Object of my Obsession

[chanaud]

OOC: For Miltone!

Why can’t we be alone tonight? What about my needs?

The cold air conditioner blasting on my face stung my eyes, waking me from the semi coma of deep, stirring thoughts from the argument right before I left the house. Only when I shifted in my leather seat and my knuckles loosened the grip on the steering wheel did I realize how tense I was.

This has been the story lately. Ian my husband of nine years has been ever so insistent for my attention, almost to the point of smothering me.

Why don’t you write anymore? When are you going to write your next great novel? What is wrong?

Oh, if he only knew. I’m a sham. A fraud. Somehow, I’ve managed to convince my readers into thinking I’m some sort of a great authoress. Even the great literary giants praised my work. They stated I’m the Jane Austen of the 20th century. I started believing them, especially after both my novels sold over a million copies and were translated in nine different languages. But when the publishers offered a million dollar advance for my next novel, my ink dried up. My mind turned blank. I sat day after day staring at the flashing cursor on my computer screen and I couldn’t even write a simple sentence. Even typing the word the became an exasperating chore.

The only thing that keeps me going is the invitations. My fans still demand for my presence. They want to pick my brain. I’m hoping that one day, something will click and my will to write will return before they see who I really am.

I pulled into the crowded parking and noticed the masses of cars waiting eagerly for the night to begin. I groaned internally. It’s going to be a long night. I was hoping to bail early to salvage the night with my husband. Hopefully, I won’t be the only speaker. I grabbed the crinkled invitation and skimmed the gold lettering under a street lamp. My body became weightless as the heavy sigh of relief escaped me. My eyes scanned the list with interest. Impressive line-up. Maybe, I can feed off of the notable authors for inspiration.

Using the amber glow from the overhead lamp, I gave myself a final check. For once, my auburn curls decided to behave and fall nicely into a chic style down to my shoulders. Despite the troubles boiling through my mind, my eyes still shone brilliantly with alertness. My black designer suit will blend nicely tonight. It offered a false persona of being professional, classy, and chic. The only added accessories were the sorority and alumni pins of my alma mater.

My hand paused before it reached the doorknob. Sounds of wine glasses clinking and intellectual bantering echoed through the heavy door and forced me to stop.

Compose yourself…Breathe deeply….That’s it, Miranda. Remember, you wrote two great novels. You are equal to everyone here.

The inner voice painted a wide smile on my face. As soon as I opened the door, a familiar voice greeted me.

“Miranda!”

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

I knew that it was wrong from the very beginning yet had to stifle a laugh at how easily I had pulled this off. The invitation to the literary soiree was just laying on Professor Dockett’s desk and now it was in my hot little hand. I knew that he had no intention of using it. A panel discussion on popular fiction would draw him unnecessarily away from his deep ongoing research of Seventeenth Century Italian poetry. He had intended to pass it onto Professor Coldburne, but she hated “popular” fiction even more than he. I was only a lowly graduate assistant, a faceless peon on whom they piled the test papers and term essays and the rest of the grunt work so that they could occasionally preen at the front of the lecture hall and spend the rest of their time researching esoteric obscure topics so that they could adhere to their mandated publishing schedule.

I had seen the flyer on the symposium and I knew that Miranda Myers would be there. As I stood by the closet door holding the invitation, I fondled the envelope tenderly for it was the key to … to her. I jerked the door handle open and pulled back on the door. I grinned at the collage lining the walls. There was the New York Times interview, the National Review Of Books profile, the series of articles and photos from Time, Newsweek, and People magazines. There was every article and blurb I had ever seen with her name or photo attached to it, including the clippings from the local newspaper. But above it all was the book cover, the glossy color portrait on the back cover, the one had haunted me for two years now, the one that I had burned into my memory. The one that my roommates had laughed about.

They couldn’t see the intense beauty in the clear pale skin, the dark red curls that framed her pretty face, the haunting cinnamon eyes, the full pert lips smiling, parted ever so slightly, just as if she were saying my name. Her head was held high, showing off the deftly sculpted neck that was begging for my kisses. And there was that subtle plunge of her sweater’s neckline that ended just where the sweet curves of her breasts began. No one else had detected the fetching inch of lace in the shadows of her sweater. But I had. Black lace on her pale body under an emerald cashmere sweater. Seeing it again for the millionth time warmed me deliciously, so much that I had to glance back at her eyes. They were looking at me, telling me how much she wanted me to come to her. And as I gripped the invitation, I knew that tonight … finally … I would be there for her.

Hesitantly, reverently, I closed the closet door and went to the dresser to make sure that I would look the way she wanted me. I canted my head down modestly, making my clear blue eyes look larger and more appealing. She would like that. I knew it. Tall enough and bookishly slender, yet my recent fling with working out had fleshed out my lanky body enough to draw comments from some of my fellow grad students. Even Suzanne Luckingbill, the “untouchable” one, had complimented my newfound physique. But none of them knew that I was doing it for Her, my Miranda. I brushed my hand through my thick sandy blond hair and rubbed my hand over my soft well-trimmed beard. Just the thought that it might be her hand later tonight made me smile.

And as my lips curled and my dimples were revealed, I dared to speak her name, “Miranda! Miss Myers! How very nice to meet you! Would you do me the honor of autographing my copy of your book?” I shook my head. “Miss Myers, please sign my book.” Again another shake. Keep it simple, Cody. Lay the book in front of her and smile. “Cody Wolfe, Miss Myers. Wolfe with an ‘e’.” And don’t forget The Look. Yes, The Look will clinch it. She will quickly see how I am the only one who loves her, who can anticipate her every need and satisfy her every want and fulfill her every desire. Yes, I will taste that succulent pale flesh hinted at by her photo and she will call out my name and beg me to … to … to …

But I was getting ahead of myself. I slipped the invitation into my jacket pocket and headed out into the chill fall air. I didn’t want to be late for my Miranda.

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

The familiar voice stopped me instantly. Before a blink of an eye, the burly figure matching the voice was giving me a fatherly hug. Tears welled in my eyes as my insides melted instantly.

“Professor Koooooch!”

“You remembered me? I would think the great Miranda Myers would have forgotten her favorite English Professor.”

“Bite your tong…..Ummmppfff”

A powerful force from behind pushed me forward. Luckily, Professor Koch’s grizzly bear stance saved me from falling.

“There now boy. Watch where you’re going? Don’t you know who this woman is?”

