Posts Tagged ‘adventure’

The first book: Good Pussy Bad Pussy – Rachel’s Tale

It all started with Rachel stuck in an unhappy marriage. And while most unhappily married women only dream of having sex with other men, Rachel actually did. And it got her into all kinds of trouble. From Amsterdam to the French Riviera to New York City… from her blond lover Stefan, to aristocratic Albert, and mad doctor Howard, Rachel tastes forbidden fruit – and likes it. That is until life takes a very surprising turn!

‘Good pussy bad pussy. I knew something had awakened in me, something I’d never experienced before. A force, a power, a drive, an energy. Call it good pussy, call it bad pussy, call it whatever you will, but a life force had been awakened in me and I couldn’t put it (her) back to sleep again. Right or wrong, she was awake! She was alive! And she wanted more.’

The second book: Good Pussy Bad Pussy in Captivity

Just when Rachel thinks she can settle down with the man of her dreams, life takes a dramatic turn and he gets kidnapped. In a frantic attempt to help, Rachel finds herself getting sucked into a dangerous web of deceit and sexual intrigue.

From the House of Sin on Cap Ferrat to an isolated Buddhist monastery in the mountains of upstate New York, Rachel once again finds herself on the battle field of our times, both sexually and emotionally. Then, in a blinding flash of insight that lays bare the haunted alleyways of her soul, Rachel realizes that things are not what they seem to be. Will she find her way out of captivity or will she remain in the shackles of the old world order?

In short: Sex. Deceit. Lust. Captivity. And maybe … the love of a lifetime.

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Here’s what Darla Etienne Hogan wrote about “Good Pussy Bad Pussy” on Amazon when he gave the book 5 Stars:

“To start, I have to be honest, I did not to choose to read this book because it looked like something I would enjoy. I came across this book through a brief twitter contact. Putting that aside, what did I think about this piece of fiction? The storyline appears basic at first, a married woman, Rachel, who is bored with her marriage, abandons her husband and son for a blonde hunk, in a search for the indulgence of perfect orgasm. As a man, this story raised an uncomfortable feeling, from early stages in reading the novel. I initially felt this is a book written by a woman for a woman, but hold on. If a story invokes discomfort in its reader, then there is something thought provoking occurring in the mind of a reader.

The story held my attention and at times, I felt very distressed for the main character. This book is uncomfortable to read, but that is its strength, as we all have our flaws in so many different ways. Who is to judge, who is fit to judge who? This is not really an erotic book, though it has its moments, it is more deeply concerned with the conflicts we have balancing our primeval drives against socially acceptable norms. I have taken four weeks to reach a decision, as to whether I should award this work as a four star, or five star rating. It could be fine-tuned a little, promoting it into one of those pieces of work once read, never forgotten, but as it stands, it has provoked my thinking, created uncomfortable thoughts and raised the question, how much of this is fantasy, and how much is fact? I feel very comfortable in awarding it five stars.”





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4 Star Review on Authors Alliance – by Rachael Orman

Rachael writes: The name of this book immediately made me say OOOOh I want to read that. I’m always in for a good steamy book. The synopsis sounded amazing too. But as I started reading, I realized this isn’t your typical naughty book. It has dark, tear jerking moments as we follow Rachel through her life.

It sucked me in and I just kept reading!

To read the whole review, click here: http://www.authoralliance.net/aaimee

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Sylvia Storm reviews Good Pussy Bad Pussy on http://ereaderotica.com/?p=2600

Sylvia writes:

“Today we dive into a smartly told tale of love, lust, betrayal, and a woman’s best efforts to find meaning in her life. Either that, or our heroine’s life can best be described as an erotic train wreck of massive proportions. Our book today hits all the right notes for high drama and erotic suspense with Good Pussy Bad Pussy: Rachel’s Tale. I’ll have to admit this is a smartly named book, and likely pushed the boundaries for Amazon and other stores. Good. Without boundaries pushed, much of classic literature would not exist. Keep pushing, writers.

A train wreck? I hope that got your attention, because our heroine’s life is so thoroughly messed up I loved it. Our authoress even started us out with a huge OMGWTF moment, which I hated her for as an editor, but absolutely loved her for as a reader. We start the book with our heroine, and she has already left her husband and child for another man (or other men, as it seems). Then, our authoress never tells us why. Well, not right away. We have to read on a little to find out why, and bam, I am instantly hooked. Yes, an editor who doesn’t understand your work would likely tell you, “You need to explain that right away!” As a reader, I loved sitting there wondering what the heck was going on, how could she leave her family, and what sort of cold-hearted bitch this is.

We find out later, be patient, reader. Yes, it had me turning pages, and that’s a good thing. She’s not a cold-hearted bitch after all, and she has her reasons I shall not spoil. Her life is still a mess though, and I enjoyed being taken through it page after page. The book feels like that ‘Chapter 1′ and a couple others have been removed, and the whole book sings and has a great flow because of it. I like the in-media-res style, and here it is wonderfully done. Even the chapters where she meets the new hunk is gone, and we start with that, “I’ve done something terrible!” moment. It’s brave, wonderfully done, and it hooks me in and grabs my interest right from the start.

