Love and Weep with Me

 

Tablo reader up chevron

Niccy Kluber Krast 70.000words

50A Stoke Road

Gosport

Hampshire, UK PO12 1HX

(0044) 02392586719

southidarauk@yahoo.co.uk

Love and weep with me

by

Niccy Kluber-Krast

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 1

From an old Laotian saying:

When you are hungry, eat; when you are fruity, have sex; and when you are tired, sleep’ But as soon as I got to the West, I never cease to strive, to analyze, to question-life. I forgot the old philosophy, the old ways; the only way to be truly happy.

Normandy, France:

November 2013

Love and life was a constant challenge for everyone. Today I wrote of past regrets and future fears, still struggling with life and love. Recently I have acquired a co-author by accident. Our shared passion, our imagined love-play was all fantasy he fully participated in but never realized.

[11/25/2013 11:28:14 AM]Him: Have you sent it?

ME: it’s on Skype’s message box.

[11/25/2013 11:30:46 AM]Him: I am reading it now!

Tears of happiness welled up in my eyes and my heart-beats increased while waiting for his comment:

[11/25/2013 11:33:23 AM]Him: Geeze Mona ....makes me want to pull out my cock!!

It wasn't the comment I wanted nor expected; from him:

Me: please behave and please be serious and can you help with the correction?

[11/25/2013 11:41:34 AM]Him: My cock is firmly in my pants....bursting to get out!! But I will read on!!

What have I done?

Me: that’s a good man.

[11/25/2013 11:44:51 AM]Him: I have finished reading!!

Me: I am glad you like it.

I was so happy he liked my story. But the sexual innuendo had an unsettled effect on my psyche. Still, I was grateful. I remembered my cool tall debonair colleague who always was very helpful in giving good advice, especially in the area of mindfulness meditation. He was an expert and I referred my patients to him. He had earned their respect and mine:

Me: It is so good that we are again connected, better because we are not at work. I am thinking we could make magic together. Right now, I am sending you the next few lines of the first chapter:

The evening was cool, scented by jasmine flowers. A brown little boy offered to sell us barbecue grasshoppers on thin sticks. Jay gave him a dollar but told him to keep the charred insects; rubbing the boy’s head vigorously. The boy laughed with joy and ran off.

Jay dropped his head to my level, picked my chin up and looked deeply into my eyes and then he kissed me.

Later, after dinner, he took me to his house. He kissed me on his bed, all over. Exulted when he felt that I opened up for him instantly as he got near my trembling thighs.

“Darling!” He said surprised and tore off my skirt.

 

When he felt my hands sliding over his bare- skin, he moaned softly. I drew him nearer, over on top of me and clutched him closer. He kissed my mouth feverishly, overcoming by an animal like passion and almost scaring me with its intensity.

I felt his heartbeats quickened, so did his actions. He couldn't get close enough, fast enough. He forgot any tenderness it was frightening and almost spoilt it for me. But it turned out, surprisingly, I couldn't have enough of him either.

I thrust against him. Felt the feverish urgency in my body. I was burning up. I wanted to bite him, eat him and bucked up to have him deeper inside me. He pulled me closer, pressing harder against me as he kissed my mouth, bitten my lips—penetrating deep. Taking up all I had to offer. Making me moan. I Melt and came;

"Jay…"

And he cried out;

“I love you!”

He was asleep within minutes, still holding my naked body.

[11/25/2013 11:45:10 AM]Him: Wow! This is so sexy. I want to wank right now.

The sexual tone was something I was expecting to get used to but I was uneasy. Not this kind of comment; not from him-my handsome former colleague but nevertheless I was flattered. I once read a poem from somewhere which said:

And when the dark angel came; drawled up to thee with gift-take that and do not shrink from it.

I believed that’s what I was doing born out of desperate needs for validation. I did not yet fully understand what this would lead me to, misery or bliss or notorious failure of a kind one never recovered from. I didn't care.

Me: It supposed to be erotica, it should turn the reader on. Are you?

[11/25/2013 11:45:32 AM]Him: Can I pull my cock out now?!

***

For better or for worse, I had a co-author:

It began late one night when I was on line to do research on my erotic novel. The mail notification bleeped. The message was:

“How was it for you?” I recognized the sender immediately but was puzzled as to why he made a contact after all these years. We have gone our separate ways since I retired and left the Island many moons ago.

The next morning, the message arrived again:

“Sorry, I have been drinking. The message wasn’t meant for you”

“That’s O.K., what did you mean by ‘how was it for you?’

“Sorry it is a long story, ti’s not important”;

“LOL!” I typed the friendly farewell and got back to the Erotica. After a brief interval, the message came in again,

“What are you doing?” I felt he was intruding with the flow of my writing but didn’t want to be unfriendly as he was never an unkind colleague. He was so handsome. All the female co-workers adored him. I liked his indulgent kindness to everyone but he was too awesomely tall and powerful looking, I thought, to be an exciting-bed-partner. I was also intimidated by his daring good-look. I still shivered when I remembered- his piercing green animal like eyes appraised my cleavage once or twice and that long stare frighten me a little. However, I was not physically attracted to him then and now I hesitated to continue the conversation so ended the chat quickly and as sweetly and politely as possible.

November has arrived softly, at first, leaves turned red but still dancing flippantly on the branches. Prunes, apples, pears and other fruits littered the orchard floor. I spent my days chasing pigs off the fallen fruits, stolen them off the jaws of these hungry animals a little like my younger days in Laos, sneaking off with my friends to steal the papayas or mangos from the neighbours garden or chasing after the wind-falls. Racing from one fallen mango or sweet tamarind to another exotic treasure.

My sister Lulu was always the one without any treasure as it was snatched out of her reach, by me or Launay or Suky; similarly to what I was doing right now with the pigs but this time the pig won.

My novel was chuckling along nicely, I wrote between feeding the chicken and my seven grandchildren. Then one Sunday morning:

‘Hi, Mona! How are you?’

Me=’Ca va; fine’

Him=‘Tres bien! Habitez-vous en permanence en France?’

A strange sense of connection entered my heart. Is he trying to re- connect? Why? Did he really want to talk to me? I didn’t need to be reminded, these days that joy coming from the attention of the opposite sex came less and less with advanced age and I was really flattered.

But to counter this sad deficit, I adopted a nonchalant attitude to a meagre compliment from the male species; and pretended that I was still attractive. No, beautiful, in fact. I loved my shiny long hair, dyed, admittedly, (mahogany); a shade far too light. My breast were my best feature and I was proud of them but my cleavage was not so deeply or too fragrantly on show; lately…

I remembered how strikingly beautiful we were, especially Launay and me. Suky was very sexy. All of us young Eurasian girls with golden slender arms and savagely slim legs, had been eagerly using our beauties as a diplomatic tool to help our country. I was embarrassed to use our charms to glean information and I was not wild about informing on people. The experiences of war had left big scars on all of us and had not help but turned us from innocent young ladies to devastatingly beautiful damaged women.

December 2013:

Nowadays, I had stopped caring about that country; done with the eagerness for fighting somebody else’s war. I no longer woke up screaming in the middle of the night or attacked anyone who woke me in the morning; suddenly.

