Nominated for a Global eBook Award
Rigel Madsong talks about his new release The Taste of a Woman
Good writing comes from real life, or what is imagined out of real life. I have built stories out of jazz musicians, accidental entrapment in an elevator, an argument over the place of a paramour in the heightened sexual experience of a couple... situations I've participated in or heard about, elevated into the realm of fiction.
What makes fiction greater that truth, and even truer than truth sometimes, is the power of the imagination to carry human experience up against the limits as we know them and beyond, teasing us with possibilities we'd love to see happen.
So it is with the stories in THE TASTE OF A WOMAN, this excerpt deriving from my astonishment seeing a Playboy Calendar hanging on the bedroom wall of my friend the Preacher's Kid, only to make it interesting and more sexually charged, the interaction happens between Cicely and Granger:
“How do you, the preacher’s son, get to have a Playboy Calendar?”
“’Cause I want it.”
“Didn’t your mother say no?”
“She did.”
“You did it anyway?”
“She took it down and threw it away. Twice. I just went to Kretchy’s News Stand and bought another one.”
“And put it back up?”
“And put it back up.”
“She let you do it?”
“She didn’t have a choice.”
Cecily found herself curiously transfixed. She looked at the beautiful face, the curly blond hair streaming down, the sunglasses, the tilt of her shoulders, the round succulent breasts fully exposed. How did this good-looking woman feel showing herself like that?
Cecily believed that she herself, looking at her, could feel the emotions streaming from this playmate: a sense of pride, maybe, a sense of generosity giving herself this way, maybe even a thrill creeping up her spine as she imagined thousands, maybe millions of men staring at her through her picture frame. Did she see their faces peering into her centerfold? Did she feel their arousal as they imagined themselves touching her, playing with her...
“I see you find Miss June fetching.”
Cecily blushed but couldn’t turn away.
Granger saw her heating up. He reached up and with one finger stroked the hair of the model. “She likes it,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she’s purring about now.”
He looked at Cecily and saw a little moisture collecting at the corner of her mouth.
“Try it yourself,” he said. He took her hand, pointed one finger and made her stroke the model’s hair. Cecily took in a short breath. He directed her hand over and over along the margin of her hair,then lightly touching her lips, her cheek, down the curve of her neck.
She drew her hand away,
“Chicken,” he said.
“Am not.”
“Then show your courage, girl.”
Determined not to be a wuss in front of Granger she lifted her finger to the model once more, without Granger this time, raising it to her shoulder, down her upper arm then... then, hesitating a moment, across to her breast.
“You like that, I see.”
Cecily said nothing but did not withdraw her hand nor stop the circular motion she was making around first one breast then the other.
He watched her for a moment, feeling a rise in his loins. The wetness at the corner of her mouth became a drop which she licked away. “Real ones feel better,” he said and took her other hand and placed it on her own breast and held it there, massaging her through her hand.
Of course I wouldn't say whether such a thing happened or not. That's not important. What IS important is that we find ourselves irresistibly in the scene of Granger and Cicely, find ourselves playing their roles, feeling the surge Granger felt, feeling shocked by the sudden freedom Cicely discovered at the command of her casual friend with the Playboy Centerfold Calendar.
And the scene isn't over yet. . .
Since it's fiction some would say it never happened. But it DID happen, didn't it? Right here in the electric chambers of our imagination.
That's what makes all this so exciting!
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