Switching gears, the cover is simply nice. A black cover, and a rose. Elegant, simple, and we don’t need a thong. Nice text work as well. I like the ‘good pussy bad pussy’ theme too, and this is brought up in the book several times. There is a meaning in here where this certain part of her body controls her actions, for better or worse, and how this all works out in her life. For men, I suppose this might be better said as ‘bad cock worse cock’ but I digress. Fun and meaningful title, simple to the point cover, and what’s not to love?

Text quality is good, and the book had that immediate storytelling style that I like so much. This is a full-length novel too, and it took me the better part of a day to finish. Despite the length, the book moved, didn’t dwell on the unimportant parts, and captured the conflicts well. I liked the dialog too, it was smartly written.

Heat-level is good, there were some great examples of ‘bad pussy’ winning the fight, and her giving into her passions. There was a long section at the end where I wanted some more ‘bad pussy’, but I’m happy ‘good pussy’ won. I kept interested despite the lack of ‘bad pussy’ though, the story and characters hooked me in and kept me reading to the end. I won’t reveal which pussy ultimately won though, you’ll need to read the book for that.

Recommended. This is intelligent erotica with a woman dealing with the consequences of her choices. The start is fun, fast, and hooked me in. The characters were great, and also the details on the locations were very nicely done. There is some delicious background in here as well, with far-flung places across Europe and the world we visit. This isn’t purely romance as well, this is exploring a woman’s passions and choices, so this is a great story for the erotica genre. Another great book for the new year, and one you should check out.”

Thanks Sylvia for the thumbs up! You can read the whole review here: http://ereaderotica.com/?p=2600

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Hi. So you want to know a little about me? Well here goes:

My name is A. Aimee – and the A. stands for Amy. So yes, my name is Amy Aimee. And I wrote a book called “Good Pussy Bad Pussy – Rachel’s Tale” which Bedroom Books published and released on Oct. 25, 2013.

And my question (or you could say my project) is: How would it be to be unabashedly lovely and loving? How would it be? To really be that?

That’s what I want to know. How would it be to be unequivocally and amazingly lovely and loving? To just amp it up and pull out all the stops? And be that amazing someone or something you already know you are (but probably never admitted)? And not be half-assed about it either but rather really let it out and fly.

It almost makes you blush just to think about it, doesn’t it? You without all your inhibitions. You without all your insecurities. You without being ground down by everyone’s expectations including your own. Just you – allowing you, allowing yourself, to be in contact with, feel and actually live the glorious life which is you, yours.

And yes I know, I’m being a little highfalutin here… yes I hear you. It’s not really possible you say. I know; that’s what they told me too. But still…

OK I admit it. We’re on shaky ground here aren’t we?

And well yes, as I said, that’s kind of my project. Being a little highfalutin and on shaky ground and all.

And, while shaking and being on shaky ground, still having the guts to go and explore it anyway… in life – and on paper.

So yes, I wrote a book and called it “Good Pussy Bad Pussy – Rachel’s Tale”. So there’s no mistaking what it’s about here, is there? And yes, it’s an on-paper attempt to explore this… an on-paper attempt to express some of this without actually talking about it directly that is…

But what my heroine Rachel does when she’s coming from that space is rather intoxicating at times. Or at least that’s my experience, watching her. And watching how it actually plays out when she’s not sure about much except the energy she feels… the drive… the intoxication of her own soul… It’s that impulse again, isn’t it?

So yes, I found it quite intriguing to let her loose through me. And it’s been quite a ride. Because whenever I thought about her and her story, I just got sucked into it. It just drew me in and on, which is why I guess, I did and still am writing about her a lot. She/Rachel makes me feel well rather heady. High you might say. And sometimes downright horny, when the life juices are steaming/streaming in and through her/me!

I can’t be the only woman on the planet who feels like this!


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“Good Pussy Bad Pussy – Rachel’s Tale” is now available on Kindle for just £0.99! This special offer is only for one month! Let’s spread the love…

Check it out here:


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Albert’s house on Cap Ferrat was unbelievable, perched overlooking the Mediterranean. It turned out he wasn’t just rich, he was fabulously wealthy. A house like his on Cap Ferrat meant he was very well established indeed.

We walked in through a polished wooden entrance gate onto a meticulously groomed, Zen style lawn surrounded by swaying palm trees set in round stone beds. An amazing stone terrace sloped and curved down to a swimming pool. Well-dressed men and women were scattered around the pool talking in small groups. Two striking looking women were swimming and laughing in the clear blue pool while several men were standing by, watching them, making jokes and drinking champagne. Discreet white-jacketed waiters moved quietly from group to group with drinks and hors d’oeuvres.  I didn’t see Albert anywhere. Stefan nodded at several of the people but seemed to be looking for someone special. He led me towards a small group of people sitting on stunningly modern white garden chairs.

“Ah, there is Michelle, I need to talk to her for a minute,” Stefan said.

Two men got up and came towards us.

“So this is Rachel,” said one.

“Rachel, this is Joey and Carl, they were up at our hotel this afternoon. You missed them, remember?” he smiled. “Carl, entertain Rachel for a few minutes will you? I need to talk to Michelle.”

“With pleasure.”

Joey was a dark, handsome North African. Carl was tall and thin with a warm smile and gay funny eyes.