“I…I…I….I’m….oh pardon me…”

A shy voice turned my head to find shocking eyes piercing at me. The color stunned me. It was the color of a perfect summer cloud. Monet would have sold his soul for that perfect blue. Not only was the color mesmerizing, they were large. Large saucers protected by the longest eyelashes.

It took a long second or two to realize I was staring at this handsome young man. My own embarrassment matched his but I had enough maturity to contain my composure while his eyes fell to the ground. I reached out with both hands and touched his arms lightly.

“Please. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have monopolized the entrance…”

When his eyes lifted, he looked at me boldly. There was something in his eyes. A flash of some sort. It was gone as soon as I blinked. I shrugged if off instantly. Perhaps it was just my overactive imagination.

“Are you ok?”

“Pardon me.” He whispered and he was gone without a trace.

“How rude!” Professor Koch’s booming voice made several heads turn our way. A nervous laugh escaped me.

“Oh, he was fine. It was my fault. Actually, I think it was yours. If you wouldn’t have stopped me ….”

I paused to watch his reaction. Only after I gave him a sly smile did he laugh aloud. He offered his log like arm and I took it graciously.

“Come, m’dear. We have so much to catch up on. But, first you must do your duty. I can just imagine how much you love doing this."

As I followed his lead, my eyes scanned the crowded room hoping to find the young man with the intense blue eyes.

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

I was early, purposefully so, and standing outside the door of my car, I tapped my chest, feeling the stiff cardboard of the invitation residing within my jacket pocket. Just footsteps away from the door, my pulse quickened in anticipation of the unfolding of my plan: I would enter and survey the room, find the best seat to observe, and perhaps reconnoiter the means whereby questions might be taken from the audience. And I would have questions. No one could ask Miranda questions any better than I did, since no one knew her books any better than I.

The first one—her first—had been a hand-me-down from a friend. After reading the first page, I knew that she had written the book for me. It was about me and no one had understood me as well as she had. The description down to a “T”, well except for the green eyes and the black hair and the Greek god body and the musical laugh—but it was I, nevertheless. And the second novel was different. It was all about her and as I turned each page and memorized it, I knew she was telling me about herself, telling me how we were meant to be together, and how one day she would come to me and become mine. And that was when I splurged and bought them in hardcopy, simply to obtain the covers. How beautiful she was! The idiot at the bookstore had no business jumping on my case about blocking the checkout queue. Couldn’t he see that her picture on the back mesmerized me, that this was far more important than his petty commercial concerns? This was simply meant to be!

And so I strode toward the door, cool and confident, so full of myself and my plan that I didn’t anticipate that she would be standing there, blocking the doorway as I pushed in. It happened so fast that I hardly had time to collect myself. But as I looked down and away, the scent of her perfume invaded my senses, and I remembered The Look. I opened my soul and my eyes and looked directly at her. For that brief moment I could feel her there in my palm, I could see the pain and longing in her heart, and I knew that tonight it was meant to be. I excused myself and disappeared into the crowd only to search out the best seat with the most obvious sight line to the dais.

Once the panel was convened and brought to order, Miranda took her seat, her crisp black suit was a stunning contrast to her pale complexion, and her splash of auburn curls swirled about her pretty face with alarming allure. She looked about the room as if searching for something, her cinnamon eyes darting everywhere until they found mine. Then they stopped and widened. Aha! There was the slightest trace of a smile before she looked down and away like a shy teenager.

The discussion went on endlessly and I paid little attention, except when Miranda spoke. There was a musical lilt to her voice, a gorgeous contralto imbued with humor and life. And when she made a most salient point about the state of contemporary writing, she paused and looked directly at me. Her mouth opened and I saw that pink sliver of her tongue graze against the pure white of her teeth. Oh, Miranda, that tongue was made for me to taste! She hesitated as if she could hear my thought, and then proceeded.

I sat and looked thoughtful, laughed cordially at all of the pretentious jokes of the other panelists, and waited. When it was finally time for questions, I endured the mindless tittering giddy queries from the audience. Where they all in competition for the fill-in anchor position on Entertainment Tonight? Finally the microphone came to me and I stood up tall and square, smiled warmly and looked Miranda straight in the eye.

“My question is for Miss Myers, and it pertains to the art of symbolism in literature,” I began slowly. “In your first novel, among other well-crafted scenes, there is one of overwhelming importance where the hero, Mace, is horseback and happens upon the heroine, Claudia, who is walking with some friends. As he restrains his startled horse, pulling strongly on the bridle almost until the beast bleeds, she becomes transfixed by the image, his strength and control sending shivers down her spine. From that point on, she is drawn along a path of complete surrender to Mace. And may I say, that I have used that brilliant example in several classes at the University. My question is this: what role does such symbolism play in your work as you write, and do you feel that the subtleties of such symbolism are lost on the current generation of readers and critics?”

I continued to smile at Miranda—my Miranda, for she looked so appealing. The others appeared as shades of gray where as Miranda was in living and breathing color! She tossed her head back and combed a hand casually back through her dark red hair. She leaned back in her chair, thrust her chest forward and smiled. From my advantageous vantage point, I could clearly see the gorgeous blend of light and shadow that penetrated the neckline of her suit. Were it not for the damned skirt on the dais, I was sure she would have given me more to see, for she was there for me tonight, and she was doing this all for my benefit.

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

Professor Koch introduced me around like a proud father while a glass of Chardonnay was placed in my hand without asking. A sea of faces, some familiar, others I knew by reputation offered polite smiles and even politer praises. A few couldn’t contain their eyebrow from rising up as I was being introduced. One didn’t know me at all and asked me boldly about my work. Once Professor Koch listed my accomplishments, he managed an Oh! By then, I’ve already gulped down my limit of two glasses of white wine so it was easy to laugh off his uncontained response and informed him my work is mostly for young girls waiting for their knights in shining armor or housewives dreaming their house chores away. He proceeded to ask me boldly if I was proud of my work. My eyebrows furled into a knot while daggers shot from my eyes. My spine became an instant rod. Before I had a chance to answer, Professor Koch intervened. Once again, he protected me from ruining my reputation that night.

When he left, Professor Koch whispered he was a pretentious alumni asshole, and if he hadn’t already given almost a quarter of million dollars in gifts to his department, he would have had the pleasure in giving him a piece of his mind. Though his remark was meant to make me feel better, it didn’t. I wondered how many had thought of me like that. Was I an open book to all? Did I sell myself out by writing stupid cookie cutter romance novels? Trash novels? It wasn’t my aspiration to be a romance novelist. I wanted to be a renowned journalist. Travel the world and report first hand news. Report only humanitarian stories that will touch the hearts and souls of all. Make a difference in the world.

