“The artist who gave you your tattoo?”
He nodded. “He suggested I take a job in Chicago, and so I did. I knew the chance I’d find you there would be slim. But it was all I could do.”
“I didn’t know,” I told him. “I never thought I’d see you again.” He gently wiped away the tears that rolled down my cheeks. For six years he’d lived less than two hours away. Though we kept a special memory of the love we shared close to our hearts, years had passed with both of us assuming the other had moved on.
Then he told me how he stumbled upon the literature site. Having never been there before, he read the newest postings and found mine. When he read the descriptions of my story’s characters, our physical descriptions, it touched an unconscious chord and he knew he had to contact the author. He couldn’t explain why, only that he was compelled to.
“Did you know it was me?”
He shook his head. “When you walked in the door, it surprised me how much you looked like someone I knew long ago. But no, it wasn’t until you explained the reason behind your tattoo that I knew.” Hugging me tighter, he explained how he felt the entire world shift as the pieces fell in place. This was why he went to stand at the window. He knew it was me.
In all the vastness of the internet, in the cautious manner we chose to communicate in, neither of us could have imagined who it really was we were speaking with. We’d only been drawn to physical similarities that mirrored those held in fond memories. We never suspected the other’s true identity, and thinking on it now, that made sense to me. With millions of people online, and long convinced the other had moved on, why would we have even entertained the thought?
Lifting me in his arms, he carried me back to our bed. “Never again. I’ll never leave you again, my love.”
I wrapped my arms around him, needing him, loving him.
He laid me back on the bed and kissed me softly. “I love you, Vivienne, my beautiful sensual V.”
Over his shoulder, the moon smiled.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I started kindergarten already knowing how to read, and this was curious as no one in my family recalled teaching me how. I loved words from the very beginning because words described everything down to the smallest detail and added color to the world. Aside from loving the evocative potential of words, I also love that they describe how things work. I literally devour any and all informational reading materials from cookbooks to books on quantum physics. Needing to feed that hunger, I eventually tackled an entire World Book Encyclopedia. A wonderful husband joined his life to mine and a son and daughter followed. I didn’t even contemplate expressing my imagination through words until the Internet came into my life.
When room-sized computers became personal and the Internet was no longer the purview of the geek, it was then that, quite by accident, I discovered the theatrical world of online role play. And what a stage it was! Often misspelled words hastily typed out in the chat rooms described scenes and appearances equivalent to anything played at Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. At any given hour of any given day I might converse with a shape-shifting shaman, a knight of the realm, or a barbarian slave girl with jingling bells on her ankles. It was a world where warriors carried sharpened blades, wizards held fireballs in their hands, and cyber lovers gave sensual caresses through intimate verbs. I found I had a knack for crafting fantasy worlds. At my husband’s urging I entered a contest for erotic fiction. I never expected it to go anywhere but I did like to dazzle my mate so I gave it my best. To my surprise I won first place.
Being an informational reader, it wasn’t until I borrowed a historical romance novel to read on a long train ride that I seriously considered fiction. Up to that point I read very few novels. Part of a series, the book had me hooked by the time the train pulled into the station. More than once I mentally rewrote a scene by adding suspense, additional dialogue, or expanding a love scene that should have been longer.
Today my active imagination has me writing everything from children’s stories to historical fiction. My current magnum opus is a modern day fantasy tale of the ultimate battle between the dark and the light. Possessing that entire range of shadow myself, when the inevitable writer’s block seizes me, I turn to writing erotica for it is here where the colors are the most vivid. The steamy imagery and fluid scenes unfolding in my mind’s eye challenge me as a writer and more often than not, help to blast through any writer’s block where my larger work is concerned.
I hope my erotic imagery transports the reader to a time and place where, through the magic and power of words, they are able to be inside the mind of the characters. Often from this intimate vantage point, the reader experiences the seductive transformation that will eventually send the hero and heroine hurtling toward the precipice. Come be the voyeur to their printed lives. Open yourself and allow my words to take you there. Draw close as coals ignite and feel the climax build as if you yourself are there being plied with firm hands and soft kisses. And when all is absorbed and endured and nerves are strung bow tight, release this most cerebral orgasm and free fall to earth. When the last page is turned and the lovers roll into each others’ arms truly spent, know that I may just have another ember tucked away to warm your senses.
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Hermes Online (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 12