Stefan left us for a beautiful French girl with short black hair. He whispered something in her ear and she stood up, took his hand, and they walked away.

Carl grinned, “Don’t worry Rachel, Michelle just got back from Beirut. Stefan just wants to talk to her about it.”

“What’s it all about?” I asked.

“Come, let’s go over there,” Joey pointed to a cool shady spot under some old trees.

“The first thing you must learn when you join Albert’s family,” said Carl leaning against one of the trees, “is never ask questions!” He looked at me with impish smiling eyes. Was he serious?

“Oh come on Carl, don’t scare her!” Joey broke in. Was he laughing too? “Now tell me, where are on earth did Stefan find you?”

“I met Stefan at Zandvoort, a beach just outside in Amsterdam.”

“Amsterdam!” they both exclaimed.

“Yes, what’s so strange about that?”

“But you can’t be Dutch,” Joey cried, “you’re almost as dark as I am!”

“I’m American.”

“Oh… so what were you doing in Amsterdam? Just visiting?”

“Oh no, I’ve lived there for almost seven years now.”

“Seven years? How can you stand it?” cried Joey.

“It’s not so bad,” I laughed, “my husband is Dutch.”

“Your husband??”

“Yes, and Amsterdam is a beautiful city you know.”

“Well,” said Joey, “I’ve never been there so I really don’t know. I’m from Algeria but two of my brothers lived and worked in Amsterdam. Both of them married Dutch women but Armand, the younger one, came home quickly.”

I had to laugh at the serious expression on Joey’s face.

“There’s nothing funny about the stories they told,” he continued. “What is it with the women up north? Armand’s wife wanted to work, you know, and didn’t want to have children. What kind of a woman is that? And when he insisted, she left him. He is a hard worker and he just wanted to take care of her so she wouldn’t have to work. But she wanted to be independent. Is that the way women are up there?”

“Well yes,” I replied smiling, “most women in The Netherlands work.”

“But why? What do they want? You think they look so beautiful… all nice and blond, but when they start to talk and you hear what they are thinking… anyway that’s what my brother said. And he said they’re all like that. My older brother Ali has two children with his Dutch wife and she won’t let him take his children to Algeria to visit our old mother because she is afraid he will kidnap his own children and never go back to The Netherlands again. And my old mother is too weak to visit them.”

“I’m sorry to hear that but the truth is women are independent in northern Europe and have their own money and can decide things for themselves.”

“But is it necessary?” he asked. “I mean if a woman has a good man, why should she want those things? A woman’s place is at home. She should be happy to give her husband children. That’s how it is where I come from.”

How could I tell him we grew up in different worlds?

“Things are different in northern Europe and men and women are brought up in another way. We are taught that men and women are equal and should have equal opportunities to live the life they choose. So men and women act much more alike and they think and work together. And when women are independent, they usually don’t have so many children. It’s not their only priority anymore. So yes, it’s very different.”

“But how can we have a good life without the difference between men and women? Can you tell me that?”

When I didn’t reply, he continued, “And what about you Rachel? Are you like that too?”

“Well I have a son if that’s what you mean. And I stayed home and took care of him for quite a while, but I got bored and well here I am… I ran off from my husband too.”

Joey looked shocked.

“Why did you leave him? Was this Dutch husband of yours such a bad guy?”

“Oh no, he was an ok guy.”

“I’m sure he was,” a voice said behind me. I felt hands on my shoulders and I knew from the electric shock running through my body that it was Albert.

“Let’s not upset our guests Joey,” Albert said. “When will you learn that the whole world doesn’t necessarily think like you and your brothers?” He smiled.

“Pardon,” said Joey and bowed before me.

“Come,” Albert said to me, “Let me show you my house.”

I looked around for Stefan, but he was nowhere in sight.


On the way up to Albert’s house, we met a big, bear-like man who seemed rather flustered. He spoke to Albert in German, excitedly. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Suddenly he stopped in the middle of a sentence and stared at me. His hand moved toward my shoulder.

“Rachel, this is Felix Fischer from Hamburg. I am doing a little business with him. Would you be kind enough to give him your hand? He doesn’t speak English but he seems to be quite taken by you.”

I shook hands with Mr. Fischer. Then Albert and I walked into the house.

After showing me around the most amazing house, he took me downstairs to his study. It was in the lower corner of the house and because of the slope of the garden, the huge picture windows were above ground looking out over the sea. The view was breathtaking. His long desk faced the windows so he could look out while he worked. I liked that. Further back in the room there was a low couch and I imagined him sleeping there at times.

“Will you drink something?” he motioned towards the couch.

“No thank you. The champagne by the pool on an empty stomach was more than enough for me,” I laughed uneasily.

Being suddenly alone with Albert made me tremble all over. I hadn’t forgotten the intensity of our first meeting and the wave of liquid desire he had awakened in me. I wanted to act nonchalant and tried to, but couldn’t. There was just something about the man that drew me to him; he exuded this strange, magnetic power. He came over to me, standing as I was in the middle of the room, and laid his hands on my bare shoulders. I was sure he felt me trembling. In the background, Music for Zen Meditation by Tony Scott played softly.

“Come my dear, don’t be so serious,” he said, brushing my hair away from my face, “it’s not good for you.”

