As a romance writer it’s my job to make sure my books hum with passion and sexual tension. Every line in the book has to resonate with desire and lust and love. Which is why I found myself laughing out loud earlier today as I recalled a couple of incidents from my youth.
Some of you may identify with this post immediately, some may have to stretch your minds back a little to those days before you found your life partner. I’m talking about that continual search for ‘the one’. Or if not ‘the one’ than ‘the one just right for now’. Some of those ‘ones’ I remember with a fond smile, some with a slight blush, and there are those I think about with a shake of my head and a snort of disbelief. Then there are the two I think about with a howl of laughter.
For want of a better term, I shall call them, or the incidents associated with them, my ‘passion killers’. So what are passion killers? Hmm, think about romances, think about the scenes in books when things are heating up, quickly. The hero and heroine are lost in each other’s touch/feel/scent, past the point of no return, when out of the blue: the phone rings. Or the hero’s child walks in on them. Or the heroine remembers she’s wearing her granny panties…
Well, here are my two versions of the invasive phone ringing:
The first one, starts with…well, let’s call him Peter. I’d had a crush on him since my first year of high school. Picture him: blond hair, blue eyes (my all time favorite combination), sports legend, school prefect and gorgeous to boot. The stuff that 13 year old girls’ dreams are made of. So you can imagine how I felt seven or eight years later when I met him again, and he asked me out! Heaven had found me. I was about the happiest gal on the planet. And imagine a few weeks later when I found myself in his apartment, at night, just the two of us. Mm hmmm. Every school girl fantasy come true.
So there we are and things are progressing. Clothes are flying all over the place, and I still can’t believe this is happening. At which point Peter, shirtless and shameless, pulls away, flexes his biceps and utters those passion killing words: “Don’t you think I have a beautiful body?”
Sigh
I left minutes later.
Then there was…Michael. Now Michael was cool. I met him at a party one night, after a mutual friend had dragged me out, sick of my mooching around, wallowing in self pity because I’d broken up with my boyfriend. Michael was the perfect rebound guy, cute as anything and ready to party. Within minutes we were on the dance floor, dancing dirty, and I loved every minute of it. To make things even more exciting, my ex arrived unexpectedly at the party. Yes, I was upset, but Michael just laughed me through it, dancing even dirtier to make a point. I was hooked. We laughed, we danced, we drank, we spent the whole evening together. And in the wee hours of the morning we went home together. It was perfect. We both knew exactly where we were headed, and the excitement was tangible.
So there we are, lying on the bed, he has the warmest, smoothest lips imaginable. We kiss, he pulls away, sighs my name, and…passes clean out.
Sigh
He left about eight hours later – when he woke up.
Hmm, apparently Michael had a little more to drink than I had. Passion Killer. Still, I forgave him, and even saw him a few more times after that. And no, he didn’t pass out again.
?
All of my friends have their passion killer stories. We like to share them while sitting around a good meal and a bottle of wine — no hubbies present. It’s always good for a laugh, and a bit of nostalgia. So how about you? I bet you have a couple of memories you take out to laugh (and blush) about every now and again. Care to share them?
Jess
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