Brad Winters had enrolled for a three day writing course on an egotistical whim. His first attempt at fiction, although pleasing to have published, had not sold enough copies to encourage him to give up his job in car sales, but the blurb for this course had specified, 'for published writers who have had only moderate success.' The fact that it was being held in a 4-star hotel, with excellent conference facilities, barely five miles from his home had made it an even more attractive proposition.
His hotel room on the first floor was neat enough with views across lavish gardens that seemed to burst with summer colour. That first morning the forty or so 'would-be' writers sat in a large hall to be given an outline of the intended programme. Brad was struck by the vast age range of the group. Some looked to be no more than older teenagers whereas there was a good smattering of over sixties.
For the afternoon session they were randomly divided into two groups, and Brad's group were instructed to meet in conference room B. Brad arrived there to find chairs set out in a rough semicircle with a small lectern at the centre point. He took up a left wing position as the other chairs quickly filled, and, before sitting, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair
Sara Furlong needed her daughter, Jennifer, to persuade her to attend the writer's course she'd spotted in a magazine.
"You're one book hasn't exactly set the world alight, Mum." Jennifer had said, with her usual questionable tact. "This course may just set you in a more lucrative direction. And the location isn't far away."
"It'll probably be all pointless talk," Sara had replied, although she did wish to expand her experience. Working in the beauty department of a major store was interesting enough, but having written one historical novel, with one decent review, the idea of living off her writing had much appeal.
Jennifer gave her mother one of her pleading looks, "Maybe you could enquire if I could come with you. I wouldn't mind being a writer after university." Her grin was teasing, "I could probably make a fortune writing a disguised version of your confused love life."
Smiling, Sara gave her daughter a gentle nudge, "It wasn't that confused." Sometimes she regretted having been so frank with her eighteen year old daughter about the men in her life.
So they found themselves sharing a comfortable twin bedded room on the first floor of the up grade hotel housing the course. For the afternoon session they found themselves in a smaller group of about twenty. Given the promised heat of the July afternoon, Sara had worn a thin, brown, sleeveless summer dress, and she and Jennifer placed themselves on the right hand edge of the semi circle of chairs.
Comfortably relaxed, Brad allowed his eyes to scan around the seated group, and, jokingly, he graded them—'older, older, young, my age, my age, older, young.' There appeared to be an equal mix of men and women, as his eyes reached the far side of the semi circle, and he was proceeding,-'old, young, my age, ol—'
That was the moment the whirlwind struck him. Brad's eyes turned back to the woman in the brown summer dress he'd labelled 'my age'. Even as he did so, he saw her avert her eyes. What the hell had struck him about her?
A tall grey haired gentleman moved to stand behind the lectern, placed some notes in front of him, introduced himself, and welcomed those present. Sara heard none of it. Her attention had inexplicably become focussed on the man directly across the floor from her.
When she'd first noticed him, he had been slipping out of his jacket, before sitting down. What troubled Sara at that early sighting was the spasm and pulsing that started deep down in her lower body. She didn't know the man. He wasn't exactly handsome, 'rugged' might have been a better description. Then his eyes were on her, and she quickly looked away. But, why notice him, and why this reaction inside her?
Brad was not hearing the speaker either. He was pondering the effect this unknown woman was having on him. Although he might have classed her as attractive, she was no raving beauty. A round face framed by neat tawny hair, curling outwards just above her shoulders. A generous swelling in the brown dress suggested a reasonable figure. Slender calves, leading up to smooth knees which she appeared now to be attempting to push the hem of her dress to cover.
Sara gave a quick glance and saw that he was looking down at her legs. Her movement to push down the hem of her skirt, as she hastily looked away, was almost involuntary. But as she did this, she could not resist another glance and this time their eyes held, and for an uncountable number of seconds they were locked into a thousand unanswerable questions.
Brad was amazed to find his breathing quicken, and it was he who had to break the eye-lock, by glancing at the young lady who sat to the left of the brown dressed lady.
By general appearance, face shape, hair colour this had to be some relative, younger sister maybe. Prettier perhaps than her elder sister but there couldn't be much in it.
Sara had been relieved when he looked away, for, during that long stare something had happened that amazed and almost terrified her. Already feeling the pulsing down there she had become aware that there was a moistening between her thighs. This was ridiculous. What kind of awesome power did this man have in his gaze?
The speaker's voice was a mere background drone as Brad's eyes were drawn back to this magnetic lady in the brown dress. Her eyes had remained on him but now as she looked away, he was able to intensify his gaze. In trying to define why she was having this effect on him he had another shock. His penis was pushing against his boxer shorts.
An erection? He'd only viewed this woman briefly from a distance of some ten metres. God, this could not be happening. Two failed marriages, a couple of long term affairs, and several one nighters over his 39 years, had prepared him for any effect an attractive woman could have on him. He would admit to fancying a sexy woman like mad. He had fallen in love with each of his wives within hours of meeting them.
But this was something beyond his comprehension. Sitting there, gazing across at her, only one thing dominated his mind, and caused his erection to throb frantically. He desperately needed that erection to be thrusting, vigorous and deep, up inside this unknown woman. No woman had ever produced that kind of immediate desire in him. Hell, she was gazing at him again, and the very air was electric. Was she some kind of witch?
Was there a lecture going on? Sara had little awareness of any sounds other than what was the hammer beat of her own heart. With each glance, with each connection of the eyes, something was becoming desperately, frighteningly, clear.
After one husband, three long term affairs, and several brief encounters, the three main orifices of her body had much experience of the eagerness of male erections. Sometimes it had been good, sometimes not so. But always, she had taken time to assess whether a man was going to be allowed access to her body. Now, here she was with an absolutely instant craving to have this unknown man's hardness shafting into her, but only into that orifice that defined her as a woman.
One or two volunteers were being invited up to talk about their early writing experience. Brad could take in none of it. His mind was in a whirl. The response of his body staggered him. What significance was there in her eyes looking into his? Was he so desirable to this woman? That thought almost made him laugh. Yet, how could he be sitting here in some physical torment in his need to penetrate her? Determinedly he tried to concentrate on the current speaker. It was impossible.
"Are you going to volunteer, Mum?"
Her daughter's voice brought Sara back to some level of reality, but she knew her voice was hesitant as she replied," Of course not."
