Category: Chapters

It Stays

Bleary, shoulder muscle knots, fading energy. Five solid hours of editing my blog to book as the new year closes in are taking their toll on my mind and my body.  I am drifting in and out of focus, trying hard to give the editor what she wants. I am alone, only with my computer open to the screen of blog texts. My blog writings at the time took on the rawness of the abuse I felt from the impetuously unhealthy relationship with Paul Allen. Now connecting the dots, the storyline from bits of canvases and secrets—the deep-rooted scar in my brain seeps open and bleeds through my veins.  The reflections are chaotically painful just like the time spent with Paul, raising feelings of helplessness, despair, humiliation, loneliness, fear; sensations erotically blended with sensuality. That mental ache is the indelible scar left by emotional abuse, the legacy of Paul Allen’s ‘Love.’  I live in the long shadow of the trauma once again centered in my life through writing the book.  I placed my soul at Paul’s  feet, and he kicked me so hard with his emotional games I landed in an open grave.

I am floating into 2018 with the abuse scar ripped open in the obscurity of the script.  As I edit and pull the blogs together for the book, the venting of emotions appears a little too messy, embarrassing or potent to give voice to everyday life.  But then my writing about my time with Paul is not conventional,  and the exposer was always risky especially my endeavor to write in a frenzy of consciousness, with little or no idea of where it was going.  I lay open to rejection, ridicule and, or angry retort.   I was more in fear of the mentally painful and destructive fall out I suffered at the hands of Paul than how people would respond to my writing. When I confronted his deepest secret, (something I now believe I unconsciously did to free myself), Paul cut off all contact,  insidiously representing me as unhinged, a casual date, a stalker and a liar.  I was slowly being engulfed in flames by the igniting fire and brimstone, and my instinct for survival made me realize that unless he were crushed the blaze would never go out.

My greatest wish for 2018 is that the completion of the book and it’s publication will plug the wound once and for all, will bring me to a different place in my life. But then as is the case with emotional abuse, otherwise known as psychological abuse or coercive abuse:

You sink your teeth inside of me.

It was erratically painful,

I conformed to the pain.

Your Venom,

Slowly naturalized itself with my blood,

Now they flow together in my veins.

You let go and slithered away,

But,

Your Venom,

It stayed.

Eventide Love #10/1 – Dark Wildness

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I kissed him like he was my God, and I his protector. I kissed him with a desperate, dark wildness. I kissed him hard with my tongue, my teeth in utter abandonment. A storm built in both of us as he laid siege to my desire, his hands sliding down my body, clasping my ass, entering me with a savage drive. At that moment we became lost in our universe as two uncomplicated fucking beasts. In that flash instant, he intoxicated me in a frenzied desire for his sheer physical strength, for his passion, for his stimulation, my life fueled by his breath. I convulsed from the savagery of his kisses, his fucking, penetrating with callous intent and right then I knew I could never be without this man in my life. My intellect captured, frenzied lust exploding as he pummelled me I clung on fucking him as if my life depended on it. It was the one fuck of a lot of fucks.

What I did not know then is that my life would become depending on his fucking me. In my longing for the euphoria that his passion leads me to, I gave him every piece of myself, every thought, every dream, every fear, my sheer physical strength, my soul. And with the bones of my life exposed to his carnal desires, no longer protected by skin, my life in the heart beat of the craving disintegrated like a rotting skeleton. He was hard and skillful and persistent and had a mortal heart. Even with all my super powers, I was never going to survive his prowling presence.

Eventide Love #10

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London
6.15pm

I am in a black hole my life moving slower and slower through time as I approach the phone, pick it up and start to dial the number. Transit through time as I have come to live it will halt, as my horizon fades completely from view torn and crushed.

The constant fear and muddled emotions like a blue frost caught me. As ‘She’ answered “hello, hello’ I freeze, dropping the receiver. Maybe I could wait until tomorrow, hold on to another day with Chris. I am desperate for him not to contradict me, not to swear ‘She’ does not exist but admit that the ‘non-entity’ as he describes her is in fact, his constant companion. At least then he would show me a gleamer of truth, of honest love.

I am frantic not to believe I am paranoid and crazy as he insists. Like some supernatural presence, I can sense ‘Her‘ being in his life, in our life. I am struggling to surface from a limited perspective of my one-dimensional life with Chris. My life is falling apart; I am fading like a dying bulb into darkness. I am terrified of the future without Chris but even more terrified of my life with him.