”What do you mean?” I replied, feeling unsure of myself.

“You’re wearing yourself out for no good reason.”

“Really… I’m not sure I understand.”

“Oh yes you do… you are thinking and worrying all the time and it’s exhausting you. Always trying to figure things out, trying to deduct what’s going on, speculating, worrying. You’re probably worrying about your son right now, tormenting yourself because you ran off to have your little fling with Stefan.”

“Well what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with watching what’s going on, but you do more than that. You keep turning things over and over in your mind until you wear yourself out instead of enjoying the present moment. Come and sit down on the couch with me, I want to tell you something.”

We sat down.

“Many years ago I spent some years in the Far East and one of the most important things I learned there was that if you want to do anything, enjoy anything, accomplish anything, achieve anything, you have to focus your energy on that one thing and forget everything else that is going on around you. You have to disregard everything else and focus your attention at whatever it is you’re going to do – and then do it. I know it sounds very simple, but it’s really very difficult to do. Most people don’t succeed in life because they scatter their energy too much. Instead of focusing on the task at hand and on the present moment, they waste their energy worrying about what happened yesterday or what’s going to happen tomorrow. So they’re rarely really present and focused in the moment. And as a result, they don’t succeed at what they’re trying to do and they don’t enjoy the present moment for what it is.”

I wondered why he was telling me this. Why me?

He went on.

“In some traditional Eastern disciplines, they teach the idea that you have to divide your mind up into compartments. One compartment for this situation and another compartment for that situation. When you’re not actually doing something about a situation or problem, you simply put it in its compartment and forget about it until the appropriate time. Otherwise you are just wasting your energy and exhausting your nervous system. What can you do about your son right now? Nothing, right? So why worry about him? You are just wasting your energy. Save it until you can actually do something about it. Otherwise it’s exhausting… what I’m trying to tell you sweet Rachel… is to relax a little… you can just let yourself go… really.” He smiled reassuringly.

“Look,” he continued, “I have become a very successful businessman. Do you know why?”

“Sure, because you’re smart.”

“Well it’s not just that,” he smiled, “It’s also because – fortunately for me – I’ve learned how to focus my attention and my energy. That’s the real secret of my success.”

“Albert, why are you telling me all this?”

He gazed into space.

“I should have met you before you married and had a son.”

“What do they have to do with it, now that I’ve left them?”

“You’ll go back to them and probably soon… but until you do…” he moved closer to me, “let’s see what happens…”

He kissed me on the mouth while his hand moved up my leg. Suddenly the door to his office swung open. It was Stefan. He looked angry seeing me with Albert.

“I was looking for Rachel,” was all he said.

Albert stood up.

They started talking in German.  It didn’t sound exactly friendly. I heard my name and stood up, getting ready to go with Stefan.

Albert turned and motioned me to sit down. “It seems Stefan forgot something important he must attend to.”

Stefan slammed the door and left without looking at me.

Albert laughed and locked the door.

“Well Rachel, now you know how Stefan feels about you.”

“I’d really like to go with Stefan,” I said out of loyalty to Stefan, even though I wasn’t really sure I wanted to go. The words just came out.

And when Albert didn’t reply, I blurted out. “Why are you doing this Albert? Can’t you see I want to be with Stefan?”

I started towards the door.

“Not so fast Rachel, not so fast. There’s something I forgot to tell you.”

His words made me shiver.


“Sit down and I will tell you.”

He had some power I did not understand.

When I just stood there, he came and took my hand and led me over to the couch.

“Now sit down,” he said.

I sat down. He sat down besides me.

“You probably don’t realize it my dear, but I do a considerable amount of business in the Middle East. The details won’t interest you. But Stefan interests you I’ve noticed and Stefan is a part of my operation. Right now I am looking for a replacement for Ben Ari who was head of my Beirut office until he was killed by a suicide bomb in Baghdad 14 days ago while there on business. Ben was not a careless man but Iraq as you know is not the safest place in the world. And our business involves certain risks….” He paused. “I was thinking of sending Stefan to Beirut as his replacement but he asked to stay here at the moment which I gather is because of you.”

He fingered my hair.

“Now Rachel, do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Ruthless bastard,” I muttered under my breath, eyes flashing.

“Come, come my dear,” he laughed, “it can’t be all that bad.”

I felt hot tears of frustration in my eyes as he went on toying with me.

“I like a woman with spirit,” he said, lifting my chin and gazing at me with those piercing eyes of his.

He was silent for a moment, watching me pout; then he went on. “Yes it’s true,” he continued, “you will have to make love to me in exactly the way I desire… which quite frankly I am sure you will enjoy… but other than that and maybe one or two other small requests I may have for you in the future, you can rest assured that Stefan is yours for as long as you care to enjoy him. So there is really nothing to be upset about. After all, my dear, am I not keeping you both here on the Riviera in the very best of style?”

He walked over to the windows and drew the curtains.

“Now stand up and take off your clothes.”

I stood up and looked at him.

“Do you really want me that much?”

“Isn’t that obvious, Rachel?”

“But why, I just don’t see why? You already have everything and every woman at this party today is more beautiful than I will ever be and they’re all waiting in line to have you… so why me?”

