Tag Archives: first draft

Opening Pandora: A Prologue

 After that sexy musings blurb (see previous post) I decided to keep writing to see where it took me. The result was a prologue. I have no idea if it will stay a prologue, or if I will cut it, dissect it and mine it for gems, relocate it, or scrap it all together. Such is the uncertainty of first drafts, but I do like it. 😀 So, here for your edification, I give you the prologue to Opening Pandora a new creative vision.  <3

Prologue

I shouldn’t be here. I leaned my head against the steering wheel and closed my eyes, fisting the warm leather, knowing even as I thought it, even as I hesitated, there was no turning back. At any point during the drive, I could have turned around, but I kept going, sight fixed on the road ahead, the specters of doubt and recrimination chasing me like street racers. But they’d lost. I’d made it. Pandora’s box parked hidden within a concrete jungle of normalcy and mediocrity.

I scanned the sea of humanity, focused on staying invisible while I lifted my ass off the leather seat and slid my hands underneath my skirt. Two fingers hooked around the band of my thong, and I slid the fabric down my legs, the cool flush of exposure trailing in its wake. Part of the lace caught on the stiletto of my shoe, and I struggled to set it free, desperate to avoid drawing attention to myself. Just a random person in a car. No need to look. Nothing untoward or salacious here.

I fisted the panties and stuffed them in my purse, heart pounding. All I had to do now was open the door and step out. I gauged the distance from the parking lot to the mall entrance. Maybe twenty-five feet separated them, yet it seemed like a chasm hundreds of yards wide, each crack and chip in the pavement defined by the brilliance of a million spotlights, their beams focused, waiting.

I gripped the door handle, and a band of gold caught the sunlight. Stomach tight,. I glanced over my shoulder and slipped the ring off my finger, dropping it in the drink holder of the console. It fell without a sound. The receipt from my son’s new soccer cleats stuffed in the plastic cavern muffled the finality. I covered it all with a take-out napkin and opened the door.

Heat rose in waves off hoods and roofs, echoing the wobble of shaking legs as I stood, back to the metal. A cool breeze played with the hem of my dress, and I tugged it lower, a disconcerting dampness spreading between my legs. I craved the security a tiny strip of cotton could provide, but my instructions had been to come without underwear. I swallowed the urge to slink back into the car.

I didn’t have time for a pep talk. Those days had long past. I needed to open the box and let the world deal with the consequences. I was beyond saving. I glanced at the glass doors, watching shoppers mill in and out, oblivious to the turmoil around them.

I found a steadying breath and pushed off, taking my first tentative, tenuous step toward the man who wanted to fuck me.

Sexy Musings in the Morning

This is what happens when your muse makes you write something during the wee hours of the morning… I feel a story coming on….

“Have you ever craved desire? Not the wanting, but the feeling of being desired. Not by a lover or significant other, but by a stranger, someone who doesn’t owe you years of commitment or who doesn’t feel trapped by layers of guilt and socially acceptable notions of loyalty. Do you long to be looked at with hunger from someone you’ve never met, or perhaps from someone you’ve met only once—in the briefest of glances, the most insignificant of occurrences—but felt that spark, that pull of fate, drawing you together in a snowball’s avalanche of reckoning?

If you have, you’ll know what compelled me. You’ll understand why I did it. If you haven’t then I can only offer sympathy, for you truly haven’t lived.”

For the Record

From today’s writing: Hot in Aruba

Hot in Aruba

My feet moved mechanically. I was a sexually active woman. I loved sex. I craved the intimacy and high of climax, yet around Carlos, I acted like a girl who’d barely been kissed. And why? Because I was bent on us being friends. That old record was seriously wearing out its groove.

When he’d suggested we should head back, I’d wanted anything but. However, the idea of pushing him down and fucking him in the desert sand hadn’t really appealed to me, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why? Outside sex was hot. A thought burbled to the surface, and I cringed. A whiny, pouty little voice mewled that our first time together should be special.

I kicked a pebble in my path. What the hell was happening to me? I was losing my fucking mind.