfillment in her relationship with her sexy roommate.

Next Steps: Crystal is encouraged to extend her learning in this area by investigating other methods of fulfilling her partner and ensuring her own satisfaction as well. She is reminded to take precautions against unwanted consequences of activities in which she participates, which might complicate the excitement and delight of her new learning experiences and her overall wellbeing. Have a fun and safe summer, Crystal. Autumn often brings new challenges and unexpected higher learning opportunities. Fortunately, you have several months to prepare.

4. Dangerous Steps


In the fourth chapter of A Perfect Example, the main character, Crystal, discovers a path that detours around the straight-laced one that is paved with her parents’ rules and restrictions. As she takes the first steps down this path, she is full of fear. She knows there is danger involved in this decision. She is stepping outside of the protective boundaries that her family created to keep her safe.

All of the body’s responses to fear and anxiety accompany her first steps to freedom. She nearly bails on her quest because she feels physically ill. But she has decided that the reward is worth the risk.

Each subsequent time she follows that path, her anxiety lessens until it is so easy there is a danger that she will become careless. Even though she feels less fear, the risk of getting caught becomes greater.

But now the physical responses of what awaits her are the results of absolute pleasure, and risk is merely a side effect.



The saying ‘Practice makes perfect’ suggests that the more you practice something, the better your skills will get. Parents, coaches, and teachers use the line in many situations to encourage learners to continue working and developing their skills.

The need for practice stems from a need for improvement. The learner is stepping out of their comfort zone and taking a risk. There are dangers of embarrassment, failure, and disappointment. These first steps are scary.

With continued practice comes confidence. The process may still be challenging, but the learner can see improvement and believes that there is a benefit to practicing.



Do criminals look back on their first crime and remember a physical response to fear and nervousness that is no longer present as they continue to break the law? Does their continued practice make them confident in their skills, thus making crime easier to commit?

Does the first extra-marital affair make the second and third easier?

How many lies does a person need to tell before they can lie effectively?

In the case of wrong-doing, the first steps are dangerous ones.

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We met at the coffee shop around the corner from work. We often stood in the order line at the same time so we began sitting together with our café lattes.

We discovered we had a lot in common. We both loved to read and watch old movies. We both loved classic rock and good wine.

I was attracted to so much about my coffee mate. I began to spend my mornings counting the minutes to my break just to hear the soft, sexy voice and gaze into two emerald green eyes framed with dark lashes. We never ran out of things to talk about. Our coffee often grew cold, forgotten on the table, as we chatted.

It was natural for us to meet outside of the coffee shop and explore things further.

The first movie night was at my apartment since the types of films we liked were no longer showing in local theaters. I had a large collection of DVDs, however, and my guest brought a bottle of Chianti that I had a difficult time swallowing because it caressed my tongue and exploded on my taste buds.

A movie theater visit could never compete with the experience, especially when our hands began to explore each other, often replicating the actions on my flat screen as the movie played.

We waited until the credits to lock our lips and explore the flavors of each other’s Chianti-stained tongues. After an hour of heavy petting and erratic breathing, we pulled apart, agreeing that we’d show some decorum and save some special moments for next time.

More deep kisses at the door with our hips pressed tightly against each other showed our reluctance to separate in such an unfinished state.

Coffee tomorrow at the same time.


We held hands across the table as we sipped our lattes. Regular patrons smiled at us, predicting this progression before we did. We kissed outside before parting to go back to work. We planned to meet at my friend’s place later to listen to some records. I hadn’t seen a turntable in a few years. I looked forward to hearing Rush as they were meant to be played.

I left work and headed to the gym. This was my routine when I could fit it in. Well, I liked to think of it as a routine. It made me feel less guilty about my red wine habit.

After slipping into my spandex, I began my workout on the stationary bike. My tunes traveling from my phone to my eardrums provided a steady beat to replicate with my movements. I had a book, but I was distracted today. Memories of last night and thoughts of my upcoming night of music and who-knew-what-else made me restless. It was difficult to channel the sexual energy into my legs rather than my groin.