My constant knot of anxiety tightens, wrenching my gut, retching I rush into the bathroom, grab hold of the sink, turn on the tap and splash water on my face in an attempt calm myself down. My body is shaking uncontrollably. I lean against the cold stone of the basin and slowly raise my face to the mirror. I appear opaque. A dark shadow of myself. Suddenly, terror-struck at the ruthless solitude of my situation. My body swooned as I realised that no food had passed my lips all day, I was weak, tired and sick. My mind filled with one thought. Oh my God, Chris was a plotting profligate–a base and low rake who had been simulating undying love, to draw me into a snare he deliberately laid to strip me of my dignity, rob me of my self- respect and capture my life. A sharp pain in my chest caught my breath, and I struggled for air. He swore to me that ‘She’ was not his partner, that I was paranoid, jealous and ridiculous. I now know my time is limited and that exposing him and his lies are the only thing that will save me. But I am not ready for this right now. I know deep down that the moment will come, in which I will make that call that will explode my life.

7pm

I look all around, the darkness shrinking in and the sidewalk trees standing over me like an army of guards. The Skyscrapers like a jungle shielding the tears falling from the sky. The city is not just buildings and people. It feels like a battlefield of my losing fight.

For a second I wonder should I just give in. But then my mobile rings, and it’s Chris. I find myself off balance for a moment, and then my mind instinctively shifts back to the present moment. I answer the call.

“Hi, How are you? I miss you. I hate you being in London and me all alone in Dublin” he bellows sounding full of the joys of life.

“I am okay darling.” I gasp. I take a deep breath to steady my voice. “I am walking to the Frieze Art Fair opening. It’s lashing, can I call you when I get into a dry, quiet place.”

“Okay, but make it quick. Don’t keep me waiting. I want to talk to you. Love you loads.” and Chris hung up.

A frigid gust of wind sweeps up; I wrap my jacket tightly around me as I quicken my step to Regents Park where Frieze Art Fair is based.


This is story of Eventide Love.

We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, psychological, erotic thriller based on the Presidential Election set in Ireland 2011/2012.

If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Meet the Author

Eventide Love #9/1

 

Symptoms-of-Drug-Addiction-AOur Romantic attraction was like some mysterious chemistry, a storm of electrified senses that overcame us. Our vision one off loveliness or hunkiness standing near. Flutters erupted in the belly. The heartbeat quickened. Adrenaline rushed to the bloodstream. Hallucinogenic feelings of intoxication drenched the brain. During opening stages of our romance and subsequent passion, the brain was awash in drug-like chemicals. It was a natural high, and like drugs, the feeling became addictive.

My drive for love, for closeness caused me to become a junkie, to make bad choices and impede my ability to move away from the “amphetamine-like high” of the beginning of our romance. Eventually, I was plunged into gut-wrenching despair, this rocketing from the high and lows of my craving for Chris, who fed and starved my addiction.

The wild, mercurial relationship shackled me to an opiate-like anxiety. I was living on the edge of life. I longed for serenity, for the harmonious security of attachment.  I was so stuck in the addiction I did not sense that Chris’s developing ambivalent attitude to our relationship, to my addiction, was killing me, and he was on a high from my slow destruction.

This is story of Eventide Love.


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, psychological, erotic thriller based on the Presidential Election set in Ireland 2011/2012.

If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Meet The Author

Eventide Love #9

It was Sunday morning, and we had arrived back from Athens, Greece only a few days earlier. We were still in the hedonism of our trip, irresistibly passionate with each other.

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He grabbed my hip and lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist. I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his. His tongue plunged in, and then he was walking toward the bed, every step moving me against his crotch and we fell onto the sheets in a tangle. As he kissed me deeply, my fingers unsnapped each button slowly feeling his torso against my skin, suddenly Chris jerked up and urgently ripped off his crisp, pin stripped shirt. He clasped the back of my head and pulled me up to his face. I felt his lips like silk on my jaw, caressing over my neck as I arched my back and pressed myself against him, wrapping my arms around the tight muscles of his back. His lips paused at my neck and then trailed lower. I sucked in my breath in the ecstasy of his lips and tongue played with one nipple and then my other. Arching into him, silently begging him, I grabbed his neck, his teeth scratching my nipples pulled my legs up around his waist, I could feel the hard length of him against me, I shuddered, my limbs shaking. I involuntarily flung my head back with anticipation as his weight shifted as he moved his hand down to my clit his fingers edging my clit. I pressed myself against him crying out for his touch as he fingers continued to torment me.

“Chris,” I begged. “Please.”

