Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 71

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 71

In Seattle, the thermostat never hits seventy-two degrees at midnight, but that August, for one night in my life, climate records were broken during the Annual Forever Forty- Four—Finally Fifty—Birthday Bash and Western Roundup.

The horseshoe-shaped yard that surrounded my house was decorated with thousands of tiny white lights, and filled with more that eighty cowboys and cowgirls, plus at least two saloon dames. It was my birthday, but it was really a reunion of my lifelong community, most who’d known one another through the legacy of the endless parties I had hosted in my home for more than twenty years.

Turning fifty in 2008 was the beginning of a bold new decade. Looking for adventure in Cartagena, 2012

Turning fifty in 2008 was the beginning of a bold new decade. Looking for adventure in Cartagena, 2012

From the start, the energy of the crowd was high, with many guests rekindling bonds, and everyone making new ones. I was a fan of every person there. These were my witnesses and my influencers: my soul mates and my partners in crime. They had been with me during my different eras, all of them significant to my life, some for a season and others for a lifetime, all of them on site that night to root me on one more time.

My bone-white chaps were a hit, and so was my butt, celebrated by everyone as a symbol of the flamboyant chutzpah of Vicki Marie. Playful ass grabbing and bum bumping infected everyone, and I saw how my boldness simply made people happy. Love was in the air, and hedonism infiltrated the crowd. Before the night was through, I witnessed straight girlfriends making out with lesbian friends, and my lesbian friends stealing kisses from my straight boyfriends. There were friends who never smoke pot, toking away with those who do. And there were friends who never dance, shaking their stuff with abandon.

Many of the men in my life made an appearance, including Shaun, Lamar, Jason, Paul, and of course Dion. When I saw Andre on the back deck I didn’t even flinch.

“Happy Birthday, Vicki Marie! Look at you—fifty! And still the most interesting and beautiful woman in the room!”

“That’s my good fortune, and my lifetime plan. And don’t you ever forget that—loser!

“There you go, telling the truth again—and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I’m regretful-ever after.”

We couldn’t possibly have smiled any broader as we locked into each other’s eyes and I sat down beside him.

It had been two years since he walked out of my life without a word, when I had retooled my heart to believe I didn’t need to know why.

“Why did you do that? Why did you never call me again?”

His answer was as surprising as my question. “It wasn’t what I wanted. But, I knew it was what you wanted.” I looked into his face, clueless and curious. “You’re going to have to give me more, Andre. That just doesn’t make sense.”

“It was your friend, Trish. When you went to the ladies room, she told me you weren’t interested in just one guy.”

In one sweeping flashback, I remembered how hurt I had felt, how confused and how mind-fucked. I had made up my own reasons in the void, and struggled to accept that strange way men just moved on. But I couldn’t help but laugh. It was too absurd.

“Andre Cassidy—you’re telling me that after six weeks of our enchanted courtship—you disappeared from my life because of something you heard when I left the room to pee?”

There were a million things I could have said next; a flood of reactions, swirled in protest, and threatened to swamp me. I was stunned by the truth, but I didn’t need to rehash the details. Instead, I went to what mattered.

“You don’t do that.” I leaned into his face, my eyes insistent that he understand every word. “You don’t open your heart, and draw another heart in, and then leave without a word.” I looked away, realizing that I felt like a teacher, not a jilted lover. When I turned to face him again, I could see that he’d been touched in some way, because his face was soft, and his eyes were kind. He was patient. Like he was waiting for me. He made it simple for me to say what came next.

“You broke my heart, Andre. I loved you.” It was the truth and I felt stronger for saying it. “I loved you for no reason that made sense, I didn’t even know you, but I felt—I knew—that you wanted to know me and that went right to my core.” He didn’t flinch. He just looked at me silently, and I could feel how much he cared. I put my hand on his thigh. The tenderness between us was urgent, and I went for the next thing that mattered, “So, this is the moment—because you now have my story—this is the moment where you tell me how sorry you are. And that you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He looked into my eyes as he apologized, and then he put his arms around me. Andre Cassidy was a good man. That had always been true, and that hadn’t changed. He’d had every right to leave me, but he had no right not to tell me. I understood at last, that he really hadn’t meant to hurt me. It had been a misunderstanding: an unspoken assumption, and a heartbreaking mistake.

