Memories & Kisses by Muffy Wilson (@SexyMuffyWilson)
Thank
you so much for having me for a visit. I think I have fallen in love with the
girl on the cover of my latest book Memories
& Kisses. She is beautiful, of course, but what really attracts me is
her mystery. I’m sure it is no accident that she uses bright red lipstick. Take
a casual glance at her picture, and you are caught by that luscious, loveable
mouth. Who does she kiss? Just one lover? Or several? Does she kiss men or
perhaps women? Would she kiss me on the right evening?
What
do you think? Is she thinking about memories of love lost? Perhaps the memories
made trying to forget a lost love? Even old memories revisited by old friends,
united in a kiss that rekindles flames, passions and desire, too. Old memories
are like old red wine - all the richer for time passed. And the kisses taste
sweeter too. Three romantic and very sexy stories take us back to things as
they once were, and forward to the wonderful times to come.
Memories & Kisses has three stories of old
loves remembered; a grieving woman rescued from the sea, two childhood friends
growing old friendship into passionate loving, and two long separated teenagers
finding that time has mellowed them both and maturity has brought a passionate
intensity they had never imagined. All three stories are of rekindled love that
survived decades of longing and is now ready to burst into flame.
Blurb:
The Storm ~ a newly widowed woman
unable to face the world alone and lonely, buries her husband. Overcome by
grief, she walks into the rough, grinding pitiless surf in an effort to blend
the gray in her heart with the gray on the horizon. She is saved from the
crashing waves by a man, a bearded white haired man who brings her back to life
and gives her a reason to live again.
The Park ~ two childhood friends, now
adults, reunite on the eve of the dedication of their once favorite playground
now slated to become a high-tech water park. The destruction of their favorite
playground makes them melancholy; reliving their dreams as children in this
park inspires them to greater, more passionate long buried desires they never
responded to as teens, but knew existed but in their memories.
The Story of Us ~ high school friends, once
nearly sweethearts, reconnect in their sixties. The Internet removes the veil
of uncomfortable shyness. They are open and revealing in emails about their
youthful teenaged desires for one another. They discover what we all hope is
true: that love is eternal. Surviving decades, not only in the shadowed
recesses of our memories, but in a kiss, a touch, a magnetic embrace love
thrives.
Do you have memories of a love that once
was?...of a love that was lost?...of, perhaps, a rekindled love that survived
decades of longing?
Buy Links:
Excerpt from The Storm:
I walk to the surf, heaving for breath,
weak from running against the rain, fighting the storm, the sadness, my loss -
your death. I walk into the surf and keep walking. It is surprisingly warm and
enveloping. I suddenly feel comforted, my heartbreak no longer a penetrating
pain. I know you are with me and I seek out your embrace. I cry again, scream
at the thunderous surf, and then I am gone. I can’t breathe and I am falling,
rolling, tumbling in a hazy grey darkness that is wet, ferocious, demanding.
Suddenly my dizzy comfort turns to fear and I struggle against the pounding,
relentless waves. What have I done? I am a good swimmer and an athlete, but can
I beat this? Instinct overcomes me. My heart pounds. I start to kick wildly.
Moving my arms toward the surface, the current catches me again, tumbling me
over and over. My lungs burn. I lose my bearing—which way is up, down? I start
to get a sickening feeling of death, my own impending death, and, just as I
start to give in, I feel the hand of God grab my hair and hood in a fierce grip
and yank me to the surface. I feel the sky darken and the surf diminish.
Everything tastes salty, gritty, and then my body heaves, relaxed, and my world
goes black.
I awake to pounding on my chest; I am
being rattled and something is covering my mouth and nose. I cough, retch, and then
vomit the last vestiges of the ocean from my body. My mouth is filled with
grit, sand, and the salty taste of taffy. I open my eyes and see God reaching
down toward me. He leans over me and the salty ocean water drips from his face
to mine. He is big, strong, and gasping; he is surrounded in a glowing aura
which intensifies his white hair and white beard. I am frightened. I must be
dead. But that cannot be! How foolish I am. He sits me up, tenderly and gently
helps me to my feet, all the while holding me securely with large strong hands
and then he speaks to me.
“Are you alright, miss? You scared me
near to death when I saw you walk into the surf. Why in the world….Where do you
live?”
I am alive to my senses.
“Wha.
. . ?” My knees weaken and I fall further into his arms. Quickly, he catches my
descent and carries me to a bench where he sits me down, moving the errant
curls of hair from my cheeks, and speaks to me again.
“Where are you staying? Shall I call the
police?”
I can feel my heart pounding against his
chest.
“No, please, I’m . . . I’ll be fine. My
key, my pocket; it’s in my pocket. Please…”
I can’t remember my hotel or where I am
or why. As he unzips my pocket and removes my hotel key, he pulls my hood up
over my head to shelter my face from the pelting rain. Collecting me under his
arm, my body firmly in his grip, we walk slowly back to the hotel. The traffic
is still sparse, no taxis to be seen. It seems to take forever. The storm is so
much worse, the surf so high, sucking the wind into the watery folds as it
retreats to the ocean. At once, I am so scared that I begin to tremble and yet,
I feel protected.
As we walk into the hotel lobby, the bell
captain approaches us and asks if I need the hotel doctor, whereupon my
guardian says, “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.” We take the elevator
to my floor and I am finally in the sanctity of my room, as lonely as it is. My
savior, my hero sits me in the desk chair while he goes to the bathroom and
starts the shower. He returns. He is saying something to me that I can’t
understand, but he starts to take my shoes off. Then he leans me forward,
removes my windbreaker and sports bra, and helps me stand while he pulls
relentlessly at my wet spandex knee-highs. He kicks off his own running shoes
and removes his blazer. He carries me to the shower but I feel as if I’m
watching the scene unfold from outside my own body. I am unafraid of this
stranger.
The water is hot and piercing, but he is
gentle, loving, and tender. He bathes me and washes my hair, lifting the
removable nozzle to rinse the sand, grit, and seaweed from my hair and lithe
body. My skin is a deep pink from the intense extreme of the cold grasp of the
ocean and the heated comfort of the hot shower. His hands are everywhere, on every
curve, gently caressing my skin with his soapy fingertips. He deftly, tenderly,
washes my breasts, my taunt stomach and pussy. He controls himself, but I can’t
let him stop. I look up at him, and notice he is watching himself bathe me. He
seems to caress my buttocks as he cleans the sand from between my rounded
cheeks. Unembarrassed, he rinses my body thoroughly, running his fingers though
my shoulder-length brown hair. I feel safe, warmed, yet surprisingly aroused,
weakened by my ordeal.
For the first time, it seems, he looks
down at me. He takes me in as I look up at him, transfixed by his control. I am
naked in my sorrow and my pain; he, fully clothed except for his windbreaker
and shoes, smiles, touching my heart. I did not notice his erection in the
shower, he is a complete gentleman. My breasts, the curve of my belly to my
thigh, my face against his chest glisten in the shower, as I trust him to help
me.
Author Bio and Links:
Muffy, author of erotic,
romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born in San Antonio,
Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest,
the family "princess," indulged and pampered. She adored her older
brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by love, stimulation,
and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which
required the family to travel extensively. The family lived in most points
between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and came
of age in France.
Returning
from France with her family, Muffy finished high school in Northern California
and attended the University of California, Davis, and majored in Business
Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce work ethic,
and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the Real Estate
and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small Island in
northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and resort business
which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the water in SW
Florida. Muffy pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in
real life, indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and
sensual literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.
Previously Published at:
Oysters
& Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams
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