It just came upon me by accident. During my last year of graduate school, a boyfriend, who I had forgotten his name already, stood me up. No calls. Not even an attempt of a lame excuse. My heart was breaking. I really, really liked this guy. Instead of wallowing in tears and a pint of Pralines and Cream ice cream, I pored myself into a short story. Only the story continued on and on. Words poured easily. My fingers synchronized sentences into paragraphs, which formed into a plot. By morning, the short story was a 20-page beginning of a novel. Instead of feeling tired, I felt alive. Every cell in my cramped hand and heavy eyelids were racing for more. I had to force myself to stop writing. My eyes had to adjust to not seeing white lined paper and blue ink. It was like that every night. My schoolwork suffered. Fortunately, my professors understood and covered for me by making my classes easier for me. Why they did that, I don’t have a clue. Perhaps, they saw the drive through my blood shot eyes, the white pallor of my face from lack of sunshine and sympathized with me. Whatever inspired them to assist me, I am ever so grateful, because without them, I wouldn’t have graduated.

After an extensive discussion on publishing versus e-novels and real life experiences versus creative prose, it was time to face the audience. If I’m lucky, I will get one or two inquiries. They were always the same. When will my next book be published? Are the rumors true? Am I good friends with Danielle Steele? More likely, they will skip over me for I really don’t appeal to the literature crowd. Don’t get me wrong. I can quote Shakespeare sonnet after sonnet, and interpret each of Robert Frost’s line, but my world turned a different direction. My words just flowed easier writing contemporary romances.

Like I thought, the microphone went from one student to another asking repeated questions that makes them look like computer chips wrapped in flesh. My eyes scanned the different faces full of lustful eyes for their mentors. I didn’t have to worry about being inconspicuous. They weren’t paying any attention to me. They all looked the same. Young, fresh faced with hungry eyes, one after another……

Wait! There he was. The same blue eyes that bumped into me earlier and he was looking directly at me. He was so intense, so knowingly as if he’s already read my soul. I was startled yet mesmerized. It’s been a long, long while since I’ve been watched with such intensity. The two glasses of wine I had drunk earlier smiled at him. A second later, I regretted it, and turned my head abruptly. The redness racing from my neck to my cheeks sobered me instantly.

I did a good job avoiding him until he stood up with microphone in hand. Before he even mentioned my name, I knew his question was going to be directed to me. His voice was smooth and deep. He spoke each word carefully without a pause for thought, almost as if he has memorized it previously. My face reddened deeper with each word. My arid lips needed constant attention with my tongue. Before he finished, I knew he was more than a casual reader. Finally, I have found a reader who can read my soul. I was so stunned I didn’t realize he had finished. A long few seconds had passed before I found my voice. A low throaty chuckle emitted from my throat to disguise my true feelings.

“You know my work well. So well, it’s almost as if you wrote it yourself.”

My fingers removed a piece of imaginary lock from the side of my face. It was just enough time to gather my thoughts.

“That particular scenario can be interpreted many ways. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I think for me it symbolizes the fear of commitment. The startled horse is quote-unquote the fear. It went wild when Mace found the woman of his dreams. His fear acted up and tried to resist her immediately. It even went as far as to throw Mace off. But, Mace being the strong willed man as he was saw the importance of his resistance and fought it with all his might. It’s something I think most women want.”

A low chuckle interrupted my deepest thoughts.

“You know. You changed something tonight. Somehow, I thought that my work was lost in filtered lighting; caffeine inducing mass producing warehouses offering multiple discounts and big band music to hypnotize you into thinking it’s all about the plot.. But I see I’m wrong. You the readers are a lot smarter than that. You can read past all that….”

I was rambling. My voice trailed without finishing my thoughts. Why did I continue like that? Oh Miranda!

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

“It’s something I think most women want … you changed something tonight … you … are a lot smarter than that … you can read past all that …”

I knew it! She had written for me, directly to me! And she had admitted it in her own voice, a voice that that in its melodious dulcet tone reached out to me, teasing me, tantalizing me, and seducing me. I watched as she shifted warmly in her seat and although I wasn’t that close, I thought I could hear the purring sounds of her silken underthings rubbing against the woolen material of her suit.

“Well, at least some of us with an appreciation for creativity, who take the time certainly,” I spoke slowly in response to her last comment. A slight blush crept over her cheeks and her tongue appeared again to moisten her lips. Could she see in my eyes the urge I felt to dampen them with my own tongue? “Thank you, Miss Myers.”

I smiled and handed the microphone on to the next attendee reluctantly. There were questions circling in my head, hundreds really, but I didn’t want to draw more attention to this meeting of our minds. The opportunity to ask them would come later. I could tell because she continued to look at me, her head tilting back slightly revealing her lovely neck, baring her throat to my view, her eyelids growing heavy. I took my seat and let my mind drift on the thoughts of being able to meet up with her at the reception afterwards. Simply the sight of her, seated at the dais with the other writers, most of whom could never write with half the passion and feeling that she did, began to warm me, a thrilling sensation coursing through my body.

We both followed the Q and A that ensued with detached amusement, exchanging occasional glances. Each time our eyes would meet, she would respond with a gesture, a tilting of her pretty head one way or the other, a little smirk, a flash of her great eyes. At one point she ran her hand around to rub the back of her neck, perhaps to relieve a touch of stress. As she drew her hand back, her long slender fingers trailed down the lapel of her suit jacket, pausing where it met the other lapel between her breasts. I could feel the heat of her body where her hand was nestled as if it were my own hand … and I knew that my own hand would be there soon enough.

No one else had another question for her until the microphone was handed to Benton Howard, a pretentious post grad student, who had won an award of some sort early on in his collegiate career and thought that it automatically imbued his opinion with a certain esteem that it truly deserved. With a sly smirk on his face, he stood up and introduced himself.

“Benton Howard, class of 98, Brantford award winner 1994,” he began, looking around haughtily. “My question goes to Miss Myers. I’m sure that everyone here is well aware of your rampant popularity of a few years ago, but do you really expect us to believe that superficial attempts at symbolism really matter to a modern reading audience? Isn’t the better way to capture and entertain your audience in this era to assemble a gripping plot that you can dress up with such symbolism as necessary?”

As he stood there, nose in the air, I could have jumped from my seat, ripped the microphone from his clammy hands, and smacked him to the floor with it. My hands clenched at the armrests to keep myself from making a scene. But then I glanced down at Miranda, My Miranda, and saw how she kept her composure, how she tossed her head back, straightened her back and shot back her retort.