It was just before dark when I saw Wouter next to the bar, talking to Paul Sever. Wearing a hot pink T-shirt and white jeans, he had forsaken the western theme, but there he was. I was too far away to hear them, but the body language said it all—both men were laughing. Paul Sever’s plan that I invite my complete cast of lovers suddenly seemed precarious. I didn’t want Wouter talking with anyone who still adored me. It was ridiculous, but it crossed my mind that Paul Sever was at risk. Vaporization might be contagious.

I waited until he was alone to approach him. “Wouter Wilson,” I said. “Look at you.” He was still beautiful, that’s for sure. But, it looked like he’d put on a pound or two; I could see just the slightest bulge of a hot pink belly. Of course it was small of me that I found that satisfying, but why deny it? My ass was hanging out. I was still hot.

“Vicki Marie! Happy Birthday, girl!” His smile splashed a huge white banner across his dark face. I was taken aback by his radiance. He was genuinely happy to see me.

I’d had a lot of practice managing the after effects of vapor-behavior. Men were in, until they were out. It’s what happened. I don’t know how many times I’d told Cisco: “Four days. I need four days to get over a man.” Day one was shock; day two was heartache; day three was anger; and day four was depression. On the fifth day I reveled in acceptance and was free of self-doubt and the discomfort of rejection. I’m not kidding. I had this down. It helped that whenever I was dumped, there were always other men enthralled with me; and of course, I’d avoided getting too close. But the key was to force my focus to the present. When a guy was gone, he could only occupy the past. I had trained myself not to look back.

It had taken much more than four days with Wouter, of course, but as we made small talk under the tiny white lights, I learned I was over wanting him. That wound had healed. But I still felt the tug toward rejection, the nagging remnant of my questionable worth. He had left me, without a word, after loving me. Why was that so common?

I didn’t know the answer any more at that moment than I had when Toni split. I only knew that it happened, and no matter what I did, that would never change. The only way to stop it would be to pull out entirely, and for me that would never be an option. But I finally understood, that not understanding was something worth hanging on to. It was a sign of my humanity; it was a sign I had a heart.

I also understood that I was too much—too much to contain inside my own thick skin. I wanted out, because I wanted to find my people. I had left my husband and the worthy comfort of domestic love, to take my chance in the wild. I had invented my grand bachelor plan, I had pushed the experiment into a lifestyle, and I had thrived under its influence. I had planned for all contingencies, drawn on a lifetime of experience, and every variable of emotion in a one-on-one exchange. I had managed to blow the myth of monogamy out of my zone of desire. But, there had still been love, and of course, the heartache. There was loss. Always there was loss. That wasn’t going to change either.

TOMORROW: Chapter 72

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 70

Status

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 70

“Hey, baby! I need you to get your French butt over here. We’ve got to take pictures of my ass,” I told Dion.

“What’s happening?”

“The invite for The Roundup. The chaps arrived. Hot, baby, hot. I love them. You will too.”

I hung up with Dion, and looked back at my reflection in the dance studio mirror: bone-white leather, with fringe on the outside-seam, and two medallions of beadwork, one on each hip. The cowgirl leggings were beautiful, heavy, and complicated. It took several minutes to understand how to push my legs into ass-less pants. But they looked great. I had thrown on an ivory lace thong, a cocoa-butter leather halter, and a straw-colored cowboy hat. Hah! Fear was receding, and facts were once again winning. Fifty looked mighty fine from the high side of forty-nine!

Writers can always find a reason t drink! Celebrating my first draft of the last chapter in Antigua, 2012

Writers can always find a reason to drink! Celebrating my first draft of the last chapter in Antigua, 2012

Why did I want to hang my butt out for my birthday? Fury. And audacity. This was a bitch-slap at the relentless limitations imposed by my presumptuous culture. Having arrived at the threshold of the fifties, I resented the opinion that a woman of age is expected to relinquish the only power that the patriarchy has ever encouraged her to possess. We spend all those years— and all that money—primping and posing and perfecting our itty-bitty oasis of recognition. Some women excel and some women opt-out and some women give up in despair, because the cultural bandwidth for female sexual power—like Barbie’s waistline—is notoriously narrow. Pussy power is personal and political—it speaks to how women see themselves, and how the culture sees women. I had arrived at that end date, where I could be dismissed, and not seen at all.

