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Angrily, Emma Harding slammed the book shut and flung it across the room. It thudded against the living room door before falling to the floor, open at some page but face down. For a few seconds Emma could only stand there, silently fuming. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t needed to read that bit again? For the hundredth time the unspoken words howled in her head, how dare he? How dare he reveal their relationship in this way? So what if it was fifteen years ago? Exposing her with his words, he had revealed her sexual awakening, her secret desires, her passion, and her erotic soul. The sensuousness, the sensitivity of their brief time together was opened out for the whole world to slaver over. And the whole world was no exaggeration. The book had been a massive best seller.
She had never been a great reader of fiction. Law books took most of her attention, but her first knowledge of this damned book had been a headline in a newspaper acclaiming a raunchy novel called:
She hadn’t bothered to read the article. Then colleagues in the law firm, where she was a partner, had made a big fuss about the sexiness of the book. She had paid little attention to their excited tales of being jealous of what the hero did to the heroine. Then, only a few days ago, a few months after the book was published, she had spotted it in a shop window, surrounded by colourful marketing hype. And there, for the first time, she noticed the author’s name. Brad Sumner. Her throat had tightened. Could it really be that Brad Sumner? Was he the man whom she had once thought of as her Brad Sumner? In the short time they had been together, he, a raw journalist with a local newspaper, she struggling through law studies at York University, he had talked about his hopes of becoming a novelist. So his name prompted her purchase of the book and she had started reading it that night.
From the opening page she began recognising small details, familiar names, and places. She hadn’t got too far before any doubts were totally removed. His female character was called Emily. How close was that? The seductive male character was Brian, close enough. Emily was given tawny, lioness hair. Emma had tawny hair, and Brad himself had once remarked that it was ‘like a lioness’. Emily’s breasts were ‘just a good handful.’ Exactly what Brad had said about Emma’s breasts all those years ago.
The whole scenario dealing with Emily’s deflowering, brought it all back to Emma. The location, that rather cheap hotel room, with its faded floral wallpaper, the drab bed cover, and the grubby little toilet and shower were all accurately described in the text. Add to that an uncertain twenty year old virgin, sitting on the edge of a bed, watching a lusty twenty two year old man strip down to a pair of bulging boxer shorts. They say you never forget your first time, and it was true, as Emma now recalled her own trembling at that bulge. Emily trembled too, as the man, Brian, in the book, raised her to her feet, and kissed her warmly, before slowly and very delicately unbuttoning her blouse.
Reading on from there, Emma almost knew what was coming next, felt again her feelings as his eyes gazed wondrously at her naked body. It should have been embarrassment, but it wasn’t. Emma recalled how a kind of elation was mixed in there. Clearly, Brad had not detected that elation, for he had his heroine, Emily, feeling shameful. Emma had never felt that. In spite of a level of uncertain nervousness, she had been willing to be rid of her virginity. And Brad hadn’t rushed her.
That scene went on to recount in great detail how loving, generous and caring Brian was in preparing Emily for the final act. Emma had to admit that it had been very clear that Brad had already had sufficient experience to know his way around a woman’s body. His touch on her most tender parts created sensations in her that she had never experienced with the few boys she had allowed to get that close. He had proved that her breasts were a vital starting point for the fires that, over the three months they were together, readily stoked up inside her lower body.
His account of Emily’s first fingering of Brian’s erection was fairly accurate. As he wrote, ‘Emily was just a little reticent,’ that was true, but that reticence only existed for a couple of further encounters. His description of the latter stages of that first time, he was perhaps guessing at how she reacted to his fingers entering her vagina before teasing on her clitoris. That had been special, for her, and apparently for Emily.
The moment of entry was signalled by a nervous normality of whether her small part could take his large piston. In reading that, Emma had a little laugh as he appeared to be stressing how large he was. Emma had subsequently seen larger, maybe not as accomplished, but larger. Her ex-husband, Larry, had been quite well endowed, but rarely lifted her to heights, she knew, could be hers.