“My dear, Mr. Howard," Miranda began cooly, her posture self-assured, the tone of her voice strong and yet decidedly feminine. "It is the responsibility of the writer to interweave plot, character, action, and symbolism into a cohesive narrative such that the reader is unaware of any single element. Upon later reflection one or more elements may emerge, but the overall effect must be seamless. It seems to me that a problem some contemporary writers have is a mastery of only one or two elements and complete ignorance of the others. What good is a gripping plot if it produces a conclusion with no meaning or significance to the reading audience?”

No one else could see her sword unsheathed, slicing through the air, slashing Benton Howard to ribbons, but I did. Her words leveled him and sent him to his seat red-faced and humbled, a state that unfortunately wouldn’t last long, knowing him as I do. As her words faded away, the room fell silent for a few moments and I beamed a smile toward her. She glanced back at me and nodded in acknowledgement and our eyes met again, and the gaze we shared lingered well into the next question or two. Perhaps it was the heat from the fire in her eyes that welded mine to hers. I sat up in my seat and leaned forward slightly. Could she tell that the fire in my eyes was not just a reflection of hers, but one of equal heat and power? My pulse quickened and my hands grew damp with a tingling anticipation of being able to talk with her again, and perhaps take her hand in mine, and perhaps touch her here ... and there ... and there ... This panel discussion couldn’t last forever, maybe another question or two, and then I would have my chance, and I never felt more ready for anything before in my life.

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

Emotions were flying everywhere! My eyes blinded with fury scanned over the audience until it fell upon the only thing that seemed so comforting to me. There he was reading me and beaming at me with pride. We smiled coyly sharing the mutual satisfaction of placing Benton Howard in his place. My spine straightened throwing my shoulders back. A sudden surge of satisfaction set in me. Tingles were shooting out of my fingertips. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to write. Oh, if only I was at my computer now. And I owe it all to my one-man cheerleader, the handsome young man with the beautiful blue eyes.

Who was he? I have, yet, to know his name. We seemed to have this connection from the start when he first bumped into me. Then he was able to read the resemblance of Mace. My mind started reeling with possibilities. He was probably a student. He looked young; yet, there was something in his eyes. They were fascinating. Changing often. One moment they were swimming with dreaminess then in a flash a storm would brew in making them dark. Whoever he was, he fascinated me.

Each time I glanced at him, his eyes caught mine. It seemed accidental at first, but got bolder with each glance. As moments passed, our glances were no longer accidental. Our eyes locked together and when I turned away a knowing smile was given. It was a game of cat and mouse. Except I have yet to learn who was doing the chasing.

I couldn’t help looking noticing his jaw throbbed with each breath. I wondered how smooth his neck was. And how it curved into powerful shoulders and down his arms. The room was getting warm rapidly. I found myself squirming from the confines of my suit. My hands were flying everywhere to fan some cool air to my pores. What is going on? It seemed to be increasing every time I looked at him. Who is this stranger? Why or how does he have this effect on me?

At last the Q&A was over and we were allowed to mingle among the audience again. I stood gratefully in need of distraction pulled the hem down to straighten the wrinkles, I happened to glance up. There he was standing before me with two glasses of Chardonnays in hand.

I hope one of those are for me.

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

After the panel disbanded and the audience began to filter in amongst the panelist, I paused and took a good look at Miranda. Mmm, what a musical name was hers, Miranda Myers … Miranda Myers … Miranda Myers! She looked warm and flushed, the high rounded curves of her cheeks glowing a luscious rose color. I maneuvered toward the refreshment table and ordered two glasses of Chardonnay. Although I preferred darker reds, I remembered from page two, paragraph five of her New York Review of Books interview that she enjoyed a good Chardonnay while relaxing, and although what they were serving was far from good, it would certainly serve its purpose.

I brusquely pushed past a couple of geeky English majors who were trying too hard to look uninterested in the proceedings for my taste and then I saw her standing alone, so thankfully alone. The long fingers of her soft pale hand were gliding down over her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from her hip down along her long supple thigh. How nicely the curves of her body fleshed out the crisp dense wool of her suit, and how delectable was the turn of her calf and ankle. As I approached her, my eyes swept back up taking in the seductive taper of her waist, the generous swell of her breasts and then the cosmic flash of her eyes. She was looking right at me and she smiled. It was a smile for me, a smile of recognition and invitation, a smile that greeted me, drew me in, and pulled me close to her.

“May I offer you a glass of wine, Miss Myers?” I asked humbly, extended a glass. “It’s a house Chardonnay, certainly not the best, but you look like you could use some refreshment.” Had I said too much? I took in the warm smile of acceptance in her eyes and knew it was fine. And when she reached out to take the glass from my hand, her slender fingers brushed against mine. They were warm and soft and delicate.

“Thank you, it seems so very hot in here tonight, and I really could use this,” she replied, her voice husky and dreamy. She sipped her wine very elegantly and ladylike and I couldn’t help but watch how she pursed her lips and let the light liquid flow past them. Then the tip of her tongue darted out between them, brushing against those perfect lips. “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?”

“No we haven’t, Miss Myers,” I replied cordially, shifting my wine glass to my left hand. “I’m Cody Wolfe, a graduate assistant at the University.” I extended my right hand out formally and she placed hers inside daintily. On a sudden impulse I raised her hand to my lips and kissed her soft warm skin.

“Charmed, Mr. Cody Wolfe,” she giggled. “But you may call me Miranda, if you don’t mind. And I can call you Cody. I prefer first names.”

Mind??? First name basis? This was going too well already. Then I realized that I was still hanging onto her hand and released it quickly. “Miranda is such a lovely name anyway,” I said. “Very musical. Perhaps one day a smart composer will recognize that and pen a fitting tune.”

She laughed, tossing her head back sending her dark red curls swirling back over her shoulders, her cinnamon eyes sparkling, her full unpainted lips parted. “That’s sweet of you to say so.”

I smiled and looked down and away shyly, searching for the right snappy comeback. Focusing at first on her black heels, I slowly raised my eyes up along her tall slender body until our eyes met again. They locked in a long gaze and I wondered what she was looking for in me; was it the desire that she had built up with her words, or was it something else that I hadn’t anticipated? Could she see the flames she had ignited within me? Could she see that I was Mace to her Claudia? Could she feel the passion that simply by standing close to her, so very close to her, throbbed deep inside me?

