Over one year and 1,452 trees into drafting my novel, Woman on the Verge of Paradise, I'll be sharing excerpts with you. I estimate publication between one and seventeen years from now. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy some samples. This scene takes you to my 20th High School Reunion. Note: red = song lyrics to Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing.
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Twenty years later, I scoured the
L.A. Airport Hilton for Daniel – to no avail. He must have bypassed the reunion
hoopla. Denise made her presence known, though. True to form, she honed in on
her prey: a decent looking but tacky albeit innocent and well-intentioned alum.
I can’t say Denise exhibits poor taste; she targeted me.
Amid Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing,
I found myself on the dance floor, a fingertip’s distance from Denise. “Hey Robyn, it’s so totally cool to see you!”
Denise spun in slow circles around me, her long stringy red hair whipping my
face as her arms swirled meditatively overhead in Hare-Krishna like fashion.
Let's get down tonight
“You too Denise.”
“Do this now.” Denise propped her
chest out, shifted her buttocks back and glided towards me. Next she launched a
series of pelvic thrusts over my left, then right leg. I slowly stepped back,
held a smile and initiated full-throttle gyrations in hopes nobody was
watching.
“Whoo-hoo! Let it loose,
girlfriend!”
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up
I attempted to embrace the moment
and all, but the damn song wouldn’t end.
“Say let’s exchange numbers. I’ll
teach you some more dance moves.”
I want sexual healing
“Sure.” I flashed a wide grin, wondering at what point in the past two
decades Denise turned
hippie-Hare-exotic-dancer. A little experimentation that night might’ve
been fun, but with someone less…weird.
emotional stability is leaving me
As the song drew to an end, I
thought it best to relinquish my twenty year old grudge.
Please don't procrastinate
Then I deserted her –still twirling- and made a beeline for the bar.
It's not good to masturbate
Karina and her husband downed
martinis as I arrived. “Ooh baby,” he joshed. “I was getting all hot and sweaty
watching you two go at it on the dance floor.”
Flushed, I turned to the bartender.
“Make mine a screaming orgasm.”
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Denise, if you're reading this, sorry I didn't call you. I have a perfectly good excuse: I ducked and ran while you were jotting your number down for me.
And sorry I rejected your Facebook friend offer last year, but I didn't wanna be friends.
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