In this heightened sense, I became aware of eyes directed my way; eyes that showed appreciation for what they saw.

To be fair, I studied the body on the shoulder press machine like a piece of art in a museum. I noted the tanned skin outside of the sleeveless tank and tight-fitting shorts. I admired the muscles as they flexed and rolled with each press. Dimples framed a mouth that looked both playful and sensuous. A straight nose under eyes that looked like ice. Were they gray or blue? A baseball cap worn backward kept the dark hair tamed for a strenuous workout.

Our eyes met after my inspection. I raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with a grin. Those dimples were deadly.

I moved to the treadmill and watched Dimples move to a leg machine close by. Watching this workout was much more interesting than anything on the overhead TV screens. Sorry, Ellen.

We met at the sanitary station. I tore off a length of paper towel to wipe down my machine. But the spray bottle was snatched from its holder by strong, lean hands. I held out the paper, receiving a couple of squirts and a hello.

We exchanged names. Our hands touched as we prepared to take our towels back to our equipment. The jolt of awareness was electrifying. The sexual tension I’d felt earlier was just a spark in comparison.

My heart was racing, but not from my work out. I was about to make a suggestion I‘d never even considered in the past.

I eyed the room which held the unused stand-up tanning bed. It was July. Anyone wanting a tan could get a free one outdoors.

I crooked a finger at my new friend and casually walked toward the room. I waited behind the half-open door until I was no longer alone. I turned the lock on the door handle.

“I’ve never done this before,” I whispered. “Did I read this right?”

“Hell, yeah,” was the response before our lips attacked each other. Spandex was ripped off sweaty bodies and thrown on the floor. Unlike the night before with my coffee friend, staying dressed wasn’t an option.

This was primal and unstoppable.

Heated skin on skin was unbearably stimulating. I almost lost it at the first touch. Touches were aimed at the most delicious spots and not wasted on extremities. Tongues licked and mouths sucked as we rolled against the walls of the small room. We sat on the changing bench, one on top of the other kissing with fire and gyrating in an erotic lap dance, then switched places to do it again.

We finished with muffled cries and curses on the pile of clothes on the floor.

As we dressed, I asked if this was a regular time of day for working out. I expected my routine would become a little more fixed after today.

A few minutes later, I had an extreme case of guilty conscience as I showered and packed my bag to go home. I was meeting my coffee shop friend in a couple of hours. How could I have been so impulsive and jeopardized something so special that was happening between us?


My heart pounded loudly in my chest and my palms sweated as I held the bottle of Shiraz out to my friend at the door. Ignorant of my recent actions, I was welcomed with grace and a gentle kiss. I felt sick.

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We spun vinyls and chatted for hours. By the end of the night, we were swaying in each other’s arms to Journey. We kissed, tongues plunging into mouths and hands rubbing, pulling, poking.

I left without losing an article of clothing other than my shoes, but wore a big grin and felt a warmth in my chest that I hadn’t known for a while.


I woke in my own bed looking forward to my morning coffee and feeling excited about my gym visit. I was working on my core today.

The lights were off in the spin studio with a class beginning in ninety minutes. We took turns putting our back to the door as we made out. Again, passion ruled. Our tongues battled and our hands bruised. Our mouths sucked hard. Fingers tugged and plunged. We both left the room spinning.


As we watched The Philadelphia Story at my place that night, my palms were sweating as Katharine Hepburn’s character flip-flopped between relationships and struggled with her feelings between two lovers. Could my friend sense my discomfort? Was I the only one who could hear my elevated heartbeat?

Ironically, the heat was rising in the room. My friend didn’t wait until the credits to begin kissing me passionately. The slow, erotic movements of lips and tongues had me breathing erratically and aching for more.

As each piece of clothing was shed, my companion laid it gently across the arm of the couch to prevent wrinkling. When our skin finally met, it was sensual and mind-numbing. I knew I wouldn’t be leaving tonight without a sexual release.

It was glorious. It was religious. There were calls to deity.

I didn’t want to sleep alone. I craved a night-long huddle with a morning wake-up call.

Not tonight. Wrinkle-free clothing was donned and I kissed my lover at the door.

My other lover.


My coffee shop friend and I met every evening, taking turns hosting and bringing wine. We made sweet love every night before we said goodnight and went back home. We had a connection that went beyond the physical. We had a communion of souls.

I went to the gym every day after work. I was really getting my money’s worth, in ways I’d never imagined.

On Friday after the second week of ping-pong play, my gym workout ended in a shower stall, before I began to wash up. No one noticed as my lover walked in the change room, and it was empty when we finished.

I squeezed my lover’s hand by the front door in farewell as we parted.

She whispered, “See you tomorrow.”

I drove home with a smile on my face. I would be meeting my coffee shop friend in two hours. I wondered what movie he’d chosen for us to watch together tonight.


A Storm of Desire

Check out the next short story in my Spicy Fairy Tale series Jack and the Giant’s Wife. It’s Jack’s third climb up the beanstalk. This time he ventures into the giant’s castle. His experience there both scares him and excites him. Is there a future for him and Heather?





3. Injustice & Rebellion



In Chapter 3 of A Perfect Example, the main character Crystal is feeling unjustly punished by her parents when she knows she’s done nothing wrong. (Well, other than a little deception and a couple of white lies…)

She responds to this injustice with rebellion. Her parents can impose a punishment, but she doesn’t have to accept it. Unlike most, this prison is easy to break out of with the proper motivation.

The Instinct to Rebel

It’s instinctual for us to go into defense mode when we’re attacked and wrongfully accused. When we feel that we’re unjustly punished, we want to push back. Several video games with the title, Injustice, demonstrate this urge to fight that people experience when they feel mistreated.

Rebellion is often a result of injustice. How many civil wars and political uprisings have occurred as people demonstrate rebellious behavior?

Rebellion can take many forms ranging from peaceful to violent. Acts of civil resistance and civil disobedience push back but are non-violent. Mutiny, revolt, revolution, riots, and terrorism are on a different level of rebellion. Innocent people are sure to be affected by the actions of the rebellious.

Whether quiet or violent, rebellion hurts people. It hurts relationships. How our lives might be different if humankind didn’t have this instinct to rebel…

Rebellious Escape

I grew up in a home with very strict rules. My latest curfew was 10:30 pm, even after I started university and went home for the weekend. Seriously, who had to be in the house by 10:30? I wasn’t a criminal. There was no need for such a rigid curfew.

As a result, especially when I had a friend sleep over, there were a few occasions where I rebelled.

A good peaceful rebellion required some cover-up. This involved putting two cassettes into my ghetto blaster with the ‘continuous play’ button pushed. These homemade cassettes had at least 90 minutes of music on them. I was good for three hours, even if one of my parents came to the basement where my room was located. It would sound like I was still in my room.

For my own security information, I’d then lean that big silver box again the closed door so I would know if anyone had opened it to check on me during those hours.

My parents would be happy to know that my window was indeed big enough for escape in case of emergency. I was merely testing the theory.

But in my mind, I was escaping injustice.

Who did I hurt with my rebellion? I was risking the trust that existed between me and my parents. If they had caught me, the disappointment would have been heavy and the trust would have been minimalized. My curfew might have changed to 7 instead of 10:30.

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You’ve had a fight about money again. A budget is not something you can deal with. It feels controlling to have someone question every dollar you spend when you have a full-time job with a good salary.

The argument was loud and abrasive. There was name-calling and insults were thrown. There were slammed doors and tears.

The alcohol coursing through your veins numbed the emotional response but heightened the injustice of the accusations. You’re up for a little rebellion or, at the very least, some exercise to find a release.

You find yourself jogging on the path along the river. Friends would frown on your decision to run here alone at dusk. It might not be a safe place to pound out your frustrations. Yet, you’re willing to take the risk. You need to get the anger out.

You’ve got your Spotify Break-Up Playlist pumping in your ears and you’re pushing yourself hard. Your body is crying for a rest, but you press on, daring it to fight you too.