[12/2/2013 10:34:31 AM]Him= Hi Mona! How are you? Where you working? Are you writing?

Me=Bonjour, yes, in France. What funny profile you have on Face Book. Who is it?

[12/2/2013 10:58:27 AM] Him: It is Geronimo! Says more about how I feel at times!

Me= is he related to you? In your pass-life?

[12/2/2013 10:59:43 AM]Him: hope not!!

“Mum, the goats escaped again. Come quick”, my daughter shouted on top of her voice, loud enough to be heard across the bay of Mont-Saint-Michel. I locked the computer and ran out to the yard;

“Damn goats!”

I had a writer block after that day fighting with the goats. The smell of them never left me. My husband wanted me to come home, possibly to knock the stuffiness out of him and I was not happy about it. I hadn’t been happy for a long time. Not since I married Barry.

Just before lunch, the joint was in the oven, the vegetable in the pots, the salad made with vinegress on them, dolloped with extra, extra- virgin olive oil. I fired up the gas for the cabbages and then turning to fire up my lap top which was on the heavy oak table, beside the salad bowl.

The anticipation was unbearable, will he or won’t he? I prayed and alternated between being quite excited and heavy with guilt. Full of doubt and insecurity. I was so insecure as a child, who wouldn't be if a long war was raging all around you? From birth.

My heart thumped wildly, when the message bleeped:

‘Hi!’

Me= Bonjour!

Him=what are you up to?

Me= on top of everything else, I am looking up on Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. Have you heard of her?

[12/15/2013 11:01:11 AM]Him: A little bit she was into near-death studies! Death is always a winning subject!!

Me=yes, she was but I was looking up the piece she wrote about ‘unconditional love’. And, what are you up to?

[12/15/2013 11:04:00 AM]Him: Meditating and working in private practice as a psycho therapist! Trying not to die quite yet!

Me=How old are you?

[12/15/2013 11:19:51 AM]: Him: 57!! Feel like 75 at times!

After that we got in regular contact, mostly late at night when the family went to bed. I forward him the recent email I received from our writer-group, translated from the French; despairing about never be able to write again:

Dear You,

Please read this forward message. It pissed me off when people thinks my erotica is funny!

Hi All,

Many thanks for your contributions to last week’s EROTICA! - to Mona's brave and irresistibly hilarious piece; to Daniel’s Sci-fi gang-bang/three-some, to our new member Cassandra's reading of her poem about a middle aged man in a thong (!) To those unable to make the meeting, you missed a good laugh!

Next meeting -20 Th May. Next project is:

"Your air plane crashes on a desert island. Only you and two other people survive. The only salvageable items are: - a pair of scissors, a stopwatch and an electric keyboard. Use these items imaginatively to get off the island.

PS: enclose the part of the essay which they read and re-read in the group for a good laugh. I don’t think I will do the next essay.

Mona.

I was in the hot kitchen, again, feeling grumpy and furiously peeling the potatoes to make pomme-frite. The cheeky hen came in the kitchen looking for scrap and the house-cat chased it out.

“Good girl”, I said to the cat and she looked at me and smile as cats do when they were pleased with you. I kept glancing at the laptop which sat silence all morning

“Go on bleep”, I said to the computer and the cat gave me a worried look. He had forgotten all about me. He had written me off; I tortured myself and almost step on the cat’s tail, lurching for the screen as it light-up.

I very nearly dropped the pot as I was turning around to look at the computer; fresh coffee spilt all over the tile-floor. Carefully stepping over the puddle, I peered at the screen. There it was an email from him.

I put the coffee pot back on the stove, dropped a kitchen towel on the wet surface of the kitchen floor and walked over it gingerly with my bare-feet to lean over and click open the email.

To Mona

From Me

12/20/2013 11:30:51 AM

Subject: critique

Dear Mona

Yes, I remember and I try never to go back on my word once I've given it. So you're in luck. Just send me as attachment, anytime and I will find time to read it.

PS: Include the E… as well!

Regards

Me: So please you will find time to read and critique. Thank you so much! I need your encouragement and any endorsement will be much appreciated.

The email answered to my request had arrived! But it was so much more polite than our chat on Face Book. Maybe he was at work and using the work computer. What if someone at work read my novel? Suddenly, the idea made me squirmed but then, I scolded myself; ‘that was what a novel is for, for someone to read it; you thick-head.’

That night he was on FB again, ‘does he ever be away from it? What happened to him? Had he changed much since we worked together on that tiny Island in the middle of the Atlantic? Is he addicted to FB? Is he lonely? Had he gone to seed? All these questions remained unanswered as I have never asked him and I was overcome with a deep sorrow. For me or for him? I searched his profile for the recent picture of him and found none.

Me: are you OK?

Him: yes, I’m a bit tired. Did you write some more erotica?

Me=I have just done arc two, chapter two in this novel I was telling you last week. Would you be interest in reading and erecting?

[12/27/2013 11:21:33 AM] of course... :), erecting?

Me=sorry, correcting;

[12/27/2013 11:21:50 AM]: What is it about? Same romance/erotica?

Me= It’s the same love story; well… it’s more like an erotic romance, in fact.

[12/27/2013 11:22:25 AM] Lots of sex!!! Sounds good!!

Me= some scene may contain sodomy.

[12/27/2013 11:24:33 AM] OK-sounds ok!!xxx. I am allowed to get turned on by it?

Me= It’s more of a romance than porn! Here is the text:

With trepidation I checked the writing again quickly. I included a small synopsis about the scene to test his feelings and then press ‘sent’:

When the monsoon stopped, the French arrived with more forces and was in charged for the dry season but by the time the Monsoon came and the Mékong was swollen, it was the turn of the Lao. The freedom fighters came down the fast flowing river from the North on their canoes like Dragons, overtook the French, and drove them out of town. It was a farce! A stupid and senseless way of dying. The population just adapted to whoever was in control at the time and carried on living. So by 1954, the French colonial troops marched back into Thakhek. They hurriedly set up camp five kilometers south of the town and life resumed in the French-flavor was once more-

The baguettes were on the market stalls, Gauloise cigarettes were on sale in all the shops. Vive la France! But in all that time, the ordinary citizen of Laos never sucked up to the Japanese or the Vietnamese. They still preferred to be under the French, even the boys:

The boys vied with each other to be buggered by the French. They chirped and cooed to be taken and in turn being looked after by their ‘cash-bull’. Their desires for pretty cloths, rich food and wine forced them to love the pain of big cocks and kept them sweet, bearing the pains of split arse. They were small frame beautiful men with brown shiny skin, buttock as tight as two small water melons but they were suited to this demanding jobs with no illusion that the ‘job’ was bloody, stomach-churning, scorching dangerous but what a wonderful erotic business it was:

The beautiful adolescent-boys could endure the old master’s stick who often made some of the pretty ones stayed behind after class. The long slender-legs-half-caste boy suck up to the masters even when they made him bend over a desk, took his trousers down to his creamy skinny knees, exposing his light- brown buttocks and his small brown penis trembled; creating monstrous picture of erotica for the masters… The master then gently caressed the boy’s backside, parting the reddish-brown-skin to expose the tiny hole and he plainly and shamelessly entered the child anus.