He did not let me continue and he did not answer. He pulled me towards him. I stopped struggling and let him undress me until I stood quite naked before him. I felt no shame though I knew my body was not as perfect as many he had seen. His desire for me made me extraordinarily beautiful, not only in his eyes, but in mine as well. He really did want me.  But why? Was I that different? He moved his hands over my body and then led me back over to the couch where he lay me down and spread my legs. He still had all his clothes on and I was completely naked.

He sat down next to me and gently ran his hands up and down my thighs, caressing me slowly. He was in no rush. Slowly, he let his hands lightly trace the curving lines of my body. It was as if he’d sent an electrical current through me… and I felt myself quivering at the slow sensuality of his masterful touch. Then he bent forward, tasting my pussy and caressing me again as he had done that first night with his exquisite tongue. Even if I had wanted to tense up, I simply couldn’t. I might have had my pride, but my pussy had none. And besides, she was too far gone and he was far too insistent. There was just something about him that was far too knowledgeable and far too into me for me to fathom. It seemed he understood my body far better than I did and because of this knowingness, I knew he could and would wait. Wait for me until I was good and ready for him. And wait he did, because he could. He had that power, that magic; he could linger and linger… until he knew by my wetness and the swelling, swaying movement of my hips that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. Only then did he stop, get up and begin to undress. Because by then he knew I had forgotten every protest and would wait for him no matter what. And when he came to me, naked and ready, I surrendered easily and followed him as he took me with sure strides to that brilliant destination only he knew of. And there we lingered, crying out and coming powerfully and magically together.

Then he lay quiet inside me for a long time. And strange as it may seem considering the short time I had known him, in that amazing stillness I found myself clinging to him and loving him with all my heart.

Such was the intensity of his focus that he had made me his.

I didn’t know how; but I knew it was true.

And in that moment, I wanted to be his, desperately and now that it was done, now that he had possessed me so thoroughly and completely, I took pleasure in it and was satisfied. And felt sure that he knew I wanted to be possessed in exactly the way in which he had possessed me.

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We ate for a while in silence. I picked at my food, thinking it was a good thing they didn’t know the real truth – that Stefan didn’t even want me as much as I wanted him. Ha. I laughed to myself. That was the irony of it. But even if it was only me that was so obsessed, even if it was all a delusion, a dream, I wanted it anyway. I wanted it for as long as it lasted, which I hoped would be for a very long time. That was the truth; my truth. Whatever the cost, I didn’t want it to end. I just wanted to keep disappearing down that rabbit hole of bliss and stay there forever.

“So tell us about this Stefan,” my mother said, “handsome he must be, but what does he do for a living? Was it Stefan who bought you the fancy clothes?”

“I really don’t know exactly what he does, but he works for a man named Albert Giovanni who is the head of a big company called Giovanni International.”

“What does this Giovanni International do Rachel?” my father asked.

“As far as I know, they sell heavy machinery all over Europe and the Middle East.”

There was a slight lull in the conversation until my mother said, sweetly but firmly, “Look Rachel, why don’t you just get on a plane and go back to Amsterdam and have a talk with Jan. Really sweetheart, you owe it to your son.”

When I didn’t say anything my father added, “At least you can give it a try.  Jan might just surprise you and understand. But whatever happens, your mother is right; you owe it to your son. Don’t abandon your child for some pleasure now that isn’t going to last very long. That’s what you should be thinking about.”

After that, we didn’t speak for a while. We were all digesting what had just gone down.

My father wanted to go for a little walk after dinner and I was relieved because I couldn’t bear to talk about it anymore. It was a lovely balmy evening and we walked down the Promenade des Anglais. It reminded me of summer vacations when I was a kid.

We felt close together, but also sad that so many of the things we had shared were past and would never come again. I had this sudden intuition about how it must feel to grow old and see the world you have known and loved fade away. Our lives were passing away so quickly. In a flash we are gone with all our happiness and all our troubles too. It made my own problems seem small and insignificant. The stars were shining down upon us, the same stars that were there when we came into this world and would still be there when we left. What did it matter if I laughed or cried? I was only one more flare in the night, shining brightly for a split second in time. It was the same for my parents. And I had to face it, one day all too soon they too would be passing away. I missed them so much even though they were right there, walking on either side of me. They were my parents, my very own special parents and I would never have any others. They had wedded and bedded and out of that mysterious union, I had emerged with all my hopes and dreams. And they had tried to give me a direction as best they could. Whether they had succeeded or failed didn’t really matter at all. We might have quarreled in the past, we might have misunderstood each other at times, but they loved me and I loved them. It was as simple as that.

I stopped and hugged them both, one after the other. They didn’t say anything, but I knew they felt the same.


   The next day I put my parents on their plane to Israel.

They left saying, “Now be a good girl Rachel and think about what you are doing! Why don’t you just go home to your son?”

It was such reasonable advice. Hearing them talk made everything seem so simple. I was a mother and had a responsibility to my own child. But as soon as I walked out of the airport’s glass doors into the sunshine of that splendid Nice morning, I felt that jolt – that marvelous zap of energy running through my body. Wow! And yes, it was that jolt, that zap that sent me on this adventure in the first place. It was such an overpowering sensation and to say it was just a physical thing would have been to underestimate what was going on with me. I was possessed, obsessed, enchained, entranced by an energy I didn’t understand. And it didn’t have anything to do with the logical, reasonable world my parents lived in and talked about. I had run off in pursuit of something magical. Some might say I just wanted to get my kicks, but whatever it was, the truth was, I wanted more.

