Perhaps the spectre of her had always been lodged deep in my brain, waiting, knowing. Maybe that image, misread by me, had lured me into triple pointless love affairs, and two failed marriages. Failed, because of my uncertainty, my inability to give everything. When Carol left six months earlier, her words had hurt but I could not fathom the truth in them, “Even when you’re inside me, I feel you’re somewhere else. Fucking somebody else.”Not true. Hell, I’m as lusty as they come, full of passion, always keen for the pull of a woman’s body. I’d never thought I had a problem on that score. It took that course in fiction writing to open a doorway to my soul.That sounds so ethereal now, even though, in retrospect, hitting on that course was guided by the stars. Two novels, the first went immediately into bookshop offers, the second though, a thriller liberally peppered with sex had much better sales.“See?” Arch Landers, my agent, had smirked. “Sex sells. Your next book must have the hero screwing like a rabbit.” That’s when he handed me the coloured fly-leaf, “Get yourself on this.” It was headed, ’Three-day Fiction Writing Course’Reading the blurb, I found it was aimed specifically at those writers who had experienced some limited success. There were promises of added lectures from a few named celebrity authors. Pricey, it seemed, but the lure of a 5 star hotel, a single en-suite room, an exclusive limit of twelve participants, full hotel menu and plenty of coffee breaks, appealed to me, and the fates were quick to have me register.Arch was pleased and had chuckled, “Maybe they’ll teach you how to write better sex scenes,” knowing there was a section on writing erotica. But neither of us could guess the practical, exclusively mine, I would receive when that locked door in my mind was opened.The last Wednesday in May, I was pleased on viewing my single room on the first floor of the hotel, to find it very up-market. It was neat, compact and comfortable enough with views across lavish gardens that seemed ready to burst with summer colour. There was even a small desk on which stood a laptop with a small printer.Casual dress was acceptable for most sessions, evening meals required men to be in suits with a tie, and ladies in dresses. Consequently, at 11.00am, I entered Lecture Room One dressed in green sports shirt and pants for our introductory session.Two rows of six chairs were occupied, apart from the last one in the second row. So I was last to arrive. I sat and took note of my surrounds. In front of us stood a slightly raised central lectern. In the front row, there were three ladies and three men. From the rear, I guessed the men were maybe in their forties or fifties. Two of the ladies were silver-haired, and the third, seated at the far end of the row had tawny hair, curling just above the edge of a pale blue summer dress. I estimated that she would be the youngest in that row.A Mr. John Eavis, tall, pencil thin, mid-fifties, I guessed, stood behind the lectern, introduced himself as the organiser, and a dark, rather pretty, young lady, standing to his right, as Linda, his assistant.There was a brief introductory talk about why we “newly published” authors had been selected. He then told us that in the afternoon session we would be split into two groups, blue and red, to be involved with one of the well -known authors, kindly giving their time to the course.Eavis waved a hand from side to side and said, “Front row will be the red group, and the second row will be the blue. More of that later.”He coughed, licked his lips, before going on to advocate each person should give a five-minute outline of themselves, with emphasis on why they wrote and what they had written.He told them that they would proceed in alphabetical order and that meant a Mrs. Lily Breamer was first.Mrs. Breamer, a grey-haired, plump lady, stepped nervously behind the lectern, and in a shaky voice, began relating how, being a widow, of independent means, Escort Anadolu yakası she had plenty of time for writing.Comfortably relaxed, I sat and listened with some interest to the experiences of others. Some very close to my own, in terms of chosen genre, and current employment. There were two other teachers, one male, one female.Then John Eavis called out, “Mrs. Sara Reason,” and I watched as the lady with the tawny hair stood, walked to the lectern and turned to face her audience.That was the moment the whirlwind struck me, tearing through my unsuspecting brain, opening a door I wasn’t aware of, before swirling around my head and down into my chest, where it felt to squeeze at my heart. And that old-fashioned organ was suddenly beating madly. A heart attack? No, because another organ which should have been at rest was beginning to twitch.What the hell was it about her? Had we met before? No, that was impossible, yet it felt as though I’d known her forever. But, in that instant, I wanted to know her forever. Desperately, I tried to rationalise my thinking. Why had this Mrs. Reason suddenly become the only woman I could ever want? All others, wives, lovers, became irrelevant.She was speaking, and her eyes, green, so green and so deep as they scanned her audience, I hoped would linger on me. They didn’t but moved nervously on.Her voice was delicate and gentle, and I heard keywords she