“What babe? Tell me?”

“You know,” I said my back arching tighter against his fingers.

“Beg me, baby,” He whispered

“Ohhh please, fuck me. Just fuck me.”

With every fiber of my being, I was aching to explode, to celebrate and relish the electricity of our intense emotional release. He slid his finger deep and hard inside me, and my hips jerked, a load cry tore from my throat.

“You’re so hot.” He softly moaned.

He moved me to my side and curled his body behind mine, his finger acutely moving in and out in a precise rhythm that sent my blood flowing like quicksilver in my veins. His other arm cradled my neck against his shoulder as he free hand reached out and stroked my breasts, pinching my nipples hard between his fingers. Moaning, I laid my hand over his finger pressing inside me and rocked against him as he slowly slid another finger inside. I sank my teeth into his biceps muffling my scream, and fiercely rode the waves of pleasure, reaching, always reaching for something not yet attainable.

“No, not yet,” he groaned and slid his fingers from me, their wetness trailing across my stomach. I trembled as he pulled me stretching me onto my back and lurched over me his long muscles rigid his cock hard, I reached out, and my hand caressed the length of his shaft then and cupped his throbbing cock in my hand. He was magnificent. I sucked in my breath as he grabbed by wrists pushing them up over my head spilling over the pillows. He growled as he moved down on me, stalking me like the predator he moved with liquid grace to rest between my thighs, his eyes never once diverting from mine. His breath was hot and fleshy against my face as he mercilessly drove into me. The tension in my body mounting, I began to move faster, more frantic against him, convulsed, by his cock pounding harder and harder into me.

“I am coming, come with me,” He muttered, his face bursting in exhalation as he erupted like hot lava inside me, seizing my body which surged with each wave of pleasure again and again until finally, our bodies quieted into a gentle all-over trembling.

“Am I too heavy for you?” Chris asked as he lay stretched out on my body his head balanced on my shoulder.

“It’s okay for a few minutes.” I purred and planted tiny kisses on his forehead. After a few minutes, Chris rolled off me, and we lay on our backs still and silent lost in the fervor of the last few days. Suddenly jerking me from my restfulness, Chris grabbed my face and forced me to look at him.

“I want you, here with me.” Unstirring, his eyes piercing he whispered. “I don’t want you with Cian anymore. I don’t like it. You know there is no other way. You have to leave him.”

“Let’s not talk about it now Chris, please. He is away for the next few days, and I am all yours.” While a thrill of pleasure coursed through me at his ferocity, his desire for me, there were still doubts clouding my thoughts. There were questions about the future that he and I needed to resolve. Questions he always deflected.
Both of us exhausted from the fervor of our intense yearning for each other; we fell asleep our bodies wrapped together perfectly as one.


Eventide Love #9/1 to be published on  Friday 19 Feb 2016.


Eventide: We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, political, psychological, erotic thriller set in Ireland 2011/2012.

If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared.

Eventide Love: 2015 in review

About  On The Edge Blog.

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 20,000 times in 2015. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 7 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Eventide Love #8/6

Friday Oct 28

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I opened my eyes slowly, waking to the sound of the radio in the background and the pungent smell of coffee in the air. I felt a deep peacefulness, a happiness that engulfed me. It was the morning of the count, and the tallies were being discussed on the radio. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. As my bare feet hit the cold tiled floor of the kitchen, it sent a shiver up my body. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of Chris, freshly shaved and dressed with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. I loved seeing him in these private moments of getting ready before he presented his smartly dressed persona to the outside world. These were the moments that grabbed my heart, that made us feel real. His eyes moved from my face to my toes, taking in my naked torso, and back up to my face. As I came closer, his face was impassive but his eyes were full of warmth and desire. I wondered if he felt the same way about seeing me getting ready for the day. Probably not; Chris loved sex in the morning, so he probably just saw ‘hot.’ Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I led his hand around to the under curve of my buttocks.

A smile teased the corners of his lips, “And good morning to you, beautiful.” He gave me a quick slap against my thigh. I jumped at the sting and gasped as warmth radiated on the spot. “Hmmmm, you like that,” he smirked.

Chris shifted to lean back against the breakfast counter and pulled me between his spread legs, both his hands lightly gripping the back of my thighs. He nuzzled his nose against my forehead, passionately whispering, “I think you like pain.”

He slapped me on the other thigh harder than the first one and the sending a burning pain through me causing me to jump and dip into his statuesque form.

“Stop, darling,” I moaned.

