Saturday, 19 November 2011

Creaming the Coconuts

Darlings, the opening lines from my new steamy racy novel.


As the morning cracked through the crisp white silk and linen shell of the night, it filled the room with the sparkling diamonds of a kaleidoscopic dawn; blue, white, and yellow rainbow beams bouncing excitedly across the walls and celing, dappling an ever new pattern as it broke the dark fast.

I was still only half awake when he called. He was in Monte Carlo again. Jacqueline Bisset had hosted yet another of her legendary soirees, all of which end up with him naked in her swimming pool playfully rutting with Mario Testino's latest muse.

He was still flirtatiously drunk and whispered the soft half-awake pillow talk spanning the warmth of the morning bed sheets which stretched across the continent, lying next to me whilst being so far south in the same dream like moment.

He rang so I could remind him of the details of his flight. We may no longer be together; if we ever were, but he still has his assistant courier me all his travel details so that wherever he is - drunk, stoned or in flagrante, whatever the time zone or prevailing political wind of his waking and whosoever's love soaked bed his body is caressing, he knows someone, somewhere will be able to remind him which flight to get and how to summon his car service.

The collection of blue Smythson leather portfolios containing the intricate details of his hotels, drivers, engagements and seat numbers (always 3A) fill the shelves of my study like ripples in an emerald sea. Sometimes in the evening if I am restless or missing the sun, I flick through this library and dream of far-away shores, bronzed and warm, washed by a soft breeze, and I imagine the sweet smell of oiled muscles, and the taste of salt in the air from the crashing break. There is a promise in these dreams and a hungry, delicious ache for times and places still to come.................


Michael Patrick McKinley said...

Racy. Steamy.
More, I want MORE!

Anonymous said...

we do TOO!

we see you and ryan heading to monaco in matching black tie and perhaps a Murder happens.....of a very minor character that does not affect the delicious plot at all but means that the black tie suits get a little dirty, in a good way, and Something Happens, and you all end up getting Le Train Bleu to Paris overnight in a sleeper car and there's a case of mistaken (oops, missus) identity which is all solved over tea at the RAF club on Park Lane (is it on Park Lane?).


you're the best.

sending love from seat 17H on flight AA1 to Los Angeles (dying of glamour ;-)

_tg xx

Bunched Undies said...

Whew...this segment produced a dense steam from my computer. I've been to a few of Jackie's parties, and your wonderful description is a case of hammer meets nail. Now if you can work in some zombies and vampires, I suspect Hollywood will soon be ringing.

Seriously though, I wanted to thank you for the beautifully written condolences you posted on my blog. The heartfelt expression of sympathy was a comfort and deeply appreciated.