[12/28/2013 11:24:54 AM]Him: lol

***

 

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

Chapter 2

He was silenced for some times. Something-felt wrong. I wasn't even sure what it was but a niggling feeling in the gut told me that this was a wrong time of year to have weird-feelings. It was nearly New Year which was a bad time to feel peculiar. There were too many memories, bad ones at that. At this time, so long ago, Jay Konrad broke off the engagement for one thing and I wanted to drown myself in the Mékong River; and the other was being in Cold-frightening Europe with tearful-emotionally fragile Launay Kissin.

For the first time-the culture shock was indescribable. My baby-sister's deaths. My second sister Lulu disappearance, mine own hurt pride, my injured heart and those other horrid memories. They swiped at me as cold and bitter as the winter in Normandy could be. ‘Stop it Mona’ I scolded my trembling spirit, ‘Pull your socks up, for pity sake’.

I opened Skype and sent another section of my manuscript to him:

[12/28/2013 10:44:43 AM]: Hi, I hope you can find time to read this, no rush. Thanks.

I strained to see, thankfully, the street-light shone through the gap in the curtains. Bangkok-lights was brighter than Lao-street-light. The fact I was very thankful for. It was a hot night and they were now naked and I could see her silky thighs wrapped around his buttock. He went wild, pushing harder and faster at her. My sex was saturated, I gasped, putting one hand over my mouth and one finger in my vagina, making love to myself, in tune with theirs. I heard him promised to be very careful and take it out as soon after ejaculation as possible. Then I heard him grunt. I heard Launay’s whimper almost as loud as I did and I saw he was quite an expert on getting a firm grip on the base of his cock and the Johnny. Swiftly the semi- hard cock came out without spillage. I tottered to my own bed and within minutes, was asleep dreamlessly.’

I got an instant reply from him full of erotic chat. I was stunned by his responses:

Him: are you there?

I was amused to learn how transparent he was;

Him: are you around?

I kept quiet, teasing him.

Him: I have a semi-hard erection almost bursting my trousers! I could imagine what is going to happen…Vow…Vow, vow…I love it! Is it from personal experience? Are you a ‘voyeur’?

Paris, France:

‘Paris, la belle Paris, city of lovers with its Arc de Triumph, the Champs-Elysée, and the Tour Eiffel were the icons of the romantic city but we love les Halles markets most. To walk around and look at all the dazzling merchandises was enough to make us happy. We were still very poor; Madame Boudin did not encourage extravagant spending. We were supplied with three set of clothing-one to wear, one to wash and one clean. She gave us enough money for one meal per day:

“You can feed your belly with French water, it’s very sweet” she reassured us. Launay and I didn’t believed her. We washed the dished for the concierge to earn left-over-breads and half-empty bottle of discarded wine. It was all we could eat at lunch time.

“Dunk your hard-old bread in a glass of wine and feast on the taste” Launay advised;

“Hum, I could get used to this, it’s delicious!” I chuckled between mouthfuls.

We had no trouble sleeping; our bellies were always full of bread and wine, left over at the pension. We bargained- hunt for clothes. We went all the ways to 'au cul du camion’, as the French say, to search out the cheapest cloth. We woke up very early to go across Paris to seek out the best deals of the flea market. We became the most talented bargain-hunter in the French capital.

‘Let’ sleep outside to night’ said Launay, one evening after super of baguette and VIN rouge...

So we took our pillows and duvets, intending to spend a night under the roofs-sky-light to watch the stars and to spy on a sleeping Paris. Perched high on the rooftops, after spying in the windows of lovers, enjoying a form of erotic-voyeurism, drinking more wine talking non-stop.

“What do you really, really want in your life, Niccy?” Launay asked me sleepily;

“I want love, yes…first and foremost, I want love, love to replace fear”. And after that profound and deeply felt whish, we fell asleep among the stars.

But our hearts wept for home, Launay had a bleeding heart; Kenny was not here in Paris and Kenny was not even a romantic- French-man but he still tragically broke her heart. I had mine broken too, unmarried and abandoned by Jay Konrad.

Madame Boudin didn't consult us or our parents before deciding to send us to the University in France to study mental health in St. Louis (Paris) –‘s Teaching Hospital, for Nursing qualification. Even thought it was the French government who gave us the grant. We could never have been allowed into France without her help and guidance in doing all the paper-works and got round the complicate-protocols.

I was given a French passport and living allowances of one thousand Francs a month. Launay was also awarded the grant but slightly smaller as her grandfather own the coffee plantation. We thought it was an absolute fortune. However, we had to work between lessons as nursing assistants to supplement the aid we receive; a form of work-indenture in disguise but we were nonetheless grateful and we worked like slaves.

“The light of Paris had not lightened my blackness” Launay cried quietly. I heard but didn’t reply or comforted her. On the roof top I sat for a long time listening to my friend crying. I also thought of Kenny. Kenny who could not choose between us. Maggi must be happy now that Launay was out of the way. Maggi who had to stay behind because Madame Boudin ordered her so, saying that she could not leave Laos until the American was satisfied that Barry’s disappearance had nothing to do with his liaison with Maggi and the ‘Frangipani’ group. Maggi took her punishment as per usual, perhaps a little too eagerly, or, was it because Kenny decided to stay longer in Thakhek?

We knew that we must learn to cut off the ties that bind us; duty to our parents, to our ancestors, to our roots and even to whom we descended from in order to learn to be European women. We have to forget our exotic linage- Launay from her high-born-plantation-ancestress and me from the water-snake.

In France we have to be able to psychologically, remove the idea of being servile and a submissive-docile good women. Cut off, remove, almost literally performing personality-surgery. It had to be that drastic as we were so used, from birth, to see our mothers submissively accepting all the orders from their men and we were now determined that we would not. We were resolute but scared.

The women in Laos acquiescence to receive criticisms, no matter how sharp or unfair from the ruling elites and from the men. We didn't want to be like them, growing weaker and weaker and less and less able to decide our own fate: We had seen our mothers, who were dominated, used and then discarded by the stronger sex. We have decided that the much admired- virtue in Lao-women must be dropped from our curriculum. We were confident that we could become who we like, in France. France has given us the power to dream of being free, to become who we really were meant to be.

Most but not all, Eurasian held an opinion that their mothers suffered more in the hands of the colonists from all Europeans countries; ranging from Dutch, German, Spanish, Italian, French and the American, throughout their submissive history. The pretty Lao women were forced into servile roles, intensive labour and even prostitution. It was a custom for many of the soldiers to marry a local woman, even if just for a month, to win hearts and minds of the natives.

Of course the women were romantically innocent; they were submissive genteel damsels to their stronger male dominator. They wanted to please their masters. They valued being picked for their special beauty and tenderness. The Laotian were loyally delighted to be loved by these strangers.

Their lovers gave them roles which were to ‘soothe’ and ‘pleasure’ their men. If their men were angry or displeased with them, then it was their faults. They didn't mind sacrificing themselves, running his house, bearing his bastards-children and slaving for him.—Being ‘feminine’ for him.’- Was all they can offer for a live with the ‘Fa lang-foreigner?

