Read Online Heat Wave - Part 2 - Erotika Short Stories for Women (Adult Short Stories for Women Series) by E.M. Flemming - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: E.M. Flemming
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own mind. I was able to
justify having sex with a married man. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it
again. But all of this certainly makes for a very interesting lifestyle. I
think it goes without saying that the type of drama and excitement this kind of
event creates, makes normal relationships look extremely dull. I think that’s
where I’ve had such a hard time – with normal relationships.
To me, it has to be exciting. I have to want to devour the
man that I’m interested in; otherwise, it’s just plain old boring. I’ve been in
relationships in the past, where things just got stale. You know how that goes,
right? After a while, you just stop caring that much. You stop caring about
your appearance in front of them, you stop caring about having sex, and you
just stop caring altogether. That’s where my hang up lies. I’m so afraid to get
into a serious relationship, that I think I just defer to having sex with
people I know are not available.
So, all of this got me thinking, and I really needed to get
some of this off my chest. I knew I couldn’t talk to Amy, or any of my other
close friends, for fear that word would spread. But there was one thing I
could: write. I took to my laptop in a fury of words that came tumbling out of
me like wildfire. My fingers were cruising at a mile-a-minute, and it felt
good. It felt good to unleash my inner most deepest, and darkest desires, right
there onto the screen. It was as if I was spilling my mind out in front of me,
because the words were traveling as fast as I could think of them. It was
liberating, in fact. It felt so good to be able to transfer all of that energy
into some sort of creative outlet.
Now, I write for a living, but even before I started doing
so, I began to unleash my emotional tirade into words, and it was cathartic. If
you haven’t tried it, you should sometimes. There is something so absolutely
therapeutic about transferring those emotions and thoughts into words that
nothing else seems to come close. Sure, I could go and speak to my shrink, and
pay four hundred dollars an hour, but who needs that? I might be crazy, but at
least I feel good about it. Know what I mean? I took my time and energy to
translate what had happened between Robert Dorning and I at the hotel this
morning, into a book that I was working on.
Here’s the plot. The main character, just like myself, finds
herself entangled in a situation with a married man, but with a twist. As my
fingers were flying across the keyboard, I began to write out the worst
possible scenario of what happened after the deed was done. Amy – or her
equivalent character in the book – sets out to kill the main character
(that would be me), by hiring a hit man. Dramatic? Yes, I know, but that’s how
my mind works at times.
And, as I was writing about all of this drama, and
unleashing my fury of bent up sexual frustration and escapades, I got a text
message from one of my many boy toys ,
asking me what I was up to.
“Not much,” I replied.
“What are you wearing?” he asked. Now, I don’t know about
you, but I think this question is probably one of the lamest questions a guy
can send a girl. What are you wearing? Well, let’s see, I’m at home, in my
sweat pants, writing on my laptop? Of course, that’s not what I answered back.
But sometimes, men just need to be strung along, and messed with. I don’t do it
viciously, but I guess I get a bit of a thrill out of it. Especially when I
know that a guy is trying to “game me,” as they would say. That’s when I really
have the most fun with it. But, I wasn’t really in the mood to beat around the
bush this time. I had had my fun earlier in the day. I had conquered my
200-pound gorilla, so to speak.
“Sorry, about to get to bed. It’s been a long day,” I said
back. And I know this really gets to them. Sometimes you have to play a bit of
push and pull. You can’t let them know you’ll bend over backwards, or jump
through hoops for
justify having sex with a married man. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it
again. But all of this certainly makes for a very interesting lifestyle. I
think it goes without saying that the type of drama and excitement this kind of
event creates, makes normal relationships look extremely dull. I think that’s
where I’ve had such a hard time – with normal relationships.
To me, it has to be exciting. I have to want to devour the
man that I’m interested in; otherwise, it’s just plain old boring. I’ve been in
relationships in the past, where things just got stale. You know how that goes,
right? After a while, you just stop caring that much. You stop caring about
your appearance in front of them, you stop caring about having sex, and you
just stop caring altogether. That’s where my hang up lies. I’m so afraid to get
into a serious relationship, that I think I just defer to having sex with
people I know are not available.
So, all of this got me thinking, and I really needed to get
some of this off my chest. I knew I couldn’t talk to Amy, or any of my other
close friends, for fear that word would spread. But there was one thing I
could: write. I took to my laptop in a fury of words that came tumbling out of
me like wildfire. My fingers were cruising at a mile-a-minute, and it felt
good. It felt good to unleash my inner most deepest, and darkest desires, right
there onto the screen. It was as if I was spilling my mind out in front of me,
because the words were traveling as fast as I could think of them. It was
liberating, in fact. It felt so good to be able to transfer all of that energy
into some sort of creative outlet.
Now, I write for a living, but even before I started doing
so, I began to unleash my emotional tirade into words, and it was cathartic. If
you haven’t tried it, you should sometimes. There is something so absolutely
therapeutic about transferring those emotions and thoughts into words that
nothing else seems to come close. Sure, I could go and speak to my shrink, and
pay four hundred dollars an hour, but who needs that? I might be crazy, but at
least I feel good about it. Know what I mean? I took my time and energy to
translate what had happened between Robert Dorning and I at the hotel this
morning, into a book that I was working on.
Here’s the plot. The main character, just like myself, finds
herself entangled in a situation with a married man, but with a twist. As my
fingers were flying across the keyboard, I began to write out the worst
possible scenario of what happened after the deed was done. Amy – or her
equivalent character in the book – sets out to kill the main character
(that would be me), by hiring a hit man. Dramatic? Yes, I know, but that’s how
my mind works at times.
And, as I was writing about all of this drama, and
unleashing my fury of bent up sexual frustration and escapades, I got a text
message from one of my many boy toys ,
asking me what I was up to.
“Not much,” I replied.
“What are you wearing?” he asked. Now, I don’t know about
you, but I think this question is probably one of the lamest questions a guy
can send a girl. What are you wearing? Well, let’s see, I’m at home, in my
sweat pants, writing on my laptop? Of course, that’s not what I answered back.
But sometimes, men just need to be strung along, and messed with. I don’t do it
viciously, but I guess I get a bit of a thrill out of it. Especially when I
know that a guy is trying to “game me,” as they would say. That’s when I really
have the most fun with it. But, I wasn’t really in the mood to beat around the
bush this time. I had had my fun earlier in the day. I had conquered my
200-pound gorilla, so to speak.
“Sorry, about to get to bed. It’s been a long day,” I said
back. And I know this really gets to them. Sometimes you have to play a bit of
push and pull. You can’t let them know you’ll bend over backwards, or jump
through hoops for
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