I had never let my age stop me from doing anything, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t spent way too much time in the roll up to forty, distressed over the inevitable. Contemplating fifty was an even bigger hump to hurdle. I was a sex positive feminist, with a harem of studs, and I still struggled with this bullshit.

Well, I was sending out a middle-finger message, to eliminate the residue of my own self-doubt, and overcome the fiction promoted by my culture. There is no universal expiration date on a woman’s power and influence. And just to advertise the truth of this reality, my cheeks were coming out for one white-ass reason: to prove those asses wrong. 220

TOMORROW: Chapter 71

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 69

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 69

“Of course you should invite all your lovers to your fiftieth—why the hell not?” Paul Sever and I were having dinner at his place, and he was adamant. Impossible, I thought. I had bachelor rules, after all, and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was my gospel.

“So, you’re telling me, you’ve got no problem coming to my party, and breaking bread with the other guys?” Paul and I had been dating since April, the same time I started to see Wouter again. I dug the hell out of him.

“It’s your party, sweetie. It’s your life. I don’t have a problem with it, and fuck anyone who does!” I’d been thinking about inviting all my former lovers, but the current ones? Could I do that?

Johnny and Vicki Marie pose for The Forever Forty-Four—Finally Fifty—Birthday Bash and Western Round-Up Invitation, 2008

Johnny and Vicki Marie pose for The Forever Forty-Four—Finally Fifty—Birthday Bash and Western Round-Up Invitation, 2008

The idea grew on me. It was a milestone moment, not just another birthday, but an anniversary of my first fifty years. Of course I wanted all my guys to celebrate with me. My birthday party had always been a gift to my friends, an appreciation of their importance in my life. My lovers were substantially significant in my journey, and I had a lot of appreciation for every one of them. After all, they were the reason I had the confidence to wear the bloody chaps.

I made an inventory of the men I was seeing at that moment: Lamar Taylor, Paul Sever, and Kyle Ross. My list of retired lovers was loaded with outstanding men. Did I think any of these men would be uncomfortable or awkward? Not a chance. My collection represented male confidence at its best. The real question then was this: would I be comfortable? I didn’t take long to answer. This was my Fiftieth Birthday—and this was my life. I invited them all—even Andre Cassidy and Wouter Wilson.

TOMORROW: Chapter 70

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 68

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 68

“We have a job to do.” It was Wednesday morning with Cisco, the last week in June.

“Speak to me, my queen.” He took a bow, drafted for the challenge.

“It’s almost July, and as you know, The Roundup is the last weekend in August.”

“The Annual Forever Forty-Four Birthday Bash and Western Roundup? I think we should make it a national holiday.”

“I love you, Cisco, but first, two things: number one—I’m going to wear chaps.”

“Assless?” The young man was so on it.

“You know it, baby—so we have seven short weeks to make sure we can bounce a dime off each cheek.”

“You got it—I can do this.”

“This is serious. Now—second thing—I think I’m going for a big change this year.” I swept my arms above my head, framing the words on a marquee. “The Annual Forever Forty-Four— FINALLY FIFTY—Birthday Bash and Western Roundup!”

“No way!” He was stunned. The man was a believer in my brand. “What about Forever Forty-Four?”

“Here’s what I’m thinking, baby. Back in the day, I started Forever Forty-Four to make a point about women and aging— about me aging. Women lie about age because of the BS that our value decreases. I chose forty-four because it was already over-the-hill,” I copped a cover girl pose with one hand behind my head, “when clearly I wasn’t.”

Still aging, but with guns like these, I'm not complaining! My 56th birthday, NY, NY 2014

Still aging, but with guns like these, I’m not complaining! My 56th birthday, NY, NY 2014

“Body by Cisco!” His arm lifted his index finger into the air with pride.