“So, I hope my question wasn’t out of line, Miss … er, Miranda,” I said stumbling on purpose. “I have several others that are more involved, but didn’t figure this was the right forum for truly insightful discussion.”

Again, another great laugh, followed by an elegant sip of wine.

“I was very impressed by your question, Cody,” she remarked with a gracious smile. “You appear to know my books better than I do.”

Of course, I knew them better. While she was out on the lecture circuit, signing books and royalty checks, I was the one who spent night after night reading them, savoring every sentence and image that she had constructed, until the characters and action were a part of my psyche.

“Well here you are,” called out the booming voice of Professor Koch. “I wondered where you were hiding yourself. I have some people who are dying to meet you.”

I saw the look of disinterest in her eyes, then a quick smile.

“Nice to have met you Cody,” she said. “Perhaps we can pick up this conversation later?”

“Nice to have met you too,” I grinned and nodded before the Professor escorted her away. She wasn’t just being polite. I knew it. She wanted to see me later. She wanted me. And she would have me!

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

The rest of the evening was a blur. It was spent circulating the room, answering important questions to the overzealous students, schmoozing the alumni, and regaling my audience with amusing tales of other known writers. Somehow I was on a high. A boost of confidence had fulfilled me. Everybody seemed to be filled with sincere compliments. They were eager and hanging onto my every word. Even the stuffy Benton sought me out. He offered a humble compliment in low tones and downward eyes and left quickly away as if he feared being caught talking to me. Through it all, I found myself constantly searching for Cody. I was able to find the top of his blonde hair among the sea of guests. Each time my heart would skip. My mind would wander, recalling our brief conversation. Professor Koch had to call my attention a few times, and seemed annoyed by the end of the evening.

“Miranda, are you not feeling well?”

The flush came to my cheeks. “I apologize Professor Koch but, it seems a bit warm in here.” I raised my empty glass to him. “And the wine doesn’t help.” Hopefully, my tight smile offered a believable excuse.

He glanced at his watch and around the room and noticed how it has already thinned. “I was hoping we could have a private moment to talk, and catch up. I haven’t heard yet how Ian is doing.”

The sound of my husband’s name made me sigh. It was a reminder of our argument before leaving home.

“We shall catch up soon. Why don’t I stop by your office tomorrow at noon, I shall bring your favorite.”

Professor Koch beamed. It was their favorite pastimes when I was a student. We would spend hours discussing my dreams. It was like home. Sometimes, I would sit there reading a book or penning a short story when he was away.

“Tomorrow is good. Would you like an escort to your car?”

“No, No. I mean…I have to see someone before I leave.”

“Very well. Tomorrow then.” He said while giving me a bear hug.

I strolled through the thinning room; my eyes flickered wildly looking for Cody. My heart sunk with disappointment at the missing student. Before I left, I looked back one last time. He was nowhere to be found.

It was dark. Pitch dark. A blanket of dark clouds overshadowed the moon making it dark. Not a twinkle of a star was seen. Straight ahead in the direction of my car was a glowing light. It moved up, grew into a small orange of fire then down again while orange sparks flew off it. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could see a tall lean shadow leaning on my car. The orange glow repeated itself.

I knew it was he, Cody. The cold air managed to seep through my jacket and made me shudder. My heart skipped. I couldn’t stop the smile from growing on my flushing face.

“I was afraid you had already left before I got a chance to goodbye.” I told the shadow while he took another long drag from his cigarette.

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

I held the smoke in while I dropped my cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the pavement with the sole of my shoe. Then I exhaled, carefully blowing the smoke away from Miranda—my Miranda. I could see her tall lithe frame shiver from the nippy evening air, her arms fold across her chest, yet in the dim light there was no mistaking her alluring smile. I fended off the urge to reach my arms out and wrap them around her to chase away the chill.

“Miranda, you should know that I had every intention of picking up our earlier conversation,” I said standing up straight and tall. “Although I can think of warmer and more comfortable and … um, more intimate places in which to do so.”

“Well, I’m flattered, Cody,” Miranda replied, her body shivering again, this time more noticeable. “Where do you have in mind?”

“There is the Olde Village Inn just down Division Street,” I suggested. I tried not to smirk when the image of my apartment flashed in my head. That degree of intimacy would have to wait just a bit longer, for the night was still a bit young. “It’s a little too stuffy for the usual undergrad crowd, but they have those terrific leather armchairs, a great fireplace, and make one of the best cappuccinos in the state.”

“Is that the place that used to be Alvin’s?” she asked, the whites of her perfect teeth flashing in the darkness. “I remember it from my undergrad days oh so many years ago.”

“And that was what … two semesters ago, or three?” I said with a wink, boldly reaching up to her face to glide my fingers, freshly warmed in my pocket, over her cheek. She looked so youthful and beautiful in the chill night air that the difference in our ages meant nothing to me. “Now we should get going before the chill gets to you. Why don’t you drive,” I suggested.

Within mere minutes we had parked at the Olde Village Inn and were seated side by side in a great pair of chairs not far from the crackling fireplace. Since it was later in the evening on a weeknight, the place was nearly empty. Miranda glanced around at the dark paneling and the cluttered bookcases and gilt-framed artwork and sank back into her overstuffed chair. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the sight of her, her long legs crossed demurely, the hem of her skirt rising delightfully well above the knee, her hands folded in her lap, her back arched slightly thrusting her breasts forward, developing generous curves in her suit jacket. But it was her eyes that pulled me into her, dashing cinnamon colored and luminous, set perfectly above her rounded cheekbones. They looked … vivacious, sparkling and full of life; they looked at me and kept looking deep inside.

“So, um … Cody, did you have some specific questions for me?” Miranda asked after the bored college girl waitress took our drink order. She rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and turned toward me invitingly. “I found your question tonight quite interesting, and far from what I’ve come to expect at those sorts of affairs.”

“Actually I have so many questions about your work,” I answered, trying to remain calm and cool and composed despite the rising tide of passion she was creating inside me with her low, husky voice and dazzling smile. “I found every aspect of the relationship between Claudia and Mace in your first book fascinating. After I read it a second time, I began to see how you had crafted it as layered and complex, but exceedingly lifelike.”

“You flatter me, Cody,” she laughed. “I set out to write a simple romance. Any complex layering may have been more inadvertent than intentional.”