“I can feel it. It’s turning you on,” he murmured in my ear. “Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?” His fingers slipped between my thighs, touching my clit, casually rubbing it. “God, what you do to me,” he said.

“What do I do to you?’ I breathed heavily.

“I just look at you and you turn me on.”

He smelt good, felt even better. I wrapped around him then started to disengage. “I guess I have to get ready for the count center,” I said, my reason taking over from my longing.

He yanked me up on my tippy toes, grinding me against his hard-on. Pulling on his tie, I put my open mouth on his and devoured him, my tongue wrapping around his, stroking it liberally, sucking it hard. Chris swiped my hair into a ponytail, holding me in place, taking over the kiss. It felt like he was fucking my mouth, drinking me in. A heat surged through me, my skin grew humid with perspiration. His lips soft and firm against mine, his grip angling me the way he wanted, his teeth scraped gently across my bottom lip. We could not get enough of each other. We were addicted to each other. The taste of him slightly tinged with coffee intoxicated me. I clutched his hair in my hands, holding on tight, my toes flexing to push me closer. Always wanting to get closer, never close enough. We were interrupted by Chris’s mobile. It rang once and when he ignored it, it rang again.

“Sorry, cupcake, it’s an important day. I better take the call.” He leaned back, grabbing the mobile from the counter. “Good morning, Joe,” he answered, his attention shifting. I left him with a quick kiss on his shoulder and went up to prepare for what was to be a very long day.

This was my first visit in years to Dublin Castle, which had been at the heart of Irish history for more than 800 years. A commanding building, it was built in the 13th century on a site previously settled by the Vikings, on a high ridge on the south side of the River Liffey, in the heart of the city. It functioned as a military fortress, a prison, treasury, courts of law and the seat of English Administration in Ireland for 700 years, and was now used for important State receptions and presidential inaugurations.

My last visit was when I worked for the Irish Presidency in 1989–1990, before I started my fashion business. It was a particularly important presidency, as it followed the collapse of the Berlin Wall, and the Irish Presidency held two major EU summits at Dublin Castle, at which the EU welcomed German reunification.

That was the one job I loved more than any other. I often got pangs of regret that I did not follow a career in EU politics. I had maneuvered and mixed with the dignitaries effortlessly, a testament to my life growing up as a diplomat’s daughter. It taught me to understand the varying nuances in different cultures. It gave me a confidence to mix in political, diplomatic senarios. They were long days, but very fulfilling.

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This time, there was a massive media presence as we approached the venue at which the election counts from county to county were announced. Large broadcast vans, preparing for the day’s evolving events, were parked against the grandeur of the castle’s facade. Chris had organized our accreditation, which allowed us into the venue. We collected our badges at the entrance to the purpose-built conference center and then shuffled through tight security.

It was hard to believe it only took six weeks and four days to arrive at this day. So many of the emotions of life lived out in such a short time period. I looked around the large ugly room hosting the count; it defied the grandeur of the architecture that the rest of the buildings on the site boasted. The room was shrouded in red curtains and lit with harsh florescent lighting. Low-hanging tubular steel encasements holding wiring ran across the ceiling. Trestle tables were laid out in orderly rows along one side of the room, all hooked up to the Internet, allowing the press and staff of the candidates to access and share information instantly. Two large stages dominated either end of the room—one to facilitate TV crews for interviews, and the one at the back to announce the count details. The place was heaving, the air filled with anticipation. The rivalry over, the campaign teams were now mixing and chatting nervously.

The campaign had taken its toll. I was sick of the bickering, of the Candidate’s lack of control and professionalism. In my gut, I knew he did not stand a chance of winning. Actually, it wasn’t just my gut feeling; it was a considered opinion based on the factual assessments of the Candidate’s campaign performance, which had been dismal. What I knew in my gut was that he should not be president.

I left Chris alone with Joe so they could get on with the last day of their jobs, talking to the press monitoring the tally count. The boxes from which the ballot papers would be counted were in forty-three centers around the country. The results to be announced were then relayed from this venue. The polling experts had a knack of being able to assess the likely official outcome, and their count estimation was the first to break on the news and social media feeds. The voting turnout was low, not boding well in particular for the Candidate, because it indicated that he did not succeed in mobilizing the gay community and social groups to vote. The Candidate was at Simmonscourt Dublin count center, posting tweets of the boxes opening, thanking everyone for their support. At 11.25 am, I noticed Chris looking around and realized he was looking for me.

“He is out of the running,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Wow, that was quick,” I replied, with slight disbelief that he knew so quickly.