Maybe I should go home and maybe I would, but not just yet!

Feeling that jolt of energy course through my body made me remember the day I met Stefan and I shivered with pleasure.  It was an early summer day at Zandvoort beach; I was there, enjoying the sun and sea with little Daniel. We’d been there all afternoon and it was early evening – most people were gone or leaving the beach. The sun was sinking slowly in the Western sky. I remembered how cool and peaceful it was and how I was just lounging around enjoying the tranquility and the evening air while Daniel played close by in the sand. All of a sudden this blond Adonis came out of nowhere and asked me if I had a light. I hadn’t noticed him before that moment, but apparently he must have been lounging somewhere nearby because he had seen me. (I later found out that he had been sitting moodily on the beach, feeling low because he had just split again from his Dutch wife Monique and their two small daughters – Linda and Sabine. They had been having this on and off relationship for quite a few years until finally Monique had asked for a separation. She was fed up with his uncommunicative ways and the fact that he was away so much on business because of Albert. But obviously at the time, I didn’t know any of this.)

A couple of young Indians were making food on a small grill not far from where I was sitting and one of them ran over and asked us if we would like to join them. Daniel jumped up and said “yeah!” because he was hungry and so it all happened so naturally. We laughed and joined the Indians and got to talking as we munched on their lovely food. (The Indians thought we were a couple and laughed heartily when we said we didn’t know each other.)

So truly it was as if the gods had arranged our meeting (and of course they had). I found it easy being with him in the cool evening air – and I liked his quiet ways. From the very first moment, I felt as if we were being drawn to each other by this powerful magnetic force and there was nothing we could do about it. I remembered I couldn’t take my eyes off this blond Adonis – and he kept looking at me too. We stayed until late in the evening; and by then it was obvious we would meet again.


When I got back to our hotel suite, Stefan was sitting on the armchair with his feet up on the window sill. He was talking on the phone. All I could think of was how good he looked, how inviting, how sexy. He had on tight-fitting underwear which revealed his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He had just taken a shower and his wet blond hair was combed straight back off his face. He looked around at me and motioned me to be quiet.

“Happy Birthday little Linda,” he was saying into the phone in a special voice I’d never heard him use before. “How old are you now??… Five years old! Did you get the present Daddy sent you?”

My mood of sex and adventure vanished when I realized who he was talking to – his youngest daughter Linda. His wife and two daughters were still living in Amsterdam. And today was the little one’s birthday. Funny, but up until that moment I hadn’t really thought of Stefan as being a father (though of course I knew he was) or of him being able to speak to a child in that kind of warm friendly Daddy voice.

I felt vain and stupid hearing him talk to his little daughter like that. Maybe deep down inside, he scorned me because I’d run off with him and left my own son. Maybe he thought I was a pushover, a woman of no character, with only a hot cunt to speak for me. Mentally I began packing my suitcase to catch the next plane back to Amsterdam. My parents said I should go back, Stefan must be thinking the same thing. What was there left for me to do? I really did miss my son.

I went to the bedroom and sat down on the bed while Stefan chatted and laughed with his daughter.

But still, I told myself, this was the first time I’d ever been away from my son and I hadn’t been gone very long. Didn’t I have a right to a little vacation? But who was I kidding? This wasn’t exactly a vacation – this was an uprising – a full-scale rebellion! Looking back, I could honestly say I’d tried; I really had, for years. I’d tried to convince myself that my life with Jan was great. But it just didn’t wash. It wasn’t enough. I hadn’t taken care of me. I hadn’t nurtured the woman I was. In fact it had gotten so bad that I no longer even knew who I was. Oh yes, I was a mother and a wife, but it all seemed so tame after the great hopes and dreams of my younger years. Back then I thought I was going somewhere, thought I was going to do something, be someone, achieve something that mattered. And now all I had was the crushing frustration of a life I had freely chosen with a man who turned out to be a real drag. And I hadn’t wanted to admit it, at least not until I met Stefan.

Stefan came to me in the bedroom after he said goodbye to his daughter. I guess I looked depressed because he sat down and put his arm around me and said, “Was seeing your mother and father that bad?”

“Oh no… not really,” I mumbled.

“Well then, what is it?”

“It was just… just hearing you talk to Linda like that…”

“Oh come on Rachel, you knew from the beginning that I have two small daughters. They are very dear to me and I am sorry their mother and I are not together to take care of them. You know that.”

“Stefan, do you think I should go back to Amsterdam?”