“But the imagery you employ has such a book-ended feel to it,” I insisted. “For example, the scene near the beginning that I referred to in my question is coupled to the scene where Claudia finally submits to Mace, the way he handles and controls the horse is mirrored in way he makes love to Claudia; the early scene where Mace and Dekker argue at the fairgrounds over which horse is faster can be coupled to the later scene where Claudia and Lorena argue over the respective level of passion in their lovers. Such clever plotting is not accidental. At first reading it sort of breezes by you, but it becomes obvious after a second or third reading.”

I suddenly felt my face grow warm and flushed with an intense excitement. Here was the very author, the famous Miss Miranda Myers whom I had dreamt about for so many months, sitting neatly beside me, her hands folded just inches from my body, her face leaning toward mine, her great eyes glancing long and lingeringly into mine.

Suddenly the waitress interrupted with our drinks. We withdrew politely, but after a few sips of cappuccino, we were again relaxed and Miranda’s warm look disarmed me completely, causing my body to sprawl in the chair casually. When I made a small joke about her dispensing with Benton Howard so decidedly, I couldn’t help but notice how when she laughed appealingly that her legs uncrossed, the hem of her skirt rising fetchingly to mid thigh showing well her long well-toned legs and just a hint of lacy stocking top in the shadows between them.

“I have to confess something, Miranda,” I said calmly.

“What’s that, Cody?” she replied, combing her slender fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her forehead revealing her china doll perfect bone structure.

“From the moment I began to read your first book,” I said, careful to keep my eyes trained on hers. “I felt a great sense of identification with Mace, almost as if we were two of the same.”

“Hmm, that is interesting, Cody,” Miranda said before sipping her drink. “Since I have always strongly identified with the character of Claudia.”

“Why does that not surprise me? And there is that scene in the library where they come together, a setting not unlike this one here,” I remarked, bringing my hand up toward her face, gliding my fingers lightly over her temple before weaving my fingers into her soft and silky hair. Miranda’s mouth fell open, her full rosy unpainted lips inviting me closer, close enough that I could feel the rush of her breath upon my face. “Do you remember what they do next … Miranda?”

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

His fingertips electrified me. I can almost hear the sparks flying from his fingers and shocking my sensitive skin. Cody’s eyes locked with mine while the room pulled away from us until it was just Cody and I in the center of the universe. The glow from the fireplace flickered across us forming dancing shadows. He held me completely captive with his locking eyes. My heart stopped breathing. Finally, I felt his warm breath on me bringing my eyes to watch his lips move as they formed words that could only be heard by me.

Between the trembles, a breathless whisper managed to escape my blushing lips. “Wha…”

Then the realization hit me. Yes, I did remembered. The quickened rise of my breasts told him I remembered.

“Wha…”

I made a feeble attempt to pull away. “Cody. Cody…I..”

“Ssshhh…Don’t say a word. Remember, I’m Mace. And you’re my Claudia. My Claudia. Remember the way he touched her. How she trembled when he neared her…..”

Before I knew it, Cody scooted forward. The outer edge of his chest barely grazed my breasts. Each time I took a breath, the tips of my breasts poked him making my nipples to sharpen until they became hardened points.

I could have stopped him. I had a second to pull away from him. His face drew closer and I didn’t stop him. Cody leaned just slightly forward and allowed his lips to barely graze mine. He knew what he was doing. We sat there, our lips touching. Cody waited for me. Waited for me to make the next move.

And, I did. Out of frustration, I pushed forward and pressed my lips hard on his. He still sat there. I knew he wanted me. I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on him. So, why was he just sitting there? Wha….? I couldn’t take it any longer. I was beside myself. The little spark inside me ignited into a powerful flame. A deep moan starting from the bottom of my stomach rumbled out into his mouth. My arms reached around his neck, and pulled him hard to me making me lean backwards from his instant weight. The tip of my tongue pried his lips apart and pushed forward until it found his. Only then, did he react.

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

I had hesitated, waiting for her to remember the scene from her book, waiting as she took on the role of Claudia. Her reluctance surprised me and contributed to my hesitance. I was holding back as Mace would have—as he did in her book, the book she had written as if it were about me. But as Miranda pulled me toward her body, her breasts brushing sharply against my chest, her lips pressing firmly and passionately against mine, a low moan of desire growling in her throat and her warm wet tongue probing my lips, I could sense her need for me and knew this was the sign I was waiting for. She did want me … madly.

This was meant to be and I was the one to take the next step and make this happen. It was about more than just some characters in a book—Mace and Claudia grappling passionately on a rug in a musty old study, more than about how her imagination had somehow linked itself to my persona, more than about her unfulfilled needs and my teeming desires. This was a merging of writer and reader, of symbol and symbolism, of object and desire, of woman and man.

As our kiss grew deeper, I cradled her pretty face in my hands tenderly, and as we fought for our breath, I let my hands trail down lightly over her shoulders and breasts, my thumbs flirting with the warm soft skin that lay between the folds of her jacket. Our mouths were a flurry of lips mashing and tongues twisting and hard little moans and sighs that even made the jaded bartender take notice.

“Miranda … I think …” I began to say, my words falling in between my sharp kisses and brushing touches against her trim and supple body. “I think … we should leave.” She pulled back, her eyes glazed over with a misty consensual passion, her full and rosy unpainted lips parted. I took her hands and brought them to my lips. “My place is not far from here,” I added coolly.

I stood, drew her up from her chair and into my arms. With one more forceful twisting and passionate kiss, I tossed some cash onto the table and we left in a breezy hurry. Everything seemed to fly past; the chill night air, the soft European leather seating in her car, the cobblestone path to my apartment, the heavy creak of the front door, all punctuated by a deep wet kiss, a lingering brushing touch of my hand upon her body, a light combing of fingers through her silky auburn tresses, or soft sweet words of invitation. And then the whirling came to a stop. Miranda—my Miranda—was in my place, my space. I twirled her into my embrace and captured the brassy light of the small mission-style lamp reflected in her cinnamon colored eyes.

“Welcome, Miranda,” I whispered soft and low.

“You have a very nice place, Cody,” she replied in a low voice, tight with anticipation. “Very masculine.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I answered, my hands reaching up to her cheeks again.

Letting out a soft moan, she stepped toward me, her hands reaching up and around my neck, her warm wet lips finding mine waiting for her. Pressing her back up against the front door, my hands eagerly sought to unfasten the buttons to her jacket and, after pulling it open, I drove my hands inside lured by the warm silk of her camisole and the soft curves of her body.