“I think I need to own fifty for the same reason I owned forty-four. I’m not going to lie; fifty sounds fucking scary, Cisco, you have no idea.” He was barely twenty-six. He could have been my son.

“But the truth is—I’m in the best shape of my life. Plus, I’m crazy successful in my work, I’ve got a schedule to die for, and, my sex-life is a how-to on having fun! I’m dating four men—or maybe five—who knows? I lose track! Look at me, Cisco, look at everything I have going—fifty rocks!

The truth was suddenly more significant than my brand. I was pumping myself up. I could do this. I had to. “Fifty isn’t fifty! Fifty is the new thirty! Tell me I’m right!”

“I like it, and you’re right. Now let’s get on it. Station One: forty lunges with dumbbells. We got work to do.”

Fifty is scary because this culture got it wrong. Opportunity, adventure, and future did not expire at forty or fifty, or even sixty. Plus, that little glory list ignores the crown jewel of post-youth, the incomparable sparkle of wisdom. Wisdom is only available with age, and those of us who’ve aged, and paid attention, can’t help but reek of wisdom. Some acquire more than others and some faster than others. But it is optional; no one forces wisdom on us, and the unwise are everywhere. But not me, not now: I had arrived at this milestone with wisdom.

What did I know about my life on the south side of fifty? It was mine. I’d been self-cast as the leading lady in my lifelong script, and I’d crafted a role where I played my kind of heroine, hardwired for my style of adventure. I was born poor, and female, but still fortunate beyond measure, born in a nation with a blueprint for equality at a moment when it was uniquely possible.

As a kid, I joined millions to protest the war in Vietnam, became radical as a young feminist, came out as a lesbian, and nudged that cart along the road to civil rights. I had been married to a kind man who had held my heart, and I’d had a good run in a mature partnership. I had known deep love, more than once, and spent my fair share of time with her evil twin, heartache.

Art was my lifelong career, and it taught me how to make something from nothing. Business was my income career, and it taught me how to hear No, and not stop on my way to the next Yes; it taught me how to read people and listen closely so I could create plans and foster success.

I produced events to promote my art and donated the proceeds where it was needed. I had been given so much, and had learned the richness of giving back. With a community of caring people, I raised money and awareness for kids at risk, homeless women and families, and the health of the planet. I had joined millions of citizens to elect our country’s first black president on a platform of hope, and I had my ticket to Chicago for the historic election night results.

I hosted dinner parties for my expanding community of diverse Americans and outstanding immigrants. I sheltered friends in transition. I cared for a grandmother stricken with Alzheimer’s. I weathered an estrangement with an alcohol-dependent father, and then ached as I watched him wither and die. I buried friends during the AIDS crisis, and sat bedside with the friends who had pulled the cancer card. I celebrated a lot. There was so much, and there were so many to honor.

The view over my shoulder was nothing short of awesome. I was put on the planet to have a good time, to share my good fortune, and leave my mark. I knew what could be done in fifty years, and I was ready to own every minute of it. Looking ahead, I was not short on dreams, I was not short on fun, and I had the wisdom to know that would never end. Hell yes! Bring on the big five-o—and the leather chaps. It was time to show my fifty-year-old ass the bright light of day.

TOMORROW: Chapter 69

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 67

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 67

“Hey, darling—I found a new club—and it’s all about you!” It was a sunny Saturday morning, and the doors were open. I was organizing my desk drawers when Steve walked in with his newsflash.

“Babalou’s, on the corner of 45th and Meridian. Last night they had a great band playing R&B—everyone dancing, some people dressing. The spot is sharp; with big leather couches, crystal chandeliers—and girlfriend, it was packed with your favorite flavor—nothing but brothers and brothers and brothers!”

His timing couldn’t have been better. I had just found the receipt for Wouter’s watch, and tossed it in the trash. I needed a distraction, and I needed a new man. It had been four long weeks since Portland, and my last moment with Wouter. With no word and no warning, he’d never called again.