“You should do whatever you have to do – but not right now!” he said and laughed. “How did we get on this subject anyway?” He pushed me playfully back on the bed. He was determined to make me forget. It wasn’t hard to do. He kissed me and I couldn’t resist him. There was just something about him, something…

He undressed me expertly and then did what he always did. He took off his underwear and then positioned himself, completely naked, over me with his arms outstretched as if he was about to do push-ups. He surveyed my waiting body and then lowered his firm suntanned body slowly down upon me, touching me gently as I closed my eyes in a swoon. He knew I liked it like that, liked it when he teased me with the touch of his exquisite body until I was wet, wet, wet. And then, when he knew I was ready, he entered me slowly and lay very still on top of me, letting me feel his manhood. And when I sighed that special sigh of intense delight, which he knew so well, he pressed himself deeper into me. I’d never been with a man who fucked like he did. It was always the same – and even if it was missionary through and through, he had a very special talent for it. A very special way of moving slowly in and out of me, which never failed to light my fire. And even though he made the same moves every time, it always worked. Because there was just something about the trancelike way he moved his beautiful body which always turned me on. Something about the slow, rhythmical movements he made that I loved. And then he’d pick up speed and move slightly faster – and then faster. And I loved it even more. Loved the way his slow deliberation would always lead to that special moment when I felt the thrill of his hard body gaining speed and momentum. Then nothing could deter him. And he would keep his eyes closed and continue to breathe ever so quietly even as his excitement mounted. Then it was all higher, higher, higher and deeper, deeper, deeper – into that pool of intense ecstasy where I could surrender completely – to his rhythm, his guidance, and to the energy that enveloped us. He did not rush, he never did. Nor did he speak as some men do or alter his rhythm or the flow of it. The strength of his body and his arm muscles allowed him to flow onward until we met and found each other in the passion and power of being together and coming together.

Aaahhh… the incredible sweetness of him. Of us.

Afterwards my blond Adonis propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at me. His face was open and suddenly vulnerable. He flicked some strands of hair away from my face.

“You know I never met a woman like you before…”

I did not reply but waited, quite sure he was about to say something important, something I desperately wanted to hear, something I thought I’d never hear him say.

“Rachel, I just want you to know,” he said softly, slowly, “… that no matter what happens… I really do…”

There was a knock on the door.

We both lay very still. Damn! I hoped whoever it was would go away. Who could it be anyway? No one ever came to our hotel. But the knocking went on.

“Open up Stefan, hurry up! It’s important. Come one. It’s me, Joey.”

The banging continued.

“Merde!” Stefan drew away from me.

“I’m coming Joey, hold on!” he shouted back.

He put on his underwear.

“Rachel, go out to the bathroom and get dressed. I forgot to tell you we’re going to a party at Albert’s house on Cap Ferrat today. So dress up nice.”

I grabbed my robe and rushed to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Damn.

I pressed myself against the door to hear what was going on. Two men entered the suite. They were speaking French and they were in a hurry. I turned the water on in the sink. I didn’t want Stefan to think I was listening. They were talking so fast I didn’t understand much, but I did understand when Stefan said, “Joey, no, not again. Not another car bomb!”

The man called Joey replied, “We just got word.”

“Merde,” said Stefan, “does Albert know about this?”

“Yes, and he’s not happy at all. It’s making our operations very difficult.”

“Merde,” I heard Stefan say again.

I didn’t dare listen to more.

I wondered what was going on. It sounded serious, dangerous, risky… But I didn’t dare ask. Stefan never talked to me about what kind of business they were in (but then again, Stefan never talked to me about anything). And it seemed to be understood that as far as business matters were concerned, I was to be kept completely out of it, whatever it was. Was it chivalry on Stefan’s part? Or was it just the man/woman thing in this part of the world? I was curious to know more and knew I should care more, but the truth was I didn’t. The truth was I felt like a million. I felt like a fool. I felt enchanted, entranced, insane. I felt wonderful, wild, happy. My life was a mess and my Adonis was about to tell me that he loved me. I was sure; positive! So I wondered – was this it? Was this true love? He was about to say it, I knew it. I knew it. I knew he loved me. And regardless, the lovemaking was divine. I slid down onto the cool tile bathroom floor as the thoughts whirled round and round in my head.

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Stefan was wearing a white jacket and an elegant pale blue shirt. His blond hair, which fell softly across his broad forehead, was cut slightly shorter than when I first met him. His suntan… Just looking at him I felt it again… that jolt of energy. He radiated such life force. Why did I want him so? I’d already had him, but still I wanted him, wanted more… it was insane.

A dark-haired man approached our table and I knew at once it was Albert. I tingled inside with fear and anticipation. He was an attractive man, a strong man. Not beautiful like Stefan, but handsome with a certain fierceness one could not overlook.

Stefan was standing up and they embraced each other as brothers will do who have not seen each other in a long time. All I knew was that they spent time together in Vienna when they were young. Albert, whose parents were Italian, was six or seven years older than Stefan. They met when Stefan, who was Austrian, came down from the mountains to go to university. To support himself, he worked as a student intern at Albert’s father’s offices in Vienna. It was there they met. At the time, Stefan was a total innocent and Albert took my blond Adonis under his wing, which earned him Stefan’s undying loyalty.

Albert had his arm around Stefan, he was taller than Stefan. The contrast between them was striking. Albert was tall, dark and very aristocratic looking while Stefan was truly a blond hunk with the most amazing sky-blue eyes.

I started to stand up too.

Albert turned to me, “Ah, so this is Rachel,” he said and took my hand and kissed it. “Please, please sit down. Stefan has told me about you. I hope you are enjoying your stay here.”