Brad had written that Emily had yelped istanbul escort with the pain of his entry, and Emma knew that, although there had been a moment of deep discomfort, she had not made a sound. But what had followed, the feel of having a man’s penis up inside her for the first time, had been very pleasant. Emily had experienced an ecstatic orgasm. Not quite, Emma had thought. Her ecstasy was to come on later encounters..
At that point in her first reading, Emma had stopped and wondered whether she should go on, knowing, if the book followed a true course, the development of her sensuality would be very evident. More threatening was the fact that she had managed to expunge most of it from her mind. Was it all going to be brought back to haunt hder? The thought of millions of people reading about it was maddening. Cursing herself, she realised that, in reading about, what was ostensibly her own deflowering, she had actually moistened down there. Damn him! Yet, she could only shrug, and read on.
Exactly as she had feared, Emily’s (or was it her own?} rising lascivious actions were described in some detail. Emma cringed at being reminded of the many locations their liaisons had taken place. Once in a train carriage, in a car, in Brad’s flat, on a beach at night, twice in her own home while her parents were on a short holiday. Emma did recall how they did it wherever the opportunity presented itself, and with each consecutive occasion her own (and consequently Emily’s) passions broadened, her behaviour became more sensuous, more demanding. And she could tell from the writing that Brad had been delighted to uncover, gradually, the many layers in her awakening libido.
God, would any of their acquaintances from that time recognise the connections? Surely not, although she was frequently in touch with some of her old college friends, and they had known about her spending much of that summer break with Brad. But, thankfully, there had been no shocked phone calls. So, hopefully, no one had made the connection.
Yet something else was being revealed to her in this book. The hero, Brian, was clearly increasingly romantically inclined to Emily. He even went so far as saying the words, “I love you,” to her. Something that Brad had never quite got around to with Emma. Although he had never ceased to be most affectionate. Perhaps in writing his book it had become a dramatic ploy, and this became most obvious when, in the final chapter, Emily was killed in a tragic motor accident. Brian was left in utter devastation at this loss, and grief loaded the final pages. But was this his way of saying, “Get out of my life”?
If it was meant to be a tear-jerker, it received little sympathy from Emma, only something close to anger. Brad had probably made a fortune out of her sexuality. How about that? Finishing the book at two thirty in the morning she had vowed to put it out of her mind, just as she thought she had dispelled most of the incidents reawakened in the book.
So, why, over the next few days, had she kept picking it up, and browsing? Simply, and annoyingly, it was because those forgotten times were back, alive in her mind. It was like a challenge. She read again of the night on the beach, on a blanket among the sand dunes. A warm August night, when he’d removed most of her clothes to apply his tongue to every inch of her body. God, yes, every inch! He had written that Emily had squealed with wild abandon, and this time he had been accurate. His ministrations had lifted her to desperately exquisite heights. God, had she forgotten that?
Another opening and she was reliving that time in his car, where, for the first time, she straddled his body taking his erection into her so that she had felt beautifully skewered. It was almost aggravating to read that Emily enjoyed it too.
With each random read she would throw the book down with her annoyance raised once more, partly because of Brad’s use of that time, partly because she wanted to believe that the recall was more exciting than the actual event. But she knew she was kidding herself.
Get a grip, Emma Harding, she had scolded herself. This all happened fifteen years ago, and you have had sufficient sexual experience since then to eradicate it from your mind. She pulled a face. One failed marriage lasting four years, two short affairs, and a few one night stands, with none coming close to giving her that bodily sensation that an eager twenty year old had revelled in. And it was all stirred up again with the publication of this book.
Now she stood, uncertainly, staring at the book lying on the floor. The black and yellow cover seemed to hypnotise her as it lay there. What page was now lying face down? No, stop being stupid, she told herself. You’re only upsetting yourself. It is all in the past. Brad came into your life, a journalist with a penchant for backing horses, a charming lover, and then her had taken off without a word. God only kabataş escort knew why. She had no wish to dwell on the hurt of that occasion, of finding his flat deserted. Being told by his newspaper that he had left their employ, had left her in tears.