Today is my birthday and this is the face of fifty-six. New York City, August 2014

Today is my birthday, and this is the face of my fifty-six. New York City, August 2014

First I’d missed him like crazy, and I’d cried like a baby. But it didn’t take long before I hated his guts. Who were these bastards? What was so fucking difficult about picking up the phone to say, “Thanks, babe, but I’m done here?” I had spent a lot of effort learning to accept people for who they were; but this time I was raging; men like Andre and Wouter were just plain evil. Gratefully, I had Lamar, and Paul Sever, whom I’d started seeing that spring, plus the erect attention of my long distance lovers. Once again, I was fortified; I had the bachelor team to ease my trashed heart. But I also felt dumb. I knew he was capable of vaporizing, that was second date information, the night he ditched me at the Century Ballroom. I’d been smart to steer clear, and a fool to let him back in. I was misled by the magic; I thought he had changed. Had I learned nothing from the equally evil Toni Rey?

Steve’s report was good news: a new venue to explore. I had long retired from email dating, and was meeting men the conventional way, in public spaces. And lucky for me, wherever I went, I found black, single men. I could count on it like I could count on the sun rising each morning. I had become a lure for brothers. Out with my girlfriends for drinks, and the handsome brother in the house would snag my eye. If I were alone with the newspaper at the lunch café, the dapper man at the other table would target me with his white smile. If I were cocktailing with colleagues at the charity auction, the fit man with the finest footwear in the room made his way to my side. It happened everywhere and all the time.

On a trip to New York, even my mother witnessed this bounty of biracial attraction with silent wonder. “What is it about you?” she finally wanted to know. It was happy hour at Grand Central Station, and we were drinking champagne. Moments earlier she had witnessed yet another drive-by flirtation on our walk up the grand stairwell. I knew exactly what she wanted to know. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked.

“I’m a brother-magnet,” I answered, because that’s how I’d come to understand it.

“Oh my God, honey, it’s true!” She didn’t need to hear a word more. “You are a brother magnet!

Four years of persistence, and I had crafted a dynamic bachelor rhythm. I simultaneously dated three or four men, and I was always up for a new introduction. I had to be. The one thing I could count on was an inevitable vacancy. I wasn’t measuring my relationships by longevity, but by the quality of the time. There had been treasured short-timers, plus the enduring pleasure of men like Kyle and Lamar. I couldn’t believe how well it had worked out.

There had been significant sore spots, with vapor episodes, family backlash, and downright disenchantment. But even the love that had been stirred by Andre and Wouter hadn’t changed my view; I stood committed to my decision to cultivate multiple partners, because more than ever, I felt the bachelor title could contain the most authentic Vicki Marie.

I had retrained my female brain, believing that the highest satisfaction possible in life only occurred in the present tense. That didn’t mean I wasn’t affected by the fact that Wouter was gone, but I knew the ache of that loss was temporary, because I’d learned to de-emphasize past and future. Adios to the life-sapping rehashing of what had already played out. This change of view didn’t happen overnight. And just because I’d gotten good at it, didn’t mean I was even close to perfect. But living in the present had become the foundation from where I orchestrated dating decisions and expectations—juggling three men, or four men—there were times I had more. As complicated as that may sound, the fact was, by living in the moment, I had simplified my life. I had opened up more space for positive experiences, and the benefits were remarkable. I had continuous access to adventure and fulfillment.

I avoided thinking about a man when I was away from him, but when together, I aspired to be the most interesting and desirable woman in his world. Foreplay was a personalized event, and I became an architect of details. I made it my business to know a man’s business, and I would prep the evening with his made-to-order turn ons. The man liked Stella in an ice-frosty glass?—done. Did he mention he was a fan of old-school R&B?—just let me press play. A little Monday Night Football, with a steak on the side?—the grill is on fire. Red lace panties, the backless dress, mirrors on every wall?—I paid attention to what a man dug, and it was my pleasure to give him exactly what he wanted. A date with Vicki Marie was a walk into the Magic Kingdom, an adult Disneyland, where all dreams come true.

It was my job to get the man’s dick hard, but I raised the bar and aspired for more: I wanted a man to be aroused by the perfect blend of intellect spiced with sex, delivered in the savory package that could only be me. I used his favorite things to target his senses: sight, sound, smell and taste. My four-pronged assault was aimed to stimulate that mass between his ears with hedonistic sensation. That left the fifth sense. Touch was for me. I was banking on the payoff of a smartly designed seduction. Once primed and lit with fire, the burn that followed was mapped out to consume me.