“Cody … I …” she began to say as my hands reached up to cup the firm soft flesh of her breasts, my fingers grazing over her tautly pointed nipples. “Cody, I think …”

“What’s that, Miranda?” I asked, my kisses flowing down to her neck while my hands worked around to her back, one around her waist to pull her body close to mine, the other falling down to cup the firm cheeks of her butt. I felt her back arch in surrender. “Tell me … anything for you, Miranda, my dear sweet Miranda.” My kisses had reached the base of her neck near the shoulder and my teeth nipped ever so gently on the smooth tender skin they found there.

“Cody … I …”

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

“I…..”

He waited patiently. His eyes filled with self-confidence watched my eyes flicker back and forth battling for some coherent thought.. I don’t know why I started saying anything. I suppose I wanted to give him one last chance to change his mind. The only thing I can think of spewed out before I realized it.

“I…I’m married.”

Why I said that I don’t have a clue. Ian never really did enter my consciousness. It was the only rational thought I can conjure.

He laughed. It wasn’t just a simple laugh, it was a throw your head back type of laugh. He continued to laugh for several minutes. Hesitantly, I joined him. How silly of me, I thought. He already knew I was married. It wasn’t a deep, dark secret. It’s written in every one of my profiles.

“Oh, Miranda.”

Cody managed to say as he scooped me in his arms and lifted me off the hard wooden floors. He carried me across the room while his eyes swam in a pool of wetness until he dumped me in the middle of his soft bed.

“Oh, Miranda.”

He repeated. Only this time it was filled with passion.

“Your marriage doesn’t exist - at least not to me. It’s before you met me. Before us. Now that we’ve finally found each other, now that you’re in my life, things will be different.”

“How so, Cody?”

There was something odd with his words. Cold tingles pricked the back of my neck. A small shudder wracked my body despite him covering me.

“No worries.”

He mumbled as his lips fell on mine. The chills melted away immediately while his tongue pried my lips apart. It was replaced with newfound tingles. Tingles I haven’t felt in a long while, probably ever since my teenager years when I first discovered the art of kissing. When our tongues met, it rolled into a synchronized waltz immediately and everything before that moment was forgotten. My arms snaked around and locked behind his neck, pulling him down to me. Our tongues danced slowly at first, increasing with fervor with each increasing moment. We kissed for what seemed like an eternity. Soon, my body was writhing under him. I felt his cock hardening through his thin slacks. My legs opened as wide as my skirt allowed me to and managed to wrap around his waist awkwardly. My hands locked behind his hair, grabbing fistfuls of soft, short hair while my body arched up towards him. Our moans sounded like mating season in the wild.

As soon as I thought I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, Cody released my lips. I lay there gasping for air and twisting under him.

His lips followed down to the upright tilt of my chin, down the slope of the underside of my neck, along the valley of my neck, and down to the hollow of my neck. His lips burned my aching flesh and followed it by the soothing wetness of his tongue. Not a mere second later, my bare skin burned again for his touch. My hands open wide trailed down his back, cherishing each and every curved muscle until it found the end of his neatly tucked shirt and dug into his pants desperately, pulling on the shirt tail until I found bare flesh.

“Ooohhh…yessss…”

I managed to moan out as I threw my head back. My spine managed to arch beneath his full weight.

Cody spoke to my flesh. “Miranda. Oh, Miranda. How I longed for this moment.”

When Cody reached the valley of my breasts, he stopped. I lay there waiting desperately as my breasts heaved heavily for him to continue. Though only short gasps were the only sound heard, my body was screaming for him to continue. My nipples were already protruding through my thin silk blouse begging to be relieved with his wet mouth.

“Ohhh…pleeeease..”

My hands reached for my buttons. My fingers fumbled clumsily. Just when I was about to tear my blouse apart, his hands stopped them and brushed them away. His crystalline blue eyes looked up and bore deep into me searching for my soul. I couldn’t wait any longer. I was dangling on the edge of rationality.

“Pleeeeeeease… Cody…..I want you.”

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

“And you shall have me, Miranda …” I answered as my fingers slowly and deliberately began to free up the buttons of her blouse, “… just as I shall have you.”

As I punched each little pearl through its buttonhole, I let the thin silk fall back against her porcelain-like skin until I had reached her waist. Shifting my position so that I could tug the tail free of her skirt, I unfastened the remaining buttons and slowly drew my hand back up along her body, my fingertips teasing her soft yearning flesh in the opening of her blouse. Slipping my hand underneath, I brushed it away from one breast, revealing the soft supple mound topped by a deliciously erect nipple. I could feel her shiver as the fresh air and my fingertips danced lightly upon her sensitive flesh. Miranda arched her back again, pressing up into my palm. I cupped the firm flesh, squeezing it gently and raising the nipple upward toward my open mouth.

”Oh, yes … Cody …” Miranda gasped as my tongue flicked out to draw a lazy circle around and around her nipple. And as my lips covered her and sucked it up into my mouth, she groaned deeply, her hands pulling me to her breast.

“You taste so sweet, Miranda,” I whispered hoarsely. “And I have dreamed so long of being with you.”

Drawing her nipple deep into my mouth, I grasped the tip between my teeth and raised my head upward pulling her with me until it sprang free with a little pop. Brushing her blouse away from her other breast, I shifted over to ravish that one with a greater passion, licking it endlessly, kissing it again and again, and sucking it deeply into my mouth. I hummed with pleasure as I moved from one breast to the other and back. When both were thoroughly wet from my kisses, I brought my hands to bear, touching her, squeezing her, pinching and pulling her until her eyes closed and her head tossed back and her mouth opened to emit a fantastic moan of joy.

“Cody … mmm, yes … oh, yes …” she sighed, her fingers weaving into my hair, pulling at me, cleaving me to her breast.

I was not finished yet, for I attacked her again with a greater fervor, my touch escalating with each new taste or touch of her perfect body. Her hips rocked up and down rubbing against me. I was growing mad with desire for her and with a final flourish began to drive my kisses downward, letting my lips and tongue trace every undulating shape in their path. And nearing the waistband of her skirt, I grabbed at the hem and pulled it up forcefully, raising it up past her hips, exposing her soft silky panties, already dampened from her arousal. The scent of her delicious sex greeted my nose as I lifted her legs and dove down between them, kissing and licking her thighs until I reached the sweet silken panel that clung to her.

I couldn’t resist kissing and licking and nipping at her as her legs coiled up around my head. The endless nights I had dreamed of these moments had fueled my desires, building up to this time, this special moment when I would show Miranda how we were meant to be together, and how she would become mine. With an animal-like growl, I raked her panty aside with my teeth and kissed her sweetness, my lips and tongue pressing forward into her until she cried out with an urgent passion.