It all happened just when she had been on the point of telling him that her father’s financial advisory work had his parents moving to London, and she was seeking a transfer to a London University to complete her law degree. Did he ever try to find her?
But there lay the book, teasing her, daring her. The damned yellow and black of the cover was like a beckoning beacon. Impetuously she picked it up, and turned it to look at the open page.
Just a simple description of her parent’s house reminded her exactly what she was going to read, and her own room was even more definite. With a heaving heart she read:
“Emily would not just lie still. At first Brian thought she was uneasy about doing it in the home of her parents. But it was her bed they were using. Suddenly she had pushed him backwards and was lying over him, her fingers already doing their devilish work along and around his penis.
Her blue eyes were full of determination as she said huskily, “Two weeks ago, on the beach, I said I would get you back for that.”
Brian had no argument with that, as her face, her mouth, her tongue roamed down his body. Her tongue licked around each of his nipples, before sliding on down to his navel, where it burrowed for just a moment.
“Nice?” she whispered loudly, as her fingers lifted his scrotum and it felt to Brian that she was doing a juggling act with his balls.
“Not bad,” he mumbled, trying to keep his head raised to view her actions. And those actions were already affecting his blood pressure, as her fingers moved back along his hefty erection, and her face moved in close to the bulging purple head.
Will she? Her head moved slowly forward and she gave the head a closed lip kiss. Brian wondered whether he should tell her exactly what he wanted. But then her tongue ran right along the length of his penis in a full wet lick, before returning along the underside vein. The surprise of it had Brian thinking he might pop, but hell, he was stronger than that, wasn’t he?
Her lips were back at his penis head again, and they were slightly parted as she looked at it. Tentative, was she? Her tongue appeared, licking her own lips, before probing deliberately all around the head, pushing at the withdrawn foreskin. God, had she done this before?
The next second his penis had disappeared, and Emily’s mouth gaped around it. Brian found it all the more erotically titillating to see her cheeks bulge where his penis head pushed. Her tongue was wriggling like a trapped animal under his erection, and he risked a little push to move to the back of her throat. Her head pulled back slightly, only to push along his shaft more forcefully.
Brian had a decision to make. He felt huge in her mouth, and his scrotum, with her fingers giving it an occasional jolt, was ready to release. Should he let it happen first time? Or might Emily be put off totally? Without further thought, he eased her head back from him, rolled over and entered her deeply.”
Emma closed the book and placed it on the table. Strange that it should fall open at that section, for it was arguably the one section she could have little quibble about. The mention of juggling his balls had made her smile the first time she had read it. His testicles were large, and she had not been able to get a good grip on them.
He had noticed that she had been a little reticent at first, and it was interesting to read of how close he had been to coming in her mouth. That had never happened. Things close down so fast. All finished with, she thought. Life goes on, and she went through to the lavish kitchen to prepare herself some dinner.
It was on a Sunday two weeks later that Emma made one of her occasional dinner visits to her parent’s home in Waltham Cross, not too far from her own home in Enfield. When Emma arrived, her mother was busy in the kitchen. After greeting her fondly her mother told her, “You’re father’s having his usual down at the club. He’ll be home soon. I’m just finishing off the veg. Go on through to the living room.”
Emma did as she was told and found the lavish living room with a different wallpaper. They must change the wallpaper in that room every two years. The furnishings were top of the range, with the rich leather sofa and easy chairs, and what Emma thought was an old fashioned sideboard. The bookcase was, of course stacked with books, and, as her eyes passed over it, they were suddenly drawn back, and something pinged in her chest.
A yellow and black cover! There, lying across the top of the neatly shelved other books. It couldn’t be, could it? She reached for it, and sure enough—it was—
“You don’t want to read that, dear.” Emma’s mother kadıköy escort had entered without her hearing.
Emma found herself clutching the book tightly as her heart pounded in her chest. All she could dumbly ask was, “Why?”
Her mother shrugged, “I suppose it doesn’t matter since I know you don’t read many books. But that one is rather dirty.”
Emma almost laughed, and didn’t know why,”Dirty? So how have you got it?”