TOMORROW: Chapter 68

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 66

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 66

After our midnight reunion, Wouter and I began dating. We were a duet wired for adult city-fun, and I didn’t just have sex with this man—we did stuff. There had been hikes in the Cascade Mountains, a black tie fundraiser, the high school graduation party of a best friend’s son, and the happy hour concerts in the park. My friends and colleagues adored him, and so did I. It was springtime, and a fever had infected me with a long dormant virus; there was something like love in my blood. Wouter made me feel naughty and cherished, plus we made each other laugh all the time. I had no trust for love, but there was no one way I was going to miss the joy he brought to my life.

Manifesting success with guerrilla product placement at Powell's Books in Portland, 2014

Manifesting success with guerrilla product placement at Powell’s Books in Portland, 2014

On the Fourth of July weekend, Wouter and I made the trip down south for the Portland Blues Festival. I went every year by myself, and I was thrilled when he answered yes to the three days of live music on the downtown seawall of Portland’s Willamette River.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” I said, handing him the small box that I’d kept hidden in my suitcase since we arrived.

“Sweetie, really?” He looked like a big kid, smiling from ear to ear. “My girl got me something? I’m a lucky man!” He cracked the lid, and the Michael Kors watch with the mother-of-pearl face, shimmered in the sunlight of our Portland hotel room.

“Vicki Marie, look at this,” he cooed, taking it out and holding it in his right hand. “It’s a, it’s a . . . ” he stumbled with his words, “. . . Baby—? Is it a lady’s watch?”

Damn it! It was too small! I thought it might be, but I had picked it anyway, captivated by the subtle, iridescent face, and the lug nuts on the radius of the dial. He was flying out early the next morning to see his mom for his birthday, and I wanted him to have something special, from me, on his visit to Cleveland. It was unlike me, but I wanted him to think about me, and talk about me, while he was away from me.

“I’ve got the receipt, baby. We can find you a better style at Nordstrom when you get back.”

“It’s great, sugar, but I do think it’s too small.” He leaned over and kissed me. “Thank you so much, Vicki Marie, you are so-o-o sugar-pussy-sweet.”

“And you are the sexiest man on the I-5 corridor!” I spoke the truth, leaning into his radiant face. “Now let’s go! We’ve got a date with a blues legend! It’s Koko Taylor time!”

It was our last night, the Fourth of July, and there would be fireworks before Koko’s set. We had left our blanket and cooler on the lawn—the informal reservation policy that had been working all weekend—and it was best to re-occupy our territory before the sun went down. Our time so far had been nothing short of adult Disneyland: with romance, live music, dancing, great restaurants and outstanding sex. I was all about living in the present, but that didn’t stop me from relishing his return to Seattle, and eight more weeks of summer fun with the man from Ohio.

Our blanket was as we had left it, and our lawn neighbors welcomed us back. The river-edge became a temporary neighborhood over the life of the event, and I loved that Wouter was as social with strangers as I was. My reasons to adore him just kept adding up. He treated me like his girlfriend when we were together, and paid me no mind when we weren’t. I was in bachelor heaven, feeling the love without the contract.

After the sun went down, we listened to another great band in the lead-up to the fireworks and Koko’s headline show. Wouter had been holding a pose as human lawn furniture through most of the set, sitting in the ground-level lawn chair, and I was propped up in his lap, between his legs, with my head on his chest, a light blanket deflecting the chill. I was digging the delta-blue guitar sound with my eyes closed, and my head keeping time with the bass. His hands had been resting on my belly, but when the solo broke, he moved his hand under my blanket and inside the waistband of my jean skirt. He wasted no time and pushed aside the panties, and found my clit with his middle finger. My body froze, in spite of the fire he’d set off with the spark of a single digit. He kept up a steady pace with his stroke, and I felt my pussy weep into my panties, and my mind light up with fear. He was one bold bastard, making me want his fucking finger, while our new neighbors were on all sides. He was messing with my good manners; he was making me want more.

