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Authors: Sandra Brown
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poisoning—to cleanse her mind and heart from the fear and distrust that had poisoned her life for the past few years. Now she truly was free. Free to move forward into the future with the man she loved, the man she knew she could trust completely.
* * * * *
SPEECHLESS
Robert Browne
This story, written in first person, beautifully expresses universal insecurities about love, loss and trust. Expect a twist. ~SB
The only reason I was there was because of my mother.
I had always trusted David implicitly and couldn’t quite believe that I had let myself be talked into doing what I was doing. I am, after all, a grown woman, and this was bordering on high school behavior. I’d felt silly about it from the very beginning and had hesitated more than once before finally punching the key on my computer to print out my boarding pass.
Yet there I was, six hours later, on a cool Wednesday night, sitting in a rented car several hundred miles from home, watching the entrance to the Traveler’s Inn in Los Angeles, with the keen obsessiveness of a stalker.
Maybe I didn’t trust David as much as I thought I did. Or maybe it had nothing to do with him at all.
It was my mother’s fault.
It always is.
And who could blame her? The woman had been through two nasty divorces and thought of the male species as a contaminated breed. To her mind, no man could be trusted. Especially if they had yet to produce a ring or even utter the word marriage .
They were all barely a step above animals, whose need to seduce just about anything with legs would always take precedence over a committed relationship. Even one as committed as David’s and mine.
Mother barely knew David, but that didn’t stop her from judging him, or complaining about the shiftiness of his eyes. Something I’d never noticed myself. I’d always thought he had beautiful eyes. A startling blue that was one of his main attractions.
So why, then, was I there?
I won’t try to explain the mother-daughter dynamic to you. I don’t think there’s a psychologist on earth who can come within a hairbreadth of unraveling its complexity. But if you’re a woman and you have a mother—and I think most of us do—it doesn’t really need to be explained.
You just know, don’t you?
Bottom line, I was there simply because I wanted to get the nosy bitch off my back. I wanted to prove to her, once and for all, that she was wrong— dead wrong —about the man I loved.
Unfortunately, things didn’t quite turn out the way I thought they would.
* * *
As a sales rep for a small, struggling software firm, it was part of David’s job to travel. He left town at least once a month and I wasn’t ashamed to say that I missed him like crazy. If you’ve ever watched that show about the people stranded on an island after a plane crash, you’ll remember the tall, athletic blond guy who looks like a surfer slash underwear model slash soccer player.
That’s David.
Well, not really —but that’s pretty much what he looks like. And because of this, I’d be lying to you if I said I never worried about other women.
When I first met David in a bar in Boise, I was so intensely attracted to him that I immediately invited him home for the night. And what a wonderful night it was. So I’d never had much trouble imagining that other women might be compelled to do exactly the same thing. And if they did, and David were to succumb, I knew they wouldn’t be disappointed. He had a way of using his hands that was quite unlike any man I’d ever been with.
Then there was his kiss…
Well. Let’s just say it didn’t take much more for this particular girl to see fireworks. After years of struggling with what I’d always thought of as sexual inadequacy, I discovered in that one night that it wasn’t me who had the problem. It was all the selfish, fumbling brutes I’d been with prior to that.
So while I’ll freely admit I worried about other women, what I never worried about was David
* * * * *
SPEECHLESS
Robert Browne
This story, written in first person, beautifully expresses universal insecurities about love, loss and trust. Expect a twist. ~SB
The only reason I was there was because of my mother.
I had always trusted David implicitly and couldn’t quite believe that I had let myself be talked into doing what I was doing. I am, after all, a grown woman, and this was bordering on high school behavior. I’d felt silly about it from the very beginning and had hesitated more than once before finally punching the key on my computer to print out my boarding pass.
Yet there I was, six hours later, on a cool Wednesday night, sitting in a rented car several hundred miles from home, watching the entrance to the Traveler’s Inn in Los Angeles, with the keen obsessiveness of a stalker.
Maybe I didn’t trust David as much as I thought I did. Or maybe it had nothing to do with him at all.
It was my mother’s fault.
It always is.
And who could blame her? The woman had been through two nasty divorces and thought of the male species as a contaminated breed. To her mind, no man could be trusted. Especially if they had yet to produce a ring or even utter the word marriage .
They were all barely a step above animals, whose need to seduce just about anything with legs would always take precedence over a committed relationship. Even one as committed as David’s and mine.
Mother barely knew David, but that didn’t stop her from judging him, or complaining about the shiftiness of his eyes. Something I’d never noticed myself. I’d always thought he had beautiful eyes. A startling blue that was one of his main attractions.
So why, then, was I there?
I won’t try to explain the mother-daughter dynamic to you. I don’t think there’s a psychologist on earth who can come within a hairbreadth of unraveling its complexity. But if you’re a woman and you have a mother—and I think most of us do—it doesn’t really need to be explained.
You just know, don’t you?
Bottom line, I was there simply because I wanted to get the nosy bitch off my back. I wanted to prove to her, once and for all, that she was wrong— dead wrong —about the man I loved.
Unfortunately, things didn’t quite turn out the way I thought they would.
* * *
As a sales rep for a small, struggling software firm, it was part of David’s job to travel. He left town at least once a month and I wasn’t ashamed to say that I missed him like crazy. If you’ve ever watched that show about the people stranded on an island after a plane crash, you’ll remember the tall, athletic blond guy who looks like a surfer slash underwear model slash soccer player.
That’s David.
Well, not really —but that’s pretty much what he looks like. And because of this, I’d be lying to you if I said I never worried about other women.
When I first met David in a bar in Boise, I was so intensely attracted to him that I immediately invited him home for the night. And what a wonderful night it was. So I’d never had much trouble imagining that other women might be compelled to do exactly the same thing. And if they did, and David were to succumb, I knew they wouldn’t be disappointed. He had a way of using his hands that was quite unlike any man I’d ever been with.
Then there was his kiss…
Well. Let’s just say it didn’t take much more for this particular girl to see fireworks. After years of struggling with what I’d always thought of as sexual inadequacy, I discovered in that one night that it wasn’t me who had the problem. It was all the selfish, fumbling brutes I’d been with prior to that.
So while I’ll freely admit I worried about other women, what I never worried about was David
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