“Oh, Betty Rogers loaned it to me. Said everybody was talking about it, and I should.”
“And have you?”
A guilty look crossed her mother’s face, “After what she’d said, I couldn’t refuse. But I found it rather ridiculous.”
Emma had no idea what her own face was showing, as defensively, she thought, ‘It was part of my life, mother. It couldn’t be ridiculous,’ But all she could say was, “In what way?”
“Well, the Emily character goes from virgin to ardent lover in under three months.”
“Is that what it’s about?” Trying to sound innocent.
“Just about. Sex with an unhappy ending. Sex in every location. One place-well, you remember your bedroom in the old house? The description was so like that.”
Holding her breath, Emma feared what might come next, but thankfully, her mother was just treating the fact as coincidence. “Daft really.” She moved to the door, “I’d better check the veg.” At the door she stopped and said,” You could tell that the author wanted to present his hero as a real stud.” At that point she turned back with a wicked grin on her face, “I’m trying to get your father to read it. You never know.” And she went out laughing. “A girl can only hope.”
Relieved by her mother’s light-hearted treatment of the matter, Emma replaced the book, believing that the subject was closed. But as they cleared up after the meal, and her father had retired to sleep off his session at the club, her mother said, “They’re making a film of it, you know.”
“That book, silly.”
“How do you know that?” God, exposed on film. How could they do that? Surely, any exact film would be banned.
“There’s a piece in today’s local paper. The author has another book out, and it said that the Emily book had been purchased by one of the major studios.”
Emma made a big fuss of putting pans away, as she tried desperately to come to terms with what she was hearing, but her mother hadn’t finished, “Oh, and he’s on a promotion tour at the moment. He’s going to be signing copies of his new book in Enfield at Banner Books on Wednesday.”
From that Sunday, Emma could not get her mind into gear. Property law demanded concentration to detail, taking in all aspects of a case, what people said, what claims were made. She just could not afford to have her thinking disturbed in this way. Damn you again, Brad Sumner. Up until two weeks ago her life had been following a more or less normal course. Now, with one blind step he had plunged himself back into her thinking.
In Enfield on Wednesday, was he? Out of curiosity on the Tuesday she drove past the Banner shop, and saw the poster advertising the book signing. From 2.00 pm until 4.00 pm, she read. Why had she looked? Was she intending to go? To tell him what she thought of him, perhaps? Not a good idea, she told herself. She might scratch his eyes out. But there was that insidious curiosity, wondering what he looked like now. Fifteen years meant he would be thirty seven. Would he still be as handsome? Would she be bothered if she let the opportunity pass?
By 3.15 pm on the following day she had her answer. It had stopped raining as she sat sipping a latte in the cafe immediately across the road from Banner’s, watching a fairly long queue outside the shop, mainly women. Across the window a new poster gave the title of the new book:
WELCOME TOMORROW by Brad Sumner.(author of About Emily)
As the queue shortened, she saw, close to the shop window, a man in shirtsleeves sitting, occasionally looking up, smiling, no doubt (he’d always had a bright smile) before signing the book purchased by some blinkered female. Emma’s irritation rose. She was not going in there. But, after a moment’s hesitation, she stood and moved to the cafe door. A quick glance through the window wouldn’t hurt, just to see how he had weathered, and then, curiosity satisfied, away. Incident over.
Looping her umbrella over her wrist, and dodging the afternoon traffic, she quickly crossed the road. Slowing, she approached the window. There he sat. Brad Sumner, the famous author. Not the boyish, fresh faced young man, who had opened out her womanhood, before deserting her. No, sitting there, all relaxed, self confident, his face darker, a more mature set to the mouth, but infuriatingly, more deeply handsome, was the man who had recently plunged her into angry despair.
No, Emma, don’t dwell on it, leave now. As she swung away the umbrella accidentally hit against the window with a gentle rap. Heads turned, and for the briefest of moments his eyes were locked onto hers. She continued her move away, with her breath now caught up in her throat. Had he seen her? Recognised her?
The voice calling out from behind her, soon answered that question. “Emma?” It was a half call, containing an element of uncertainty.
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