“Yeah, the tally looks bad, Higgins is going to get it. Exactly what we thought.”

“Do you know what, Chris? All I can say is thank god. He would have been a disaster of a president.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He is going on Newstalk now to concede and wish Higgins all the best.”

“What do we do now?”

“We show solidarity and stay here until the official count is announced. That won’t be till later today. The Candidate will have to come over for it.”

“Oh, okay. Well, maybe we can grab a coffee?”

“Just give it a little while. Colette Fitzpatrick wants to interview me along with Seinn Fein’s Mary Lou, so I have to hang around for that.”

“Chris, I thought after last’s night appearance on RTE talking about our campaing you were told by the Candidate not to do any more official interviews or comments on behalf of the campaign.”

“Fuck them.”

I laughed. He was right. “Fuck them.”

It had been a tumultuous few weeks. The Candidate started at the top of the polls with 21%. The support had dropped dramatically each week, until he finally headed into election day with a dismal 8%. Unsurprisingly, the Candidate ended up with only 109,469 first preference votes at 6.2%, finishing fifth of the seven candidates. The voting percentage was disastrous for him. It did not qualify him to receive the €250,000 rebate against campaign expenses. One big disadvantage with Cathal hijacking the campaign was a lack of financial transparency. However, I reckoned it had to be in excess of €300,000 spent, with only €20,000 raised. I didn’t feel sorry for the Candidate at that moment, though. He enabled the chaos. He would not speak to me or trust me, the only one other than Brian who had no agenda. I tried to support him and he fervently rejected the help. His arrogance became his Achilles heel. His intuition proved resistant to the brilliant rationale evidenced in his Senate debates. It’s like bacteria outwitting an antibacterial agent. The man I thought I knew exposed a mercurial nature as integral to him as his name and date of birth.

Hours later, we faced the result. All the team arrived at Dublin Castle at around 7.30 pm, along with the Candidate, for the first count. There was huge anticipation in the air. The man who had magnanimously offered the Candidate the Dublin City Council endorsement would be announced as the new President of Ireland later in the night.

As events were dragging out and the counts coming in slowly, meant it was going to be along night, we decided to go for a break from the venue. It offered no facilities, no coffee docks, no food, and the Wi-Fi was temperamental. Chris, Joe and I attempted to sneak out and grab a drink and a quick bite to eat. Looking straight ahead, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye, we promptly made our way to the exit. Suddenly, a shoulder hit hard against mine, knocking me. As Joe steadied me, I swiveled around to glare at Cathal. He locked on to my eyes, menacingly, pressing his body up to me.

“Tip me and I am calling the police,” I warned him, not disturbed by his behaviour.

Joe immediately stepped in, taking my elbow and leading me away from Cathal as I strained my head, watching him. When we arrived outside, Chris was waiting, agitated. “What happened to the two of you?”

“You won’t believe it. That crazy guy Cathal just knocked into me. Seriously, he is crazy.”

Chris put his arms around my shoulder, hugging me close to him. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks, darling. He certainly does not frighten me.”

It was a heady night. The full drama of the election played out on a podium rising high above the floor. At 1 am exactly, Higgins was announced as president, and the final line of the final chapter on the campaign was completed


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, political, psychological, erotic thriller set in Ireland 2011/2012

If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Meet The Author

Eventide Love #8/4

Thursday Oct 27

 Joe Webb- ANTARES AND LOVE XI @JoeWebbArt

Joe Webb- ANTARES AND LOVE XI @JoeWebbArt

With a press embargo on the day of voting, Chris suggested we take the day off and go for a drive and have lunch at Marfield House in Gorey, Wexford.

It was a dull day and bitterly cold. I voted at my local polling station and Chris at his. I popped to my house to make sure everything was okay. The place felt so empty since I met Chris, and once again, my husband was away. I was forming an adverse feeling to going home. I had a bag of washing I put in the washing machine, then I went into my walk-in closet, situated off the hallway on the ground floor. I loved fashion and, as a result, had an extensive collection. I pulled a few bits and pieces and packed them into my weekend bag. I packed a Marni dark-green short fitted jacket for the count center the next day. I would wear it with cream fitted trousers, a fitted cream silk top and my signature high platforms.

Chris collected me at around twelve pm from the house. We exited the city, hitting the highway to Gorey. Chris drove with confidence, his grip light on the steering wheel. I watched him adoringly, fascinated with the way he multitasked as he drove, answering his mobile, one eye on his emails and texting. When he needed to text, he asked me to watