I have two published books, neither of which made it to the New York
Times bestseller list. It's okay. I wrote them for reasons other than to
make money. To be honest, I'm a lousy entrepreneur; fame and fortune
was just not important. However, now that I'm older, my desires and my
resources are not in sync. I tried to get someone to pick up my novel
that I wrote ages ago, but AI has pretty much squished that possibility.
Then I learned that romance books were the rage. At first, I
was merely curious as to why there was such a sudden interest in
"romance." I mean, a trashy paperback always had a following, but this
trend was major. Perhaps women are so anxious about Project 25 and the
possibility of returning to Victorian slavery that romance books give
them some hope that there will still be some romance involved in our
forced pregnancies. At any rate, I came to see it as a potential money-maker. I also came to understand that writing romance isn´t my forte.
The Kindle romance bestseller list achieved its highest-ever half-year
sales rank performance since the start of keeping records ten years ago.
· The average Top-100 sales rank of the category (which is
already the uncontested #1 market) boasts a steady rise of 18% over the
last three years. · Seventy-two percent of the Top-100 most-sold Kindle books of 2024 thus far are romance titles!!! My attempt at romance writing: I
picked up Stephan at his barracks and we drove up to a pagoda, Wat
Sovan Kire, perched on the rocky outcrop on the top of one of the Twin
Mountains, Phnom Pros. Like its twin, Phnom Srey, it stood like a watch
tower guarding the road into KPCC. Stephan wanted to try marijuana, a
youthful indiscretion forbidden by the Russian occupiers in Poland, and I
had some left to share with him. He inhaled timidly at first and
then inhaled again―this time in a dramatically exaggerated way. As big
as he was, the joint barely relaxed him, but the night was fresh and
intoxicating in its own way. The moon soaked the pagoda's stone
balcony in soft light. Sitting close enough to feel the heat and tension
given off by our bodies, we stared up at dense and glowing stars. The
tropical night, breezy and fragrant with perfume, also bristled with
energy and a sense of contradiction. There was a mismatch between
purpose and pretense. Despite his size, Stephan's voice was
soft―a low murmur, scented with laughter. The sound was soothing and
warm, like the feel of his hands when they accidentally touched mine. We
didn't talk any more about his repression under the Russian occupation,
his wife or children. Instead, we shared ideas about books and poetry
as if they were gifts or surrogates for physical pleasure. Stephan
recited lines from one of Rumi's love poems: There is some kiss we want with our whole lives, the touch of spirit on the body. Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell. When
our bodies touched, we stiffened and moved apart, only to be pulled
back together as if a magnet were drawing us to one another. Stephan was
both frustrated and relieved that communication difficulties created a
barrier between us. After all, I was trying to seduce him. Shared
language or not, I assumed he understood this and wasn't quite ready to
commit. Some days later, Stephan and I drove back to the pagoda
on the mountain and climbed out onto the open terrace overlooking the
city. Dark and endless, stars spattered the sky―so close that they
seemed just beyond my fingertips. The air was clean and cool on the
mountain; lush tropical scents wafted on the breeze, and we were
completely alone in this little world of our own creation. Unlike the first night on the mountain, when we ached with lust but didn't touch, we both knew why we had gone there. I
felt the hard stone floor, cold and moist from dew, as Stephan laid me
down next to him. He shifted infinitesimally toward me. His hand slipped
between my thighs, brushing lightly against my clit—my insides lurched
as if I had leapt from the cliff. I leaned into his slightly parted soft
lips, tasting his sweet mouth. My stomach quaked, and a warm rush of
pleasure spread beneath my skin. The strength of our need, and the speed
in which it bloomed, shocked me. But after weeks of mounting
tension, any resistance melted away as we explored, touched, kissed, and
finally released everything in a shudder. "Too fast?" he whispered, his lips brushing my ear and causing a spasm of pleasure. "No," I assured him. "I could not wait a second longer." I
watched the lights from the motorbikes coming at me in the darkness as I
drove back to Skon—tiny bright streaks like the stars that swaddled us
on the mountain. Everything was perfect. Being with Stephan had been
perfect. There was no room at that moment for doubt or misgivings. I
thrummed with love, not knowing whether I would ever feel like that
again.
No comments:
Post a Comment