You’re bathed in sweat even though the air is cool. Every breath is a ragged wrestle from your lungs. Your face near your eyes is tight with salt, both from the wind and the tears.

You finally stop beside a bench next to the path. You rest one foot on it and bend over breathing hard. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You repeat this until your breathing has evened out again.

The sun is slipping quickly away and the path is becoming shadowed.

You hear a sound across the path and look to discover someone fishing off the bank. The lure’s splash into the river was the sound you heard.

Your heartbeat speeds up again as you recognize the face of the one holding the fishing rod.

It has been at least ten years since you’ve seen that face. It has aged a little, but not enough to hide behind the unnecessary sunglasses.

The last expression you saw on that face was a mixture of pain and anger as it turned around and disappeared from your life.

Until now.

A familiar hand reaches up and removes the glasses as recognition sweeps across an attractive tanned face.

There are new laugh lines around the sexy blue eyes. You smile, happy that there’s been laughter in your absence.

This gesture is rewarded with a slow smile that reveals deep dimples that you didn’t realize you’d missed.

There is a tightness in your chest unrelated to your run. Your heart is beating in overtime and your breathing, which had calmed, is erratic.

You watch the lips that you know are soft and luscious speak your name.

You automatically respond with a simple hi.

You are drawn to the other side of the path as if you are a paperclip drawn to the magnet on the end of the fishing line.

Your feet don’t stop until you’re almost toe to toe.

You see the dilated pupils and know that you’re not the only one affected by this reunion. The flared nostrils blow an exhale that is proof of an undeniable turn on.

You know this is a bad idea, yet you can’t stop your hand as it reaches out to touch the hand holding the fishing rod.

The rod drops to the ground with a thud and a splash. A booted foot stomps on it to keep it from going downriver, as fingers grasp yours with a grip that makes your groin pulse.

Your thoughts go briefly to the partner you left at home and the angry words that were hurled at you. Your blood boils again, but now you have an outlet for your heat.

You pull that familiar mouth toward you and capture it with an intoxicating kiss that makes your own head spin. Your tongues dance in a practiced rhythm; hot and wet and perfectly synchronized.

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Your hands explore a body that is just a little more mature, but toned and firm and responsive.

Warm hands move over your back and run around the curve from your lower back to your thighs in a fluid motion, making the return trip as you feel an ache of pleasure burn between your legs.

Your lips continue their exotic salsa while hands continue to move and stimulate.

You’re the first to reach for the button on the jeans and to unzip, reaching in to touch the heat hidden inside. The foreplay is a well-known routine and it works to stimulate both parties.

You fall to your knees on the hardened bank of the river, avoiding the roots that dare to threaten your kneeling comfort. You show your affection with your lips, tongue, and mouth; licking, sucking and pulling sighs and moans from your lover.

On the brink of eruption, the tables turn and you are now the recipient of similar attentions. You close your eyes and revel in the carnal pleasure of a hot, wet tongue on your most intimate parts. Desire rips through your body and numbs your head. Searing heat rushes up through your body like the current of the river beside you.

As you feel the pressure rise like a volcano about to erupt, you grab the soft head of hair and push it away. You want to be connected in the way that you know pleases you both and is the most likely position to cause a simultaneous explosion of gratification.

Your bodies join in a hot connection of heated skin and liquid expression. The salsa turns into a sensuous dance of the genitals. Rhythmic movement and harmonized breathing turned into a frenzied pulsating, gushing reconciliation.

The sun finally slips beneath the horizon as your cries of exultation echo over the river, with the only sound able to carry more emotion than the loon’s call.

Your lips join again, acknowledging the joining of your hearts in this stolen moment in time.

“I missed you so much,” your lover whispers.

You find yourself at a fork in the road as your elation fades but your heart aches with desire for more.

Do you go back to your partner of many years to smooth out the wrinkles and carry on in the loving, comfortable life that you have built, or do you jump ship to step back and pick up where you left off years ago with a hot, sexy partner who might have grown up since you last met and turns you on more than anyone ever has…

It’s up to you…