Many of these master/lovers submitted their women to being a servant/ concubine/ sexual -play-things, to satisfy their lusts and fantasies. Launay had seen her aunty who was a cook/wife to French professor, went through some horrific soda-masochistic sexual experiences with both himself and his French wife. They took turns in demanding sex. They used her body like sex-toys, her body becoming slave to theirs demands, and, there was nothing her niece could do to stop them. Launay said many times to all her friends that she was so angry to see that her aunty was so abused but she was powerless to help. Launay still have nightmare about things she had witness, done to her aunt.

“They both hit her so hard, sometime using leader belt; they took turns doing the flogging; they whipped her arse so hard that she did not sit down for days”

Launay recounted one particular story which puzzling both Suky and me.

“after an intense-love-making with her bosses”, with sad mystified-face, Launay said; “my docile aunty slept on her tummy on the bed we share, smiling like a cat that’s got the cream and sighed and moaned in her sleep”, Launay shivered;

“it disgusted me when I heard her moan dreamily; she twisted her body and arched her bum like a cat on heat; I have to wake her up from her erotic- nightmarish dream; but would you believed me when I am telling you that she looks happy, she even smiles, rubbing her eyes, and then scolding me for waking her up!”

We were horrified to hear what Launay’s aunty had come to accept her submissiveness. We were all so incensed that we vowed revenge on all French-men.

‘Imagining that some women would be so distraught to be used as such sexual plaything? But not these servile and submissive women:

“I wasn’t sure whose mouth, master entered first. I or his wife but I swallowed all of his fluid. The master used to plunge very swiftly from one mouth to the other and it was pot luck who got the semen.” Pa Maa said nostalgically. It made us sick.

We discussed this topic endlessly between ourselves in low- furious whispers. We assumed that the grief from this kind of experiences, must be enormous, overwhelming and destructive…

If they protested, the women not only faced losing their biracial kids but their dignities. Their loyalties were literally, treated like unwanted garbage, and the most painful experiences would be then, when their lovers/strangers left…

Not only had their tormentors abandoned them to their fate, some of them like my father, took, stolen the fruit of their loins; and in most cases, the children were too young to resist being taken from their lawful mothers and did not realize the impact of what was happening:

‘Where is my baby, my beautiful Marguerite?’ was my mother’s heart-breaking-wail. No wonder the Colonists were branded as national kidnappers by the Indigenous In do-Chinese-people.

***

The irrevocable decision I made to marry for stability might have been the only option left for me especially after being chased from pillar to post by men in Scotland, modelling swimwear. I pulled out an old faded letter from a dear friend of those era to reread as if I wanted confirmation that marrying in haste just to have roots was not only a deep cry from the heart but an absolute necessity:

Glasgow, 27 Feb, 1970;

My dearest Mona,

You up for reminiscence? I am. Do you remember our modelling days? The fun we used to have? I found that I am thinking about it more and more as I gets older. All the plans we used to make. We wanted rich man thinking money would solve our fear and secure our future. I went off with someone who was connected with The Rockefeller (for God’s sake!) and there was also the evening we met Jess Conrad, my god....he couldn't take his eyes off you but I think you had to leave to meet Kelly or Kelly was coming to give you a lift home.

Yes I remembered, I whispered softly to myself, the cat gave me one of her look. I folded the letter, put it down and looked out over the emerald-Normandy valley. Shall we go away this week-end? The cat ignored me, sighed and stretched out sensually under the warm sun. I envied her feline laziness.

I reminded myself I should finish reading the letter before making the supper to eat in complete muteness while watching my husband breaking his bread as if he was taking an oat of silence; the white of his eyes staring at me as he chew.

The letter was shaking in my hand or was it my hand shook as I read the next lines, written in Lisa’s neat elegant stroke:

I think Jess Conrad ended up with Sally Cobbles...do you remember her? She was quite full of herself and I think she thought she was better than us!

After that, I ended up working more or less exclusively for Graham Robinson in Queen Street, it never occurred to me that he was in love with me, I always thought he thought of me in a 'fatherly' way. How wrong was I! When I told him I had decided to leave Ronald and go off to America with Michael....he went completely mad, he even tried to take an overdose.

I had to call the paramedics and he was taken away to have his stomach pumped! When I left I went down to Stone, Staffordshire to get some peace and quiet until my visa for the States came through. Graham got together with Ronald and they hired a private detective to follow me around, it was pathetic!

Graham even arranged to meet my mother for lunch and tried to persuade her to have me committed to prevent me leaving for the States! My mother laughed in his face and told him how pathetic he was, she reminded him I was an adult and knew my own mind. So off I went to America....Graham actually gave me a return ticket just in case I wanted to come home but couldn't afford to....so that was a genuinely nice thing to do and I forgave him for all the trouble he had caused me.

 

Do you remember another fashion agent who was not very tall, his showrooms were in St. Enoch Square, and his name was Rory Catterton. I had a lot of fun little Roy and I know he also liked you a lot too, he was very cheeky but in a nice way that would make you laugh. Speak soon,

Love,

Lisa XXX

I also had a laugh remembering pint size Rory who has an SMS (Small Man Syndrome) and raging libido with such a big cock that it made him look positively lopsided all the times, standing up. I told Him about Rory, one late night in December:

[12/30/2013 3:18:25 PM]: Did he have a hard on all day?

Me: when did he not have it?

[12/30/2013 3:20:47 PM]: Did you ever fuck together? Ménage et trios

[12/30/2013 3:22:17 PM]: The photo he took of you is very good and I can imagine it looks like you sitting on a big hard cock!

Me: It was to promote his shirt which he designed for Pringle.

[12/30/2013 3:25:50 PM]: Did that make you come harder!

Me: Don’t be corny-horny, it was a rock, not a cock. Your mind is dirty and polluted.

[12/30/2013 3:28:03 PM]: My mind is not polluted! I am a lover of pleasure!

[12/30/2013 3:31:15 PM]: Was it worth it? The money? Did you seduce him?

Me: more or less flirting with them. They like that.

[12/30/2013 3:32:19 PM]: How did you seduce him?

Me: I watched Lisa

[12/30/2013 3:34:57 PM]: What was your favorite position to watch in?

Me: what do you think of the pose in Pringle-shirt?

[12/30/2013 3:37:48 PM]: Go ahead and change the subject but a Pity....I would love to have seen what was under the top!

Me: I wore nothing under that shirt. It is a man shirt.

[12/30/2013 3:38:09 PM]: You are making my cock hard!

[12/30/2013 3:42:18 PM]: You have great poise and style that is what caught my eye! It is now I think that I would love to have seen your breasts!

[12/30/2013 3:44:30 PM]: And played with them!

[12/30/2013 3:45:29 PM]: We must get back to writing erotica....I will write the first line you the second!

Me: OK

[12/30/2013 3:46:13 PM]: He felt her rub against him as he stood in the coffee room.

[12/30/2013 3:47:16 PM]: He complimented her on her top which presented her large breasts so well!

[12/30/2013 3:47:31 PM]: He felt his cock stir.

[12/30/2013 3:48:28 PM]: She looked at the bulge in his trousers. "Who are you going to satisfy with that?" she asked scornfully.

[12/30/2013 3:48:53 PM]: "You", he replied looking her in the eye.

[12/30/2013 3:51:34 PM]: I stood outside the door and heard you fingering!

