Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
Jason Sinclair was a white man of average height, but otherwise classically handsome, with curly brown hair, broad, muscular shoulders, full lips, and enchanting green eyes that could disarm even the most sophisticated bachelor. He was the sommelier of the evening’s fundraiser, one of the many auction events where I donated one of my photographs.
I admired the man’s charm and easy manner in the lobby during the cocktail hour, and I saw that he had moved into the dining room to pour wine, as the guests found their seats for dinner. When he came to our table, he snagged me with his penetrating green eyes and the full force of his sexy smile.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he addressed the table, before bringing his eyes back into mine, “I have something I think that will pair better with the beef.” He returned with a superior bottle of cabernet, that he described with fluent expertise to our table of ten as he poured.
It was girl’s night out, and I was with my best girlfriend, and high school sweetheart, Trish. I had dressed-up in an imported ensemble of hand-tailored silks that had been designed for me in Beijing. The body-sculpted pants had been cut from a fabric of smoothly reflective black silk, and embroidered with delicate white thread in a repeating pattern of bamboo leaves. I tucked a raw-silk, metallic-gold blouse into the high waist, and added delicate gold and diamond earrings to finish the ensemble. Trish was more understated, but as always, looked stunning in basic black. The simple design of her pant cupped the pout of her perfect bum, and the keyhole-cut, tight-knit blouse revealed the skin of her décolletage, a teasing window to her olive-tinted cleavage. Unlike me, Trish actually had tits, and they were gorgeous. I didn’t mind being small-breasted; I was actually grateful for the lighter load. But there were certain fashion styles that demanded a perky rack, and there was no way in the universe to squeeze even a hint of cleavage from my personal pair.
Trish and I were a tempting team. She was all about the ladies, and I was mining for men, but we were both known to cross boundaries with our flirtatious wordplay. Together we worked the room, and stirred up attention during the cocktail hour, raising hopes and breaking hearts with our playful teasing. On sabbatical from her teaching position at Seattle University, Trish was at a crossroads, and determined to pursue her passion for winemaking. She was alert to the attention of the handsome sommelier, and leapt at the opportunity to talk shop with an expert.
After some initial excitement—my artwork prompted a bidding war and sold for twice its value—the auction dragged on, as they always do. Trish and I were content at our low-rent table in the back of the room, enjoying special guest treatment with excellent wine, while we fine-tuned our travel plans. Trish was heading south in a few days, pulling her trailer to California wine country, for an internship with a winery. There was a detour to visit family in Las Vegas, where I was scheduled to fly in for a hotel trade show, to promote my art. After a few days there, we would pull the trailer to Palm Springs to play hard at The Dinah, the annual weekend gathering of three thousand lesbians that blew a party into the desert town each year.
When the auction wrapped up, I waited with the last of my wine while Trish went to the ladies room. Our handsome sommelier seized the moment, and knelt down at my side.
“Excuse me if this seems inappropriate—and I certainly mean no offense,” he was no more than a foot from my face, his emerald eyes stunning in their clarity. “I’ve been watching you since the first moment you came in—and I know I’m not the first person to say this—but, I’m quite sure you have the finest ass I’ve ever seen.”
I laughed out loud. He was not young, so he clearly knew that calling out a hot ass at a feminist fundraiser was a high-risk compliment. I put my hand on his bicep, enjoying the firmness of his muscle.
“No offense taken! It’s Jason, right? I’m a simple woman, Jason, and I like simple pleasures. You’re always welcome to compliment my ass.” He laughed now, too, and I could sense my favorite hormone in our exchange, the testosterone that so often fueled the bravado of a confident man. I adored that balance between entitlement and flattery, when a man was savvy enough to pull off an aggressive come-on, delivered frankly with a splash of class. The man impressed me as a master, and so he was. In less than five minutes he was gone, with my number in his phone. I drained the wine from the glass, my face toasty from the heat of his overture. Trish came to the table, took one look at my glow, and knew immediately what had transpired.
“Vicki Marie, I want a tour of his cellar after this one gets started,” she said, laying down the law as she always did, “and you’ve got just two weeks to get me over there before I drag the trailer out of town.”
“I have the finest ass he’s ever seen,” I quoted.
“No, girlfriend—mine is. You’re just taller,” and I laughed, not only because it was funny: but because it was true.
TOMORROW: Chapter 34
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.