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But the memory of her still haunts me…
* * *
Look, I need to say something to you because I promised when I arrived that we would be honest with each other, right?
Well something’s bothering me, and I feel you and I need to talk this through.
Here’s my problem.
I still feel like you’re looking at me like I’m Jason Luke the author.
I’m not. Not tonight. Not here with you.
Tonight I’m just a guy, and that’s how I need you to think of me. Strip everything else away – the author profile and all the social media – and what remains is just a guy.
And you’re a woman. We ought to be able to connect, and I want something deeper from this – and I want the same thing for you. We’re both searching for something, right? I know I am. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but I know what it is – I know what I want.
Refuge. Harmony.
Solace.
Respite – from the demons of my guilt; the flail of remorse that still stings when I recall the women I have hurt throughout the meandering course of my life because I was too young, too self-centered… too arrogant.
I’m not perfect and I’m not Jason Luke. Not twenty-four-seven.
Not tonight.
With you I just want to be me, and I want you to be the real you. Just give that much of yourself – even if it’s for these few hours.
Okay?
Maybe you’re searching for something too – some emotional or sensual fulfillment. Maybe that’s why you invited me into your home. Perhaps it goes deeper than just the whim of erotic entertainment. Maybe we’re searching for the same thing, coming at the issue from opposite directions; me as a writer and you as a reader. But we have common ground – we’re people. Tomorrow we’ll be alone again. You’ll go your way and pick up another book. I’ll begin writing again…
But tonight we can, between us, make a little magic; a firework of happiness in a dark, dark sky. That’s got to be worth the effort, right?
Come on, there’s other stories I want to share with you.
Are you ready for more?
I want to tell you about Emily.
* * *
Okay, I promised you another story about a woman named Emily, and I’ll get to that in a moment. But first I want to ask you something.
What turns you on?
I’ve been watching you since I arrived, and the enigma of you enthralls me. I know women like to remain a little mysterious, but I simply cannot work you out.
I’ve come here to your secret place and all I have to seduce you with is my words. Somehow I think you’re the kind of woman that needs more.
I don’t imagine the fakery of flirtation would touch you. The whole superficial charade falls away too quickly to leave a profound effect.
No.
It would need something more.
How would Jason Luke seduce you?
We’d dance.
That’s right. In your bedroom, or maybe in the living room; just you and I alone, with no one watching.
I’d find a radio station that plays old songs from the ‘80’s and we’d slow dance together to old songs by the Rolling Stones so I could touch you, hold you and move against you. Then, when the music stopped, your face would be flushed, your heart tripping in your chest and your eyes glittering like gemstones.
I’d step close – slam shut the space between us and gaze into your eyes.
Can you imagine that? Can you picture the moment between us when we’re standing, touching and our mouths are just inches apart?
It’s all I can think about.
Everything would teeter for an instant. Would you draw away? Would your eyes become hectic?
Would you need me to take control?
I would. I couldn’t help myself. My instinct would be to reach out confidently to cup your cheek in the palm of my hand. Suddenly time would stand still. I’d place my other hand over your heart to feel what you feel – and then I’d kiss you.
Properly.
Slowly. Very slowly.
For a very long time. Until we both saw stars.
* * *
Emily and I were friends and work colleagues before we became lovers. She was younger than me, and one of the most dazzling feminine contradictions I have ever encountered. In the work environment she was pleasant, professional and demure. But in private – Emily was a vivacious vixen: a bona fide nymphomaniac.
She was petite. Side by side she barely reached my shoulder. She had a slim waif-like figure that meant to most men she might have appeared quite unremarkable.
But to me, there was something wickedly arousing about her. It was the way she wore her jeans, the way she moved her hips when she walked and the bold, almost brazen way
she made eye contact, like every time we spoke she was daring me to kiss her.
When we did eventually get together, it was at a work event – a presentation night hosted by one of the company’s supplier clients. There were hundreds of people from competitor businesses across the city in attendance. Emily sat next to me and when the lights were dimmed in the auditorium and a video presentation began playing on the giant screen, I felt her body sway against mine, connecting us in the gloom from her hip all the way up to her shoulder. I sat quite still while my mind raced to consider the implications. Emily was incredibly sexy.
I wanted her.
Her hand slipped beneath the table, and then I felt her fingers drop into my lap. She was looking away, staring with rapt fascination at the big screen. Her touch crawled over my thigh and then came back higher until she was kneading my erection with her tiny hands through the tented denim of my jeans.
I leaned forward and propped my elbows on the table, resting my chin atop my clenched hands. There were a dozen other people around us, the table littered with empty plates. Waitresses were gliding around the room like ethereal ghosts, cleaning up after the dessert had been served. I stared at a middle-aged lady from a competitor store. She was sitting directly across from me. She must have sensed that I was watching her. She drew her attention away from the screen and flashed me a friendly smile. Then she saw Emily close against me and her intuition must have been aroused. Maybe there was some telltale sign in my face, or maybe she saw something in the way Emily’s shoulder was moving. Her gaze turned into a glare – and then the lights came back on.
Emily removed her hand and sat up straight in her chair, casual and unhurried. The two women exchanged glances and something distinctly feminine and beyond my understanding passed between them. Emily’s eyes flashed and then she turned to me and stared close into my face, her lips parted and glossy and her cheeks flushed.