[12/30/2013 3:52:43 PM]: I knocked on the door you opened and I bent you over the sink pulled down your knickers and you reached for my cock and began to wank me!

[12/30/2013 3:53:41 PM: I fingered your wet pussy taking time to rub your erect clit. I thrust my cock in your hand!

In my sixth decade, this was the first time I was turn on by dirty talk and I was ashamed that he thought I would be attracted to his lewd remarks. I hated it when men became lecherous. My modelling friend, Lisa and I ran away from such a man in our hay-days on the fashion cat-walk. Believed me there were many of those randy men in the fashion world.

Nevertheless, as a post menopausal lady, I had more courage and zest than an average young woman. So I pushed the negative feeling to one side and continued the chat. Toward the end, I told him that even thought I was writing a novel with hot love-scenes, I hold on to certain principle and ethics.

He was too close to being a porn star for my liking and I had to tell him off.

Yes, I was annoyed, and, I had to let him know. And yet, as I pretended I was cross, I was secretly being moved but I told him that I wanted to be taken seriously; ‘Taken?’- Oh no I hope he didn't catch that Freudian slip. I wanted to be compared to the like of Anais Nin.

His answer came straight away; flatteringly transparent:

Him= Sure you will; with my help! She was very erotic and philosophical...an intriguing combination in a woman! Most female Philosophers are, this is one of hers:

(There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don't work.)

Me=Oh it’s beautiful!

Him= I have met a few of these women. They are very sensual and passionate in their sex and their hate!

Me=you read any of her romances?

Him= Yes, she wrote – ‘Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of withering, of tarnishing.

Me=Oh my God, she is good. I could never write like that!

Him= She and her husband, I think they had quite a heated relationship! Lots of sex, drunkenness and violence.

Me=sexual beings are alive they are the SOURCE. Marquis De Sade, Henry Miller, are also worth a read!

Him=Marquise, I got the one about the nun, not very romantic, Henry miller, no. Was he Marilyn’s husband?

Me= Yes, I remember now- Henry and June is about their relationship. Delta of Venus and Little Birds are very erotic! http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_9?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=anais+nin&sprefix=Anais+Nin%2Caps%2C1224; look it up.

Him= I will, thanks.

***

Love never die a natural death

Mine never had a chance. I have been unhappily married for years, after being abandoned, first by a father then by my first love so I didn't take a chance on love; again. I married a strong silence type...

Before that, I had loved one man. I had fallen so totally for Jay that his happiness became my ‘reason-d'etre’. In my whole life people ranked me among the most intelligent, but I was blind and stupid in love. Only a blind and stupid person could continue to love passionately a man who had dropped her, so unmercifully. His beautiful greenly-amber-eyes haunted me to this day. After he left, I didn't eat for days and never slept but when sleep overtook I was in bed for a long period. When I am awake, my sobs knotted my throat and I gasped for breath. I walked around like a Zombie. Friends and Family were worried for my mental health. Madame Boudin sent Launay and me to France, to continue our study.

This marriage was my mean to an end, looking for love, was useless. A sob still broke out of my throat when I thought of Jay and what my life would have turned out if he was still my beloved:

Jay Konrad arrived at Mouing (town) Thakhek during the height of the rains. With pure feelings of insane hope. In the middle of a colossal downpour he reminded himself that this was the rainy season and it was not the best of time to arrive at any place in the tropic. The water was everywhere and the roads were universally, running with liquid mud.

It was 1960, and Jay Konrad had come to make his fortune out of the war. On arrival, he stumbles across a teacher from Scotland whom he suspected to be more than what he pretended to be. They soon became drinking buddies:

“How long have you been in Laos?” Jay asked Kenny one rainy day while they were waiting for their beer-Lao.

“One too many rainy days, it rains non-stop since my arrival” his new friend said gloomily and added “Not long but I intend to remain here for a long time. twisting his aquiline-nose and exhaling the humid air...

Both men sipped their drinks and eyeing the small-frame waitress when she put the bottle of Lao-beer on the bamboo table. By night fall, the table was littered with empty bottles and the sky had cleared after so much rain. The moon bathed the bar with an eerie light. Thailand on the opposite bank of the Mekong was glowing with electric lights. Kenny said:

“You need to buy yourself a native or a Eurasian girl.” Jay nearly choked on his beer, looking at Kenny as if he was mad.

“I’m serious; you need someone to take care of your needs, washed and cooked and so on for you.”

“There are plenty Chinese cooks for hire,” Jay answered, “I shall hire one as soon as I can find a good one.”

“You can’t fuck a Chinese cook, unless of course… you are that way incline” Kenny appeared to tease Jay. They ordered more beers.

‘I will give it a serious thought as far as having a house boy and that is it” They clinked bottle. Jay mind wandered back to how his life was well-ordered, back home in New Jersey. His mother took care of his every needs and he missed her cooking. He told Kenny:

“My mother is an excellent cook. She said there is no excuse for a woman who can’t cook. Mother has no time for woman of non-domestic talent.”

“A Jewish mother?”

“That has nothing to do with it. Mother said straight out that such a woman had too much times on her hands” Jay answer crossly.

“What would your mum has to say about these Eurasian girls?” Jay ‘eyes showed great terror, shock and embarrassment; he shuddered.

His mother had always said she wanted to save him and make him understand that filth such a woman can bring into their ordered life, will kill her:

‘I never wanted your body soiled by them. I am interested in your health and your purity’ she told him, caressing his long blond-hair. She also said to him on several occasions that:

“I want to make you understand that only by keeping yourself pure can you be happy until your find the equally pure woman to share your life”. There was no point in contradicting mother. None whatsoever. Jay ruminated.

After entering his twenty-fifth birthday, Jay felt that his possessive mother had now interfered too much with his sex-life and finally decided that he had to break free in order to meet the opposite sex without disturbing his mother’s peace of mind. He had to get away from his mother, far, far away.

He ended in Laos because his hand-writing was misinterpreted. In the assignment form, he put Lagos but got sent to Laos instead. The NSA’s human resources failed to see the ‘G’.

I was interrupted by a message bleeped, bleeping and bleeped again. I put all my thoughts down on paper before looking at the message box, which was my original intention but it was hard to ignore it any further:

Him: What are you doing? Where is the sex? You are going on too long without the love scenes…

I was quiet annoyed with this kind of interruption from him but I could not ignore him. One of the way I dealt with this situation when it arrived, was to pretend to be a jailer and made him a prisoner. It’s worked but not all the times.

Me: just be patient and read on; I repeat this is not porn-it is a romance.

Him: sigh, Okay. I am reading, I am reading it now.

The next day, the monsoon rains started on schedule just right after he finished work. Jay dashed into his house but could not avoid getting soaked by the warm rain. He showered and changed his cloth, ready to meet Kenny for the pre-dinner drinks at their usual small bar. He loved that bar. It had the open plan which included the pavement. One big room full of bamboo tables and teak chairs. The cooking area was outside but at the back of the hut-like-bar. Kenny and he took in lovely views of girls walking by and fantastic sunset spectacle too.

