Thank
you so much for having me for a visit. I think I have fallen in love with the
girl on the cover of my latest book Memories
& Kisses. She is beautiful, of course, but what really attracts me is
her mystery. I’m sure it is no accident that she uses bright red lipstick. Take
a casual glance at her picture, and you are caught by that luscious, loveable
mouth. Who does she kiss? Just one lover? Or several? Does she kiss men or
perhaps women? Would she kiss me on the right evening?
What do
you think? Is she thinking about memories of love lost? Perhaps the memories
made trying to forget a lost love? Even old memories revisited by old friends,
united in a kiss that rekindles flames, passions and desire, too. Old memories
are like old red wine - all the richer for time passed. And the kisses taste
sweeter too. Three romantic and very sexy stories take us back to things
as they once were, and forward to the wonderful times to come.
Memories & Kisses has three stories of old loves
remembered; a grieving woman rescued from the sea, two childhood friends
growing old friendship into passionate loving, and two long separated teenagers
finding that time has mellowed them both and maturity has brought a passionate
intensity they had never imagined. All three stories are of rekindled love that
survived decades of longing and is now ready to burst into flame.
Blurb:
The
Storm ~ a
newly widowed woman unable to face the world alone and lonely, buries her
husband. Overcome by grief, she walks into the rough, grinding pitiless surf in
an effort to blend the gray in her heart with the gray on the horizon. She is
saved from the crashing waves by a man, a bearded white haired man who brings
her back to life and gives her a reason to live again.
The
Park ~ two
childhood friends, now adults, reunite on the eve of the dedication of their
once favorite playground now slated to become a high-tech water park. The
destruction of their favorite playground makes them melancholy; reliving their
dreams as children in this park inspires them to greater, more passionate long
buried desires they never responded to as teens, but knew existed but in their
memories.
The
Story of Us
~ high school friends, once nearly sweethearts, reconnect in their sixties. The
Internet removes the veil of uncomfortable shyness. They are open and revealing
in emails about their youthful teenaged desires for one another. They discover
what we all hope is true: that love is eternal. Surviving decades, not only in
the shadowed recesses of our memories, but in a kiss, a touch, a magnetic
embrace love thrives.
Do you have memories of a love that once was?...of
a love that was lost?...of, perhaps, a rekindled love that survived decades of
longing?
Buy Links:
Excerpt from The Storm:
I walk to the surf,
heaving for breath, weak from running against the rain, fighting the storm, the
sadness, my loss - your death. I walk into the surf and keep walking. It is
surprisingly warm and enveloping. I suddenly feel comforted, my heartbreak no longer
a penetrating pain. I know you are with me and I seek out your embrace. I cry
again, scream at the thunderous surf, and then I am gone. I can’t breathe and I
am falling, rolling, tumbling in a hazy grey darkness that is wet, ferocious,
demanding. Suddenly my dizzy comfort turns to fear and I struggle against the
pounding, relentless waves. What have I done? I am a good swimmer and an
athlete, but can I beat this? Instinct overcomes me. My heart pounds. I start
to kick wildly. Moving my arms toward the surface, the current catches me
again, tumbling me over and over. My lungs burn. I lose my bearing—which way is
up, down? I start to get a sickening feeling of death, my own impending death,
and, just as I start to give in, I feel the hand of God grab my hair and hood
in a fierce grip and yank me to the surface. I feel the sky darken and the surf
diminish. Everything tastes salty, gritty, and then my body heaves, relaxed,
and my world goes black.
I
awake to pounding on my chest; I am being rattled and something is covering my
mouth and nose. I cough, retch, and then vomit the last vestiges of the ocean
from my body. My mouth is filled with grit, sand, and the salty taste of taffy.
I open my eyes and see God reaching down toward me. He leans over me and the
salty ocean water drips from his face to mine. He is big, strong, and gasping;
he is surrounded in a glowing aura which intensifies his white hair and white
beard. I am frightened. I must be dead. But that cannot be! How foolish I am.
He sits me up, tenderly and gently helps me to my feet, all the while holding
me securely with large strong hands and then he speaks to me.
“Are
you alright, miss? You scared me near to death when I saw you walk into the
surf. Why in the world….Where do you live?”
I
am alive to my senses.
“Wha. . . ?” My knees weaken and I fall
further into his arms. Quickly, he catches my descent and carries me to a bench
where he sits me down, moving the errant curls of hair from my cheeks, and
speaks to me again.
“Where
are you staying? Shall I call the police?”
I
can feel my heart pounding against his chest.
“No,
please, I’m . . . I’ll be fine. My key, my pocket; it’s in my pocket. Please…”
I
can’t remember my hotel or where I am or why. As he unzips my pocket and
removes my hotel key, he pulls my hood up over my head to shelter my face from
the pelting rain. Collecting me under his arm, my body firmly in his grip, we
walk slowly back to the hotel. The traffic is still sparse, no taxis to be
seen. It seems to take forever. The storm is so much worse, the surf so high,
sucking the wind into the watery folds as it retreats to the ocean. At once, I
am so scared that I begin to tremble and yet, I feel protected.
As
we walk into the hotel lobby, the bell captain approaches us and asks if I need
the hotel doctor, whereupon my guardian says, “No, that won’t be necessary,
thank you.” We take the elevator to my floor and I am finally in the sanctity
of my room, as lonely as it is. My savior, my hero sits me in the desk chair
while he goes to the bathroom and starts the shower. He returns. He is saying
something to me that I can’t understand, but he starts to take my shoes off.
Then he leans me forward, removes my windbreaker and sports bra, and helps me
stand while he pulls relentlessly at my wet spandex knee-highs. He kicks off
his own running shoes and removes his blazer. He carries me to the shower but I
feel as if I’m watching the scene unfold from outside my own body. I am unafraid
of this stranger.
The
water is hot and piercing, but he is gentle, loving, and tender. He bathes me
and washes my hair, lifting the removable nozzle to rinse the sand, grit, and
seaweed from my hair and lithe body. My skin is a deep pink from the intense
extreme of the cold grasp of the ocean and the heated comfort of the hot
shower. His hands are everywhere, on every curve, gently caressing my skin with
his soapy fingertips. He deftly, tenderly, washes my breasts, my taunt stomach
and pussy. He controls himself, but I can’t let him stop. I look up at him, and
notice he is watching himself bathe me. He seems to caress my buttocks as he
cleans the sand from between my rounded cheeks. Unembarrassed, he rinses my
body thoroughly, running his fingers though my shoulder-length brown hair. I
feel safe, warmed, yet surprisingly aroused, weakened by my ordeal.
For
the first time, it seems, he looks down at me. He takes me in as I look up at
him, transfixed by his control. I am naked in my sorrow and my pain; he, fully
clothed except for his windbreaker and shoes, smiles, touching my heart. I did
not notice his erection in the shower, he is a complete gentleman. My breasts,
the curve of my belly to my thigh, my face against his chest glisten in the
shower, as I trust him to help me.
Author Bio and Links:
Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex,
hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With
two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess,"
indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere
and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel
and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively.
The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her
formative years in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her
family, Muffy finished high
school in Northern California and attended the University of
California, Davis, and majored
in
Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce
work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the
Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small
Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and
resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the
water in SW Florida. Muffy
pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life,
indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual
literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.
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Previously Published at:
Oysters
& Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams
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