We sat down.

Albert touched my hair as if it was his natural right, as if he had known me for years. The waiter approached and we ordered. Then Albert began talking to Stefan in German. He glanced at me and said, “Just business my dear, I am sure you understand.”

I was happy to be left out; happy I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. I tried to collect myself but when I looked at Albert my heart beat rapidly and I felt dizzy. I was nervous but also filled with glee because here was real, raw adventure and it was happening to me.

Everything was uncertain.

I felt alive and tingled all over.

The food arrived and Albert ate and talked with Stefan the whole time. Stefan had a small pad beside his plate and occasionally made a note. He didn’t say much.

Then Albert said, “Please give Mr. Hadid my apologies for being unable to meet him tonight; make some excuse about me being called away suddenly. And give him this.” Albert took a thin white envelope out of his pocket and gave it to Stefan. “It’s a personal invitation to Hadid to come to Cap Ferrat with his wife. You know how important he is to our new set-up in Egypt.”

Stefan didn’t look particularly happy. Why had Albert changed his plans?

Then the thought hit me; was it because of me?

My head spun. Drinking on an empty stomach always affected me like this. I was getting carried away, as one drama after another unfolded in my head! But being with men like them, well I just couldn’t think straight and frankly didn’t care.

Albert had curly jet black hair, cut very elegantly and close to the head. He had a strong Italian face, not so magazine handsome as Stefan, but more alive, more special, more refined and more degenerate. His lips were slightly swollen as if he had tasted every pleasure. He dressed immaculately; a light beige suit, a tight fitting vest, a beautiful silk shirt with gold cuff links.

Was I behaving like a sex-starved maniac?

My husband Jan and I had a good life, or so I had told myself. Once I thought I loved Jan and I knew I loved my son. But now I wasn’t sure I loved my husband anymore. Somewhere there had been a lack. Or was it just the routine and utter boredom of being a mother and wife that had gotten to me? No matter how great I kept telling myself my life was, there was just too much information coming into my head about all the other beautiful people (and women) who were having a great time exploring life and expanding their boundaries. And there I was, stuck and feeling smothered with a boring, small-minded husband in the boring routine of my little life. Sooner or later, I had to go crazy from the sheer frustration of it. And when I met Stefan, I did.

I knew of course that respectable, grown-up women didn’t do what I was doing. They kept their frustrations and raging desires under control. There might be no excuse for my conduct, but there sure as hell were a lot of explanations. And besides, I was having a great time.

After dinner we drank espresso and grappa in silence.

Thru the windows I could sense the balmy air of the coast, the gently swaying trees, the soft night noises, well-dressed people on their way to various pleasures and boredom. I smiled to myself.

“You are enjoying yourself, my dear?” Albert leaned close to me.

“Yes.” In fact, it was the thought of my own misconduct that made me smile.

Stefan took my hand and said, “I have to go now; an unexpected meeting. Albert will take you home. See you at the hotel.” He got up and walked away. I didn’t even care. The liquor had gone to my head. I smiled as he left, feeling mellow and warm between my legs.

Then I felt Albert’s warm hand moving slowly up my thigh, under my dress. His hand was gentle but firm. I tightened inwardly after so much liquor and relaxation.

“Ah,” he said, “I see Stefan remembers that I prefer women who wear no panties.”

“Come my dear,” he said and rose to go. I stood up and followed him, smoothing down the folds of my dress. There was wetness between my thighs. We walked out into the balmy night air and the breeze caressed my bare legs under my dress.

Albert opened the door to a Porsche. I climbed in and we drove off.


Albert had a condominium with a spectacular view of the coast. We were high up. From the balcony you could see forever. The evening was clear, the stars shining brightly. The same stars that shined down on my husband and child so far away. Suddenly all my bravado disappeared and I felt very small and lonely and wished piercingly that I was home again, safe from this adventure. The ache inside was hard and cold and I felt panic.

Albert came out on the balcony with a drink in his hand. “You must not catch cold my dear. Come inside.” I was positive he knew exactly what I was feeling.

Inside the space was bare, open, minimalistic. Almost Zen in nature and appearance. A single bonsai, exquisite and proud on a tiny polished black table. A large smooth round stone in the corner.

He put on some quiet music and took me in his arms to dance. He was teasing me, testing me, playing with me. There was something almost ruthless about his debonair manner. And even though I was trying to act cool, I was all fluttery inside.

“Why did you leave your husband for Stefan?” he asked me.

“Oh I don’t know… I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Ah…,” he said, “so the blood in your veins runs very hot, is that it?” He took my chin in his hands and forced me to look up at him. He examined my face slowly and smiled, not unkindly. I felt shy and full of strange desire at the same time. When he seemed satisfied, he led me over to one of the few armchairs in the sparely furnished room. It was a large and comfortable.

“Let’s see if you really are as warm as you are beautiful.”

He took off his jacket and loosened his tie.

“Make yourself comfortable Rachel.”

I sat down in the huge arm chair, my heart pounding in my chest.

He got down on his knees and positioned himself right between my legs. Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth, slow and easy, just exploring. I didn’t feel aroused, only afraid. But there was no turning back now. I had chosen this myself. This was the real, raw adventure I’d been dreaming of.

To be continued…

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