He got soaked again by the pouring rain when he returned home. The next morning the sky was magically clear, the sun shone so bright it woke him up early. He went out into the veranda. Tentatively sniffing the light air as he took a long slow breath, he had to hold it in as he saw two stunning, beautiful young women stood on the street opposite his veranda and mesmerized by their beauties; he forgot to breath out; one of them he had seen before, somewhere. His breath escaped in a spurt with his mouth forced open, he went ‘o’.

Neither the light of the moon, nor the forest noises would put him to sleep that night. He remained awake for a long time thinking what he would do to the girls:

‘They must enjoyed being the submissive bitches; like their mothers who were used by the French men. He imagined their breaths started to tighten up as they were approaching the climax…’ He was now fully hard to bursting point;

“Fuck me harder” He visualized their yells. And all his muscles ached for the pleasure. He pulled his cock out and started jerking himself off.’

Him: that’s better. I want to make love now or can you help wanking me off?

ME: good for you and good luck, try a good sex shop.

Him: We actually don't have a sex shop in Edinburgh! Closed down! (Protestants! lol!).

The illustrious artwork of William Blake’s lustful sinners swirling through an eternal tempest flashed in my brain. I am in a strange erotic nightmare. What was this man trying to do to me? To a sixty years old woman. I was angry:

Me: you are in isolation!

Him: For how long?

Me: until you get rid of a pink elephant!

Him: can you help out?

Me: no, but in fantasy, remember: there are two ways to reach me; by a kiss or by ways of fantasy.

Him: Fancy a fantasy fuck now?

Me: You are out of bound, good bye!

What he said after that didn't registered and I didn't answer, trying to control my emotion. I hold my breath in as I inhaled, then blow out with a long slow sigh, as once, he taught me to do. Darn it, I could not go back to my writing until he stopped or sighed off.

Him: Before lunch!

Exasperated, I wrote quickly

ME: no, you are working, I am working and YOU ARE IN ISOLATION. This is an order!

Him: Om

Chat conversation end.

***

***

I hope this time he was sincerely sorry for overstepped the boundary. I assumed he had not been drinking; he said he was at work.

I didn’t care if he sulked, all my men sulked, especially Barry. My good husband Barry once told me that he and his first wife, sometimes, didn't speak for six months after an argument. What a life I thought. All the long years of our marriage, it was me who commenced the careful-crafted conversation after one hour, on the dead stony-silence of our frequent misunderstandings; how pathetic! I hated my husband.

“Sorry I am drunk” was His excuse before and I have heard that somewhere before…, many times. My whole life I accepted excuses from men and in my whole life, I never thought I could live without a man and still thought now that I couldn't live without my husband. But now post-menopausal, I am a stronger person in every ways, Could I exist without a man?

I was unfair about Barry, overall he was a good husband. I knew there was another side to him, apart from being a very good provider to his family. I doubt if there wasn't a good side, I wouldn't be with him still, surely? He was a marvellous cook for a start. He showed his love to his family by feeding them. It’s showed on me, I am twice the size I was before I married him.

Once again the same question kept cropping up:

Could I exist without a man? Could I live without Barry? What would happen to me if Barry die?

I always knew when my husband cooked something special like curry prawn or Moule marinere that he had ideas for later. Anyway, back to the writing and as soon as I had finished another chapter I sent my shadow-partner an email with the attachment:

I carried on pouring my anger and frustration in my writing. Turning sometimes to fantasy but mostly asking myself:

Why the hell I am doing this? What’s wrong with me? Where the hell I am going from here?

Laughing now at myself, I said ‘In to the romance I go’. I wrote and wrote and then send him an extract.

From Me:

Hi! Please read and critique, as promise.

Highest Regards,

Mona.

But I wasn't sure if he was still mad about our last chat, so I waited nervously for a reply. It’s came so suddenly, it startled me so much that my mind went blank; my heart somersaulted.

[12/29/2013 11:46:18 AM]Him: Your English is very good but I will correct bits of it! And send it back to you!

That’s what Jay said to me long ago on the bank of the Mékong while caressing my breasts tenderly:

“Your English is so good… You are so beautiful”

I knew now that all the flatteries were lies. I learned too late the road to betrayal and to purgatory. One thing stuck in my mind was when Jay plied me with lovely complement was the day I smell strong feminine stink; the odour of sex.

My fantasy tonight was much the same as always. That my husband would miraculously be as romantic as my hero in the novel and came to my bed full of lust and love and then we would fall asleep wrapped around each other after a night of red hot passion.

I didn't want to be a moaning bitchy wife but our marriage was off to a bad start, wasted on romance. Barry was a strong ‘He-man’ type-‘fuck the wife then went to sleep’-kind of guy.

Barry worked hard for our family. We nearly went bankrupt once or twice but we pulled through. He was one quiet psycho kid at school and he remained quietly psycho as a husband. To be fair he was only psycho when he drank too much…

He didn't want to be interrupted and told that he had enough drink when he was in the mood. He didn't want to be interfered with when he talked to a woman when he was in full flow.

“Come to bed” I told him, late one night after the Christening of our baby girl. He came and made furious love to me. I was exhausted that night so begged him to back off after many bouts of violent sex.

“Shut up and be a proper wife”

I went upstairs to get a kitchen knife when he broke off to go for pee;

“See this knife!” I said,” I will cut off your penis if you come near me again”.

He went upstairs to the kitchen, after the incident to resume the drinking, again. We lived in that upside house for five years and I hated our life ever since. Why I am still married to him? Romance, illusion, eternal optimist or insanely insecure? Some night, I dreamed I heard someone said to me:

You will know the truth, only in death!’ and I wanted to die.

The revised version arrived, after breakfast, on cold winter morning. The wind had thrash the wall-nuts of all the tree and I had to go and chase the pigs away from the wind-fall. It was the only exercise I did nowadays; chasing the greedy animals. To think, I was one of the elite-agent in Laos when I was younger. ‘Ah, Mona,’ I chided myself out loud. Oh I forget to say that I spoke more to myself as I got older. ‘Don’t look back’.

The revised erotica; from Him:

-The government had gain control of Thakhek. So back to the jungle, we returned. We stopped to rest infrequently, preferably when there was a stream or water hole. In the intense humidity and heat we were always soaking wet. We would immediately strip off and wash in the shallow- pool. Suky would make a display of her nakedness to taunt all the male.

Then the girls would then promptly put the same water from the same pool to boil tree-barks as a kind of tea for everyone to drink. But that day the water was too brown so it was my turn, to search out the new source to bring the water up from the deeper hole. Once found, I had to climb down many slippery stones, polished like marble to get to the water. I had to grip the stone surface with my toes and went down on my buttocks very, very slowly. With complete attention and clear- mindfulness I slithered down with the wooden bucket.

Suddenly I heard a distinct gasp among the quietness of jungle ferns. I pulled myself up to my full height and peeped through between the two large stones. I saw Maggi learning on the giant stone, stark naked. Her knees drawn up to her chest while a soldier buried his head between her youthful limbs.

My heart skipped a beat and I hold my breath. Her long fingers caressed his bare-torso and she was wiggling her bottom in tune with his deep sighs and slurps. I went rigid and almost let out a loud groan when he breathed in hard, snarled like an animal, propped himself rigid on his knees, took hold of his hard cock and inserted into her.

