Chapter 3: lust at first bite or "the chocolate plate"

I prefer my romance served steaming hot, with plenty of good, old-fashion passion.

I got a full dose of just that when I had my first date with Dream Boat.  (My current amor)  That's when I experinced "it."  That most talked about and prepeuated feeling--pure, unadulerated lust.  "It" was the thing I read about in countless romances, the thing I craved about all else, the think I had almost given up on after twenty-five years.  (Yes, a bit premature.  As I mentioned, I can be quite the drama queen.)

And then I met him.  I don't know what it was about this guy, but all my senses hightened, as if my very pheramones strechted out to tangle with his.  All through our four-hour dinner (we dragged it on and on, niether one wanting it to end, even though the food was mediocre.) we were in top entertaining form, the ancient ritual of wooing a potential mate making our blood run hot.

But it was over dessert that I decided I would--in typical romantic fashion--do ANYTHING (sell my soul to the devil, cross the seven seas ect.) to get those big, long fingers to touch my body.  While it's a struggle to remember the details of what the dessert was actually called, I do remember it was something that left a pool of chocolate on the dantiy plate.  Still determined to impress and overwhelmed by sizzling lust, I utter without thinking, "I could lick that plate clean."

In that moment when I looked up and found him staring at me, I met his chocolate gaze and, I kid you not, a bolt of heat shot from his eyes into mine and straight through my body, pooling low and deep.  That was the moment I knew I would do anything to get more of that heat.

And I did.  Shamelessly and with fervor, I did anything to get those hands on my body, again and again.

the summer fling chapter

I like my romance novels with plenty of action. And it’s always best if action and romance go hand in hand. This is exactly the ingredients of my first summer fling. It couldn’t have been more idyllic if I had written it myself.
I was seventeen and newly graduated from high school. The excitement of knowing you have your whole life ahead of you and the uncertainty of how you’ll figure out how to navigate said life boiled up inside me.
He was nineteen, also newly graduated, and in the grand old state of Alaska for the summer, helping build a house for a family member. Ah, there is no lack of adventures and action in Alaska in the summer. The sun stays out nearly all night and every feels unreal and magical. So when this rather “normal” looking guy started hanging around the coffee shop where I worked, I thought nothing of it. Oh, the naiveté of the young! Once he mentioned he wanted to go canoeing . I offered to take him, since I had been countless times and even had a favorite island.
We went early. Very early. And somewhere between the endless paddling and flirtation, his clothes came off. (Are you jumping to conclusions?) He stripped off every single article to rescue our lost vessel. That’s right, even though I firmly suggested we tie up our boat, least we become stranded, (the tides, you see.) he didn’t think we needed to. That’s why he swam into the freezing cold ocean. It was quite the adventure.
Our next outing was accompanied by a similar adventurous spirit, and once again took place in the wilds of Alaska. Sadly, no clothes came off. Instead, we dropped from dead trees into cold water, convinced we were being hunted like the prey in Crocodile Dundee when fishing boats turned hunting lights on us. We got soaking wet and giggled with the excitement of almost getting caught past dark.
And that’s when my first kiss happened. In truth, I don’t really remember details, only the vague memory that it’s a lot more “real,” meaning slobbery, rough, and overall, not as romantic as I was led to believe from the plethora of romance novels I had pored over for descriptions of just such an act. As things progressed, I discovered this wasn’t about romance, but about curiosity.
He said I kissed well. Maybe he said that to all the girls. Or maybe I could thank my boundless imagination and all my descriptive romance novels.

the break-up chapter

The road to love hasn't always been a breeze--ok, never--but there have been truly fabulous moments.  One such moment that stands out like a shinning beacon begins tragically...well, a little.   As anyone who has been broken up with will attest, it sucks.

Maybe you've been in fantasy land, not seeing the incompatibilities, but instead focusing on how fun it is to be in love...ok, lust.  Maybe you had that first bush of impossible attraction that you never thought would come and your hormones race at the mere mention of him name.  Maybe you're just an optimist, like everyone suggests.

Whatever the reason, the moment of "the Break-Up" comes completely out of left field.  You're stunned, hit by a ton of bricks, or maybe it's all just a cruel joke.  Does this person--who might be a little nerdy and awkward--realize how amazing you, in fact, are?  Like, if there was a list of girlfriend qualities every guy wanted in a prefect, dream girlfriend, you would have every single one?  Does he not even realize what he's giving up?  

Fear not, dear reader, I told him.  At length.  The conversation went something like this: (Watch now as I gave him the prefect opening to dump me on my ass.)

Me: You seem tired lately.  Are you taking enough time for yourself?

Him: Actually, I am thinking I need more time these days.  Maybe we should take a break.

Me: What kind of break are you suggesting?  A see-other-people break?

Well it went down hill from there.  I believe I started laughing and explaining to him, as I would a small child, that he did not want to break up with me.  For one, did he not know how fabulous I was, and the moment I was back on the open "market" I'd be snapped up in a heart beat, just like that?  Did he want to take that risk?  And lose me?  (Yes, reader, I was speaking with plenty of bravado.)

What followed turned into the BEST, most empowering break-up ever!  Tear were shed, accusations were hurled, but in the end I thoroughly kicked him out of my life, concluding I didn't want to be with a man who so recklessly let me go.  To this day, I remember that break-up with an unexceptional guy with exceptional pride.

(Got a good break-up story?  Share your prospective!)

Introduction

Drama.  Everyone who knows me knows I'm lots of drama.  Which is perfect, in turns out, because every good romance novel needs plenty of drama, along with a healthy dose of conflict, add a strong journey of self-realization and what not, and eventually get to the happily-ever-after for the heroine...

...who happens to be me in this particular novel.  After all, should one get to be the heroine of one's own life?  Me: a twenty-six year-old  hopeless romantic.  Even when I've been hit with a fresh wave of cynicism, I've always kept an eye out for love.  Often hoping the best, even with the most undesirable of candidates, some would call me a little too optimistic.  Ruthlessly forging on through many funny, bittersweet often short chapters on the quest of finding Mr. Right.

Fortunately for me, I found him!  (At least for now.)  I met the man that makes me hot with passion, melt with need, and all that good stuff one wants in a modern-day Prince Charming, like a job.  He prefers to keep a low profile, so for all intents and purposes, let's call him Dream Boat, 'cause that's what he is and people say he looks a little like Doctor McDreamy from Grey's.

But real-life romance novels have a main difference from their fiction counterparts: Namely, they don't end, offering me plenty of material from which to draw.  Hopefully, you'll find these little chapters amusing and worth sharing with a friend.  Keep in mind, I am a fiction writer, so take all these musings with a grain of salt, and a lot of chocolate,  (Why the hell not?  Chocolate goes with everything.) because I have been known to get carried away.  That's right, Queen of Hyperbole at your service.