“Cody … I … want you … yes … I need you … now!”

I rose up on my knees and lifted her hips up from the bed. With a wicked smile curling my lips, I pushed her skirt up to her waist. Hooking my fingers inside her panties, I pulled them down her long shapely legs and flung them aside. Running my hands up and down her stockinged legs, I parted them and spread her wide, watching as the petals of her pretty pussy blossomed for me. Miranda was writhing on my bed now, her clothes disheveled, her hair tousled and disarrayed, and with the most lustfully beautiful look of want and need and desire on her face. Her hands frantically reached out for me, grabbing and clutching at me, pulling me to where she needed me, and where I most wanted to be.

“Oh, yes, Miranda,” I spoke in a husky whisper as I dragged my lips along the soft silky skin of her inner thigh. “And you will be mine, tonight and ever after.”

 

[chanaud]

Miranda Myers

“Yesssss…I’m yours. Take me, take me, take me pleeeeease.”

My voice, a stranger’s voice begged and pleaded desperately. Cody felt he had teased me long enough, his head dipped down between my legs and used the tip of his tongue to descend down the path of wetness . An electrical shock coursed through my veins to the very edge of the scalp of my head releasing a moan of pleasure from my lips telling him just how wonderful it felt. Cody smiled up at me, his eyes clouded with lust watched the pleasure take over my face.

Using the flat of his tongue, Cody retraced his steps and rose up my path. He moaned as my juices flowed in his mouth and coated his tongue. My breasts rose up and down gave way to the gasps and moans of encouragement for him to continue. And he did. Over and over again until I was writhing like mad and rocking side by side under his mouth.

I’ve written scenes like this so many times in my books and even have a few experiences to relate to, but never, ever have I imagined or had it this good. My husband and I have a satisfying sex life. We’ve even explored our fantasies, but being here with this young student, with Cody had exceeded every experience in the past.

Cody ‘s tongue was relentless. It lapped and licked up my wetness with great fervor and plunged deep inside my pussy drawing out my juices. My hands curled in his blonde hair as my ass rose and rose until two moons were visible to Cody and he was able to look under my back and see my auburn hair wet from sweat. Screams of passion echoed in the cool night air.

“Oooohhhh Cody. Oh babyyyyyy…”

Cody lips covered my clit while his tongue drew circles and every geometrical shapes. Then he stretched my clit out of its hood and sucked it softly and gently. His teeth grazed on it sending me past the oblivion. My body tightened into a coil while it rose and rose off the bed until I was in a perfect arch. One finger plunged in and I lost it.

“Oh my Gooooooooooood!!!!!”

My body shook and rolled as a powerful orgasm overtook me.

Then the second finger plunged in.

“Cooooooooooooodyyyyyyyy!!!!!”

Then the third.

“Aahhhhhhhhhhh…Yessssssssss…Yesssssssss…Yessssssssssss..”

 

[Miltone]

Cody Wolfe

Kneeling on my bed, my hands cupping the firm cheeks of Miranda’s ass, I felt her body writhe and wriggle as a series of orgasms came over her. As my tongue lashed at her beautiful wet pussy, I knew that I had her just where I wanted, begging and pleading for me. And me? I was more than ready to comply. I had known it would like this. I could tell by reading her books that beneath the breezy sensuality and contemporary romantic notions, there was a vital, eager, fevered woman waiting to break free. And I was just the one to help her do it. I knew this.

I remembered the nights I lay in bed planning how I would make love to Miranda, how I would make her cum again and again, how I would take her and make her my own, make her my Miranda. And now as her body arched and bucked beneath my ministrations, my tongue and fingers bringing about convulsive, sheet-ripping climaxes, I could feel my plan unfolding with perfect precision. This was meant to be, this was destiny, and I could claim that Miranda Myers would at last be mine.

I bore down harder now on her pussy, my fingers turning and twisting up inside her, my lips closed around her clitoris, my teeth nibbling on her more firmly. Her body arched and swayed, her legs kicked and pushed at me, her hands held me firmly against her body. And as her juices gushed up, I felt her body begin to tremble madly; her fingers dug deeply into my scalp; she swore at me and called me names. And when I felt her legs, draped over my shoulders, begin to quiver I pulled my face away from her and tossed her hips down to the bed.

Miranda’s eyes batted open, a startled look on her face. Her silk blouse was nearly falling off her shoulders, her woolen skirt pushed up to near her waist and winkled badly, her stockinged legs splayed astride me. The flush of arousal had spread down from her neck and over her gorgeous breasts, and her wet pussy, a rosy dark pink, was puffy and swollen.

“Cody?” she said haltingly as I got up from the bed and stood there looking down at her. “Is there something wrong? Did I do something?”

I smiled as she pushed herself up and crawled toward me, her hands reaching out toward me. I took hold of her wrists and pushed her back onto the bed. I slowly began to remove my clothes. For a moment she remained motionless resting on her elbows, as if in shock. Her eyes followed my hands, watching as I revealed my body to her. I breathed deeply and I pulled my sweater off, flexing my muscles and filling out my chest. And when I opened up my slacks and let them fall to the floor, letting her see the outline of my thick erect cock in the skimpy black briefs I was wearing, she scrambled up to her knees, almost tearing her blouse free from her body and whipping her skirt off. When she began to unroll her stockings, I reached over and grabbed her wrists again.

“Leave them on,” I said softly but firmly. “I want you that way.”

Miranda obediently let the lace top snap back against her thigh and then tugged them both up for good measure, smoothing them against the shapely curves of her long legs. She watched avidly as I lowered my briefs, my cock eager to stand free from my body, waggling almost in her face as she looked on. I stood beside the bed, my arms spread open.

“Cody?” she said timidly. “Cody, do you want me to … to … ?”

I nodded toward her and swiveled my hips just a bit. Miranda scooted over to the edge of the bed right in front of me. She looked up at my eyes then back down to my cock only a breath away from her mouth.

“Yes, Miranda, I want you to,” I said resting my hands on her shapely shoulders. “But I want you to say it out loud.”

“Do you … do you want me to … to suck your cock?” Miranda said.

“Yes. Very much,” I replied, amused by her sudden reticence. I pulled her toward me so that her parted lips brushed against the head of my cock. The confident worldly authoress, who had so beautifully stolen the spotlight from the other luminaries earlier in the evening, was now an aroused enflamed desirable woman. And as she deftly sucked my cock deep into her mouth, she had become mine!