I practically had to force my whole body to merge onto the big stone to keep myself from stumbling down the deep water hole. It felt so very good as my sex was connected to it. I never had a man inside me but I pressed my thighs together and arched my back, trusting forward to press my sex even tighter to the hard rock. It felt really, really god. My body straining toward its smooth, cool surface. I rocked my hips to and fro while watching Maggi swaying her bottom and when she slammed into her soldier I did the same, but harder to my rock; never for one minute taken my eyes off them. It was a complete new sensation, my limbs trembled, my heart racing.

By now, they were in a frenzy and I was rubbing on the big boulder with fury. The pleasant sensation electrified my body and soul. I had no time to think or analyze this new feeling. I was in the throes of erotic urges. I pushed my vagina forward and with the slow roll of my hips brushing firmly against the hard smooth rock, in rhythm with Maggi; the sensation was mind blowing!

I maintained a steady erotic cadences until my swollen clitoris could not stand another strong friction any longer and I exploded; so was Maggi. Afterwards, still completely dazed with surprise but feeling deep ecstatic joy, I almost lost my balance in the rush to get away from the boulder. I looked up to see Maggi pushing her man away, impatiently from her, with her bare-foot: He had paid up on demand and she was done with him.

Somehow I managed to crawl out to join our comrade and we got through the jungle as best we could. We did not have much equipment compared with the soldiers, only the bare essential. Fifteen minutes later, I was surprised to see Maggi striding pass me with no ill effect from her copulation, in fact she looked positively sparkling. ‘Whore’ I thought and to think we might be related, sicken me.

After two months of marching up north; some girls from our group were dropping down like rotting fruit from fever and exhaustion. We had to carry some of them but Suky, Maggi and me remained on our feet. The jungle became thicker and darker. We encountered more wild animal, snakes and monkeys were everywhere. We hunted them for meat:

“Which one of these beautiful creatures will crack up next? My dream is to die drunk fucking one of them”, one Pathet-Lao soldier said to his comrade.

“I won’t be surprised if they all were to drop dead. They always do. It’s the soft European blood bits that’s let them down. The Hmong will take the weakest ones in and healing them then trained them up again until they got stronger. We don’t want to lose any of these Eurasian girls, these are the elites, hand-picked by Madame Boudin.”

“So it’s the mix-blood which makes them so fragile then? They are not as resilient as the Lao-women but we kept our women at home and in rice-fields so we need these Eurasian”.

“But are they any good for fucking?” was all the other soldier said before he hurried us on;

“Normally they are only fit for serving in bars or prostitution as they are so very beautifully made and very frisky in bed. As you can appreciate, these half-caste are visually very attractive, they have delicate beautiful legs and slim neck and lovely breasts. Their skins are like coconut-milk, eyes the color of French-chocolate, almost purple-brown or hazel.” His friend explained in a thickened voice; hungrily appraising Maggi’s tight-sexy ass then he shouted hoarsely:

“Hurry along.” And drew us into a single line. I thought his description of the half-caste fitted Maggi beautifully. It was almost impossible that he could guess how easy it would be for him to pleasure himself with her, despite the fact that soldiers, strictly speaking, are forbidden to have any relationship with us.

Maggi also wanted to go to Europe or America but not as a student but as an actress or model. I told her that she had a perfectly-proportion beautiful- figure and was very desirable but at five foot, she was too short for modelling.

“You are a terrible jealous bitch”

“No, she right Maggi. I heard you have to be as tall as me to be a model” Suky backed me up;

“Shame that you are so ugly and have teeth like a horse” Maggi snorted and pushed at the girl in front to get away from us.’

***

A kind of apology

Late winter, strong wind had tossed two trees down into the frozen and barren field. I looked at the sad fallen trees and knew that they could not stand up again as I could not cancelled half a line of my writing to make things right. All my tears would not raise the dead trees nor wash out a word of the writing about this life.

Today, was ever so cold outside but inside it was roasting, the log fire burning furiously, making spitting sound.

“You go ahead, darling, I am feeling tired but I have to finish the chapter of my manuscript before the festive New Year parties” and I gave him my sweetest smile with a long shopping-list.

“O.K dear, I know all about that, I have been there” he said, turning to peck me on the cheek.

Been there, done that’ Barry had no idea where I have been and what I has done. I felt guilty, very guilty.

When Barry left, instead of doing my writing I decided to go out into the cold to take out my guilty anger on the dreaded weeds-the rambling- Brambles. I am in my element when cutting and tearing down the brambles... I poured out all my frustration, my remorse and my longing on the blasted brambles. Kill, kill, destroy… My mind slowly turned to the times my grandmother and me working in the rice-fields, in Laos.

She brought me up, I took her totally for granted, and her unselfish love went unnoticed by me. I roamed around undressed, wrapped around only in a Sinh; (a single piece-Lao cloth). She was so happy when I helped her in the vegetable garden or in the rice-paddies and I never once told her that I loved her or that, sometimes, my hungry tummy would force me to steal from the neighbor.

Exhausted from weed-killing, I went back in the house and prepared to send the manuscript. This part was a very painful for me to write. I hesitated a little before pressing ‘sent’. After only forty-six minutes, he sent back my script.

The chat box on Face Book lighted-up.

[12/29/2013 11:26:21 AM] him: Hi, sorry! About our chat, the last time. What should I say now?

Me=just say what you feel and I will let you know if you are out of bound again.

[12/29/2013 11:45:52 AM]: Okay, deal. I can work on this piece with you!

Me=very kind of you.

He’s back! Vive Erotica!

My job was to write and steer the conversation of my shadowy (him) co-writer to get out a good story. I was trying to change my world. Most of us had clear ideas of what we don’t want but not what we really want. I was no different in that department of Negative-gangs.

I bent down to scratch an old mosquitoes’ bite. An intolerable itch, similar to how I felt about my life and my writing. A vague itch, a vague and unidentifiable needs, a kind of hunger but of what?

Was I really unhappy? I certainly had more than some women ever could. I was very attractive, intelligent, charmingly extrovert. My effervescent personality was what drawn Barry to marry me. There was no doubt we were ‘unsuitable’ to marry, the point my good friend Guendolen was happy to tell me, on our hen-night. In fact she said she wasn't going to waste a lot of money buying us present for my wedding day as it wouldn't last long anyway.

We were still married, long after our friends got divorced. The fact that we rarely have sex now didn’t make me unhappy. But why this emptiness-this unpronounceable needs?

I must send my shadow the piece I had just finished, as promised. It was one way to gauze his reaction, before I added some erotic scenes. I took a long deep breath, hesitated for a minute and then quickly, irrevocably; press ‘send’:

‘The morning arrived full of promises. The frangipani trees were full of creamy-white flowers, petals tinged with delicate pink. The fragile flowers represent hope eternal for us all and especially conquering fragility of live, of broken promise, of hate; for me. It gave our group the courage and the strong will to refuse to accept submission, silently and without a fight.

And all of us possessed very strong will to survive…People who understood the eternal life of the frangipani did not wonder that our tough fighting group was given a name of such fragile looking flowers. Kenny, our English teacher was very aware of this, sometime I gleamed fear and apprehension in his eyes when he spoke to us. I thought he admired us and was very fond of the group; especially Launay and me.

