Category Archives: Romance

The Toy Boy

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Once upon a time a woman sat alone in her apartment, sipping wine, reading a book, nursing a broken heart.  She heard a knock on her door.

“Who can that be?” she wondered.  “No one buzzed to be let in the building.  I don’t know any of my neighbors, except the little old lady next door.  Maybe it’s her.”

She opened the door and looked straight into the friendliest, freshest eyes she’d ever seen on a man.  Well, more of a boy, really.  Curly, messy hair, a big smile to match the eyes, an empty bowl held in his hands.

Guy’s hair was curlier, and I never saw him wear sun glasses. Otherwise…….

That was you, Guy.  Twenty-year-old you.  Facing 28-year-old me for the first time.    I wonder how scared you were, that moment.  Actually asking me for some sugar.  That was the best ruse you could come up with to meet me.

 

Decades later you told me that you and your next-door-neighbor bet on who would meet me first.  You’d watch for me from the living room window of your apartment.  The best days were when I’d park my car right

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50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

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Alan, my former husband, and I concocted our fantasy business while idling in coffee shops and wine bars.  The mission of this company was to help broken-hearted lovers bring closure, dramatic and final, to their relationships.  We were inspired by Paul Simon to help people in pain with their struggle to be free.  We, of course, were never going to be in pain, never struggling to be free.

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One Man’s Viewpoint

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Before starting The Diary of the Vixen Divorcee, I emailed my friend, Reggie, to check out what he thought of my idea of a blog about life as a single woman.  Typical man, he translated it into a blog about sex.  This is his response, except that I edited his choice of a photo; his was too racy for my diary.

The perfect morning to sit down and answer your mail.  It’s heavenly outside.  A balmy, wet, warm front is in the area.  Very feminine, this kind of weather.  Warm, wet, still, mysterious, close and yet the essence of it standing at a remove.  You know something’s coming.  A good day to sit in the window early in the morning with the clothes line strung with pearls.

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I’ve Been Addled Before

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I touched his knee, that’s all.  It happened accidentally, quite innocently.  I leaned forward toward the driver, Trevor, to make a suggestion, he spun the steering wheel, the tiny Fiat swerved and I reached out to get my balance.

My hand landed on the knee of the tall, blonde, handsome executive crammed in the back seat next to me.  That’s how it started.

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Addled By A Drug

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Chet leaned across the restaurant table, looked deeply – and of course longingly – into my eyes and said, “I want to be your lover.”  Then he kissed me.

This was our second date.

I knew from the moment I met him earlier in the evening that this was his intention, without his having to say a word.

Did I know it consciously?  Could I have articulated this knowledge?  Probably not.

But my body knew it.  That carefully calibrated tuning fork made up of my skin, my blood and my nerves started vibrating as soon as I greeted him where he stood, waiting for me in the theater lobby.

What caused all that commotion, that furious vibrating?  Waves.  Waves of
testosterone.  Aimed at me.  Rolling over me, seeping into my pores.  Addling my brain.

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The Other Side of Me

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By Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres

What did I write for Alan that wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes?  What am I willing to share with you, now that he and I are divorced?

The other side of me, the side you don’t know.   The erotic side.

Before the birth of The Diary (and of the Vixen Divorcee), I wrote stories intended for Alan’s eyes only.  Stories of sexually explicit fantasies based on places he and I visited during our days of marital bliss.  Stories the likes of which will never appear in the pages of The Diary.  Stories I’m willing to share with you privately, now that he and I are divorced.

 Yours could be the first eyes other than his to read one of these elegant fantasies.

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Where There’s Smoke

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When Alan, my ex-husband, fell off the roof, I called 911. What happened next  planted the seeds for my first vixen divorcee fantasy.

 He struggled into the house as far as the living room, where he collapsed on the couch. There he stayed, unmoving, complaining of pain, for the next three hours, refusing to let me do anything, until I took matters in my own hands and made that call.

Within minutes, fifteen at most, our living room burst with big, muscular, handsome men.  All sporting the uniform of our local fire department.  All take-charge men who knew just how to shift my suffering husband off the couch, onto a stretcher, down
the steps of our house and into their emergency vehicle.

All the while flashing me magnetic smiles, reassuring me that everything was going to be just fine, charming me with their masculine confidence.  Of course I was worried  about Alan, but a corner of my psyche reeled with enchantment for these men.

Here they are, the firemen converging on our front door. Well, in my dreams this is how they looked as they converged on our front door.

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The Vixen Divorcee’s First Kiss

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Why is a kiss on the lips so intimate?  What about that contact of lips on lips raises goose bumps up and down my arms, while a kiss on the cheek is a mere nothing at all?  Why can a kiss on the lips be laden with more meaning than the full-fledged sex act?

I don’t know.  Don’t have a clue.

 What I do know is that my first kiss as a divorced woman was delivered by a cab driver. Juan Carlos was his name.  I met him when he picked up Ellen, Gary and me outside our hotel in Zihuatanejo, Mexico.  Our destination was an elegant bar high above
the town.  We could have walked, but in our dresses and high-heeled sandals, Ellen and I would have been awkward and uncomfortable.

So we flagged down Juan Carlos, who drove us up the hill.  He waited while we sipped margaritas and watched the sun slide down the sky and slip behind the hills on the opposite side of the bay.

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