“Don’t stop,” I urged silently, unable to speak, “don’t stop for a second!” I was afraid of being caught; I was afraid he might stop. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t moan, and I couldn’t let anyone know the truth. I shouted mutely; I had to make myself heard, but my pleas were held hostage, and my silence made me his accomplice.

“You started this—don’t leave me, I need you; don’t let anyone see—you can’t let anyone see—just don’t stop; don’t stop till I’m done!” When I came, it rolled through me like a wave, breaking fast, everywhere, all at once; my body not moving, my lungs barely breathing, just coming and coming with the force of a flood. In the surge, I became the flood, until like a wave, I was swept back to sea; washed away from his touch; left still and changed under the night sky and the tender shield of his vigilant eye.

“Wake up, baby, and give me a kiss. I’m leaving now.” It was morning, and I didn’t want to hear the sound of his voice. The clock on the nightstand read 5:00 a.m.

My head was thick, and my body was sore. We had only ended our night a few hours earlier, after some kind of mind altering sex marathon.

“Hush, baby. You’re too loud,” I said softly, closing my eyes again.

“I want you to sleep that off, angel, and fall back to dreamland. I’ll be outta your hair. I got a date with mama.” He sat next to me on the bed. I felt the warmth of his hand on my hip.

“Give her my love, Mister Wilson, and happy birthday. You’re a great date.” I almost said, “I love you.” It would have been true.

“And you’re the best date ever, sugar pussy. Now, back to sleep. I’ll talk to you soon.”

TOMORROW: Chapter 67

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: Chapter 65

Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day

THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE

Chapter 65

“They al-ways come b-a-a-a-a-c-k, they al-ways come b-a-a-a-a-c-k!” I sang out to Cisco on Monday morning when he met me in the stretch-out room at the gym. Cisco had been my trainer for some time; he’d heard this song before.

“Who now?” he smiled, tuned in for another chapter from Vicki Marie’s bachelor album. “Oh come on, baby—where’s the fun if you don’t guess?”

“OK, you’re right,” he said, putting his hand out to bring me to my feet. “Let’s go.” We walked past the machines to the free weight room, me with my Cheshire Cat smile, and Cisco concentrating on the possibilities.

Climbing peaks in the Andes is like locating worthy men to date: perseverance will take you to the top. Peru, 2007

Climbing peaks in the Andes is like locating worthy men to date: perseverance will take you to the top. Peru, 2007

“Andre?”

“Shut your mouth,” I said, shoving him through the doorway.

“OK, OK, my bad—over here,” he gestured with his clipboard.

“Not pull-ups!”

“Yes little-lady—super sets, with push-ups and dead-lifts— mhaaawww! IT’S MONDAY MORNING!” he crowed, always ready to inflict his sadism on his most fit clients. “Oh, I know— what’s his name, Jason?—the wine guy?”

“Strike two, loser. And for the record—I hate Monday mornings.”

I started training with Cisco in 2006 when I noticed that my clothes started to fit snugly, the year after I’d quit the cigarettes. I had seen him every Monday and Wednesday morning since.

This man knew more about my sex life than my best girlfriends; I was the absolute worst when it came to kiss and tell. My stories were too good not to share, even the rough spots. I think Cisco loved my life as much as I did.

“Wouter Wilson,” I panted out, finishing the last push-up at the end of the first set.

“Wouter? No way! The guy who dogged you at the Century?” I was always impressed with the details Cisco retained. He paid attention.

“Yes, dear. The Wouter Wilson. Live, in-person, and in my kitchen—and a few other rooms—at midnight on Saturday.” I kicked back my water, wiping my lips with my forearm, and smiled wide at the memory. Cisco returned the grin, and motioned me back toward the dead-lift station.

“They always come back.” Cisco chuckled, repeating my soundtrack. There’d been a long line of men who’d proven that fact, and Cisco had heard about every one of them. “It really is true; they always do come back, don’t they?”

“Yes, it is baby. It’s the law of the beast. Once a dog has your scent, it’s not even a choice.”

TOMORROW: Chapter 66

Subscribe to Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series at The Bachelor Blog and never miss a chapter! Or follow on twitter @vickimarie44

 Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.