‘It must be the tropical-sun’ Kenny thought, ‘which bring out the body-awareness and the fire of passion burning hotly within all Eurasian-girls’. Abruptly he stopped speculating and swivelled around at the end of the garden, made an about turn, went in the house and found a note from Launay.

"Why are we hiding like rats in full day light? Why can't we be seen together like two lovers”?

Kenny demanded as soon as they met.

The fisherman hut on the sand dune which Launay hired, was their meeting place. Launay hushed him, turning his head to hers, on tip toes, she kissed his lips. She gave him beautiful, exciting, dangerous smile. She was not frighten of him but a little shaken with passionate expectation and a kind of delicious surprise to see him so angry with their silly but dangerous situation.

He suddenly, pulled her down on the bamboo floor. He lifted her Sinh up (one piece cloth that the Lao peasant woman wore, tied on the chest just above her breasts). He parted her trembling legs. His action was so unexpected that Launay forgot herself. She was too surprised and stunned at his bravado that she did not think to protest. He looked at her sex, delighted grin showed itself on his handsome face. Her sex was moist and bathed in rosy-brown velvet. Kenny was beyond being excited, he grown large and trembling...

Mystified but delighted by the sudden change in him and still a little dazed Launay wiggled her body and drew up her knees.

"just do it" she said to him.’ do what you want and please be quick"

He did not answer her but torn off her sinh, exposing her well-rounded pamplemous. He squeezed them, licked them and moaned. Launay felt a tug at her loin, wetness covered her cave with exquisite sensation. ‘Wonder of wonder...”She thought excitedly.

"What are you doing to me? Are you going to do the ‘si’ (fuck) that I have heard about? ‘Are you going to fuck me?" Her voice shaking, she draw her legs apart, wider.

As if he understood her, silently he nodded and lower his body and entered her.

‘Oh my; it hurts, you are so big, and how can I accommodated all this manhood, look it’s like a rolling pin’. She gasped and the she shifted her position, stretched her legs up above his head. Linked her slim ankles together and hold tight. The twigs beneath her tickled her bum. The smell of rotten leave filtered in her subconscious. The odor of sex, excited her and she breathed in and groaned ‘sii me, sii me, sii me (do it to me, fuck me.) She yelled, her voice vibrated all over the damp sand dune; the birds flew out of the betel-palm-trees. The sound of the frogs croaking to compete with their groans was shrilling and the crickets sang out with joy.

He quivered, shook; pulled out of her, his sex was hard and strong hovering over her two pinky/purple-lips which was wet and half-opened. Impatiently she pulled down his buttock and guided his penis back in.

He sighed, a big long sigh and pummelled into her again and again. Unexpectedly Launay now desired him more than ever, madly moving her hips from side to side and kept the tempo with his thrusts. They reached their dark hot heaven trembling and soaking in perspiration, their bodies wet and slimy like two snakes entwined; simultaneously.

They remained silent for a long time. The doves returned to the palm and cooed…Suddenly, Launay asked:

"How long will we be able to continue to love like this?" The lover rested his head on her knees, look out to the river, over the shore of monsoon-silted sand. He saw small boats bobbling about on the surface of the milky water. Thailand was visible as dark green forest of bamboo, golden temple surrounded by palm trees, on the opposite shore. He pressed his mouth against her naked thigh,

"I have no idea and not enough courage to promise you anything. I daren’t guess at the outcome of our love or how long will we be able to remain the same. You have made a sacrifice by letting me love you like this. Many times I wanted to let you go for your sake as I knew that it is dangerous for you to be with me but I am a coward, please forgive me..."

Launay hold him tighter to her and cried

The next day his critique came before lunch while I was setting the table for eight people. The coq au vin in a huge orange casserole was bubbling away on top of the wood-stove, giving out strong aroma of meat and herbs cooked in red-wine. Tarte au pommes was in the oven.

The kitchen was hot and perfumed with all sort of aroma, ranging from the cat-tray under the sink, the dropping of my favourite hen who like to help in the kitchen by picking tit-bits when the cat wasn't around. All morning my son-in-law tended the fire and now I was sweating cob.

I yearned for central heating where you could turn on or off- the heat. I was not brave these days to wear flimsy clothes or showing off my physic but it was so hot in the kitchen that I had to take off nearly all my top garment, bar a pale-low cut- cream-silk-camisole. I looked at my reflection and was happily surprised to see a ripe-sexy lady with long hair pile up, hot red cheeks and full red-lips and a hint of large dark nipples showing through the cream lace…

The dark areolae around both nipples were clearly visible but I didn't care. Out of devilish bet we made earlier in the chat room I impulsively sent him a selfie of this strange erotic image of this strangely sexy ‘femme mur’ (similar to Emile Zola- washer-woman) to him.

This was not good. I was in a real panic after pressing ‘send’ but it was too late. What have I done? I am really in trouble now!

[12/30/2013 11:47:01 AM] Him: Vow! I can start reading it (the novel) after I have had a wank! Lol. You ARE so sexy in this pic!

Me=destroy it.

I ordered but there was no reply. After what seemed, ages, he wrote:

[12/30/2013 11:50:07 AM]: Vow, you have lovely big boobs! Might be useful to add a bit (in the novel) about somebody coming up behind the man and pulling his cock out and masturbating himself like mad.....

Me=here we go again, you can’t be mixing romance with porn…keep your sexual fantasy to yourself. It’s so predictable.

[12/30/2013 11:51:25 AM]: predictable is not interesting but a tit wank should be in there! Somewhere! Anonymous sex.....is hot!

Me= I notice that in your erotica, a woman becomes a play thing, a tit to masturbate with and it didn't include the poor woman who own those tits, swearing eternal, faithful and undying love.

[12/30/2013 11:52:50 AM]: Sex talk in the erotica, making it flow with sexy juices. Who’s talking about love?

Me=I am writing a romance, after all.

***

We chatted mainly late at night when my husband was snoring loudly beside me. One night I forgot to turn the volume down it woke him up:

“Who...What are you doing?” he asked sleepily and turned further away from me, “Turn the darn thing off” he ordered.

“Fuck you!” I said,

“What?”

“Go to hell!” and I got out of bed with my laptop.

I looked at my husband with outright disgust. The fat big pork-belly pig. The big German bully. The husband who find sex only for a release after hard-day’ work. He did it every night before he went to sleep. Now past sixty he had no sexual desire left and I am left to look after myself.

The oddest things about all these dirty talks between Him (my shadow-co-author) and me, was rejuvenating my dead libido but when the sun came up, little by little the guilt took over. The night was erotica and the hungry eyes out there, I wondered if I saw my own hunger, would I recognized it?

As the pink dawn arrived like a blushing bride, the goats needed milking, the chicken and the children fed but the cats always came first, before the children and other animals. I love my cats, they were keeping me sane.

Here goes reality checked

In the morning, when all the chores were done, I sat on the front door step with steaming cup of black coffee, looking down into the valley. The sun-bleached-wheat-fields glowed. I wondered about the children, about the men, about everything and I felt old, stupid, sad, tired and pathetic and, and…

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...

The way out

Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like Kluber-Krast's other books...