spoke, “I’m thirty-two, and an accountant. My husband–,” I didn’t want to hear that word from her. “—works for an oil company. I began writing four years ago—found it an escape from—” She paused here, and did those eyes look troubled? “—the humdrum of everyday life. I’ve written two books, in the most popular one, a wife plots to kill her husband.” head nodded, and there was a ripple of laughter from the others.I watched as she returned to her seat. That dress fit her so well, and just before sitting did those green eyes glance in my direction? Some hopes. But the whole room went away as I tried to come to terms with the effect this unknown woman was having on me.Attractive? Undoubtedly. Wasn’t she attracting me? But why? How? She was no Norma Jean. Yet, for me, she exuded that same air of sensuality with her round face framed by neat tawny hair, curling outwards just above her shoulders. And that mouth, small, with generous, oh, yes, kissable lips. And hadn’t there been something about the way she moved? No exaggerated sway of hips here, just a seductive glide which she seemed unaware of.Two speakers had followed her at the lectern, and I hadn’t heard a word they said. Their voices were drones in the background of my thoughts.“Mr. Winters? Brad Winters.”“Huh? Oh, sorry.”Somehow, my mind still in a whirl, I got to my feet, with the blessing that I could look at that face head-on, once more. Those green eyes were bright on me, a pleasure that helped me find my voice. I managed to give a broken account of my background and interest in writing, mentioning that ‘Dangerous April’ was the one that had the best response.Returning to my seat, I tried to concentrate on what the two final speakers had to say, but my thoughts could not avoid this magnetic lady in the blue dress. God, this could not be happening. No woman had ever produced that kind of immediate longing in me. I had viewed her full-face for barely five minutes yet she had turned me into a gibbering idiot. Yes, I told myself, I could fancy any, even more, attractive woman like mad. But never as madly as this. That whirlwind was still whizzing in my chest, and lower.For me, the course was virtually over. My mind could only dwell on the mystery of this lady and the ‘why’ of her attraction. All morning and into lunchtime, I tried to place myself where I had a view of her face. ‘Just talk to her, you idiot,’ I tried to tell myself. ‘You were never stuck for a chat-up line normally.’But this was far from the norm. The lady was married, Kurtköy escort had hit me like a lightning flash, and the truth would worryingly escape from my lips if I spoke, ‘I’m Brad, and I want to touch and possess you for the rest of my life.” Oh, yes, brilliant.The afternoon, because we were in different groups, deprived me of the privilege of gazing at her. I suppose it did allow a little chance of concentrating, on what the well-established visiting author had to say about plotting. I had read some of his work and would have loved to be fully focussed on what he had to say, but my mind kept drifting to Mrs. Sara Reason.When the second group session ended, we were told to go back to the lecture room to be given our evening task. She was there standing with a group of ladies, as Eavis told us our first task. “Your most embarrassing moment in just three hundred words. Handed in tomorrow.”Being nearest the door, I was one of the first out and on the corridor leading into the reception area, when a gentle female voice behind me said, “Excuse me, Mr. Winters.”I turned and breathing became a struggle. There she stood, that face just lower than mine, but so close, those green eyes holding mine, and there was a subtle perfume, so gentle, yet filling my already crowded head. Responding took some concentration, “Hello,” I said, with an unusual wavering in my voice.She smiled, such a bright smile, and shrugged, “Oh, I must sound so nosey.”How would she take it if I admitted I wanted her to be nosey? All I could muster was, “How could I think you nosey?”Briefly, she looked uncertain, almost shy, as she admitted, “I was quite surprised when you said that you wrote, ‘Dangerous April.’”“You know it?” People weren’t there anymore. We were standing in a busy reception area, but no one else existed. There was only this mystical lady.“I’ve read it.”“Oh,” I muttered. Could I ask? Go on, Brad Winter, you need to know. “What did you think of it?”“I was jealous.”“Jealous?”“I wish I could write so succinctly. And those love scenes—” Her face reddened as she added, “Wow!”“You’re too kind,” I said before I discovered she was about to be even kinder.“Seeing you at the lectern, I couldn’t help thinking that you must have based your main character on yourself.”Did I blush? This was impossible. I had described Jeff Collins, as “a tall, imposing figure, handsome with black wavy hair.” Only my black hair, without a kink in it, was anywhere near that description. Those green eyes held mine for that few seconds before she began to turn away, “I’m expecting a message at reception.” She moved towards the desk, as she added, “Maybe we could chat later?”“That would be good,” I said. Oh, God, it would be very good, but at the same time would I be in for much emotional pain? She was a married lady, even if she might be the lady I’d be stalking for the rest of my life. And was what I wanted to read into her comment about my character’s appearance pure foolishness? Forget all that, just to be near her was going to make my time here extra special.I took a long, hot shower before lying back on the bed to try to sleep. That wouldn’t happen. I closed my eyes to have them met by a probing pair of green eyes, accompanied by a fetching smile. I was truly hooked.Unable to settle, I went to the desk, sat down and began doing my ‘homework’. It wrote quite easily, telling of the time I was found balancing up high between cubicles in a lady’s public toilet. A longish tale that just made the three hundred word limit. It took me forty minutes.Mrs. Sara Reason dominated my mind, as I puzzled on how I could stay within the aura she presented, without being too obvious. There was some time before the 7.30pm dinner, so I donned my blue suit and set out on a tour of the hotel’s facilities.By the time I’d found the four bars, the fitness area, the pool and had a quick stroll out into the evening sunlight of the lavish gardens it was time Maltepe escort bayan to eat. Although the dining room was large, I saw her straight away, delightful in a single strap black dress, which revealed the smooth curve of her shoulders. She was seated at a four-seater table with three women from our group.I found a seat at a table which gave me a neat view of where she was sitting, and, glory be, as I sat down, she caught my eye, and a slight smile flickered over her lips. An acknowledgement of my existence. My mind began working along a, maybe illicit, yet exciting path.An excellent meal went down with me hardly aware of it, as I was constantly hoping to catch her eye. Maybe they were only quick glances, on me, and away, but I did catch them. Hopes from impossibilities claimed my mind.It was almost 9.00pm when I put down my coffee cup to be surprised to see the table where she had been sitting was empty. With a sense of disappointment, I checked the nearest bar and lounge but there was no sign of her.Should I roam around in the hope of making a ‘chance’ encounter? Probably not a good idea. Remembering that earlier, I had resolved to have a fair amount of wine to ensure sleep, I sat in an alcove in the bar nearest reception, with a carafe of good burgundy. Maybe she would pass. Members of the writing group did pass, gave a smiling nod, or stopped for a quick word. But, no Sara Reason.By 10.30pm, the carafe was drained, and I felt heady enough to believe I might sleep. Just a little giddy, I slowly climbed the stairs to the first floor. As I turned towards my corridor, the lift doors to my left parted and Sara Reason, neat in black, staggered out, eyes glazed but widening on seeing me.“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” she slurred drunkenly, the ‘p’s especially plosive. “We were going to chat.” She tottered towards me, and I half-raised my hands, fearing she might fall.“Those ladies sure know how to knock it back.” She stopped, almost bumping into me. Her breasts pressed against my chest. Desperately, I tried to calm my own foggy head. She was there, so alluring, the green eyes were dimmed, and I was telling myself that the lady I had suddenly discovered was here, and, I was sure, available.Her next slurred words emphasised that. “Do you want to—” She paused, and produced a lascivious smile, “—chat? Or kiss me?” She made it sound like ‘kish’.Controlling my own feelings, and the flexing in my groin, I said, “I’ll guide you to your room.” I took hold of her bare arm. That touch was like holding a roll of Indian silk. My senses somehow managed to cope with the thrill of it.“Ooh, yes, please,” she sighed, leaning into my side. “I’ll need somebody to help me out of my clothes.” The door to her room was just two beyond my own, and her nearness, her suggestion, brought my erection to the halfway stage.She had fumbled her key-card from her small handbag, I took it from her and opened the door, guiding her into the opening. I risked placing my hands on her bare shoulders. Hell, what was risky about that? She felt divine. But, despite, my own alcoholic haze, I knew that if I stepped inside that door, I would later regret any joy that might ensue.My task here was to hold those smooth shoulders, look into those pleading, glazed green eyes, and convince her that sleep was her main requirement.She licked those tempting lips, and murmured, “Kiss first?”“No kiss. Please, Mrs. Reason—”“Sara,” she corrected me, before adding, “Oh, the things your hero did.”“Sara, listen to me.” Her brow furrowed, as I went on. “I am not Jeff Collins that you read about. Some time I’ll tell you exactly what I feel, but you’ve had too much wine, and you are a married lady.”Her head shook violently, and she placed her hands into a familiar T-shape, “I’m taking this chance to call ‘Time Out’ on marriage, on domesticity, on work, on everything except the here and now.” She licked her lips before adding, “And you—if you want me.”A little stunned by the sudden clarity of her speech, while she made that declaration, I told her, “Sara, the condition you are in, would any man not have got the same offer?”She turned bleary eyes to look up and down the empty corridor before she slurred, “Certainly not.” Her weak smile tried to be sexy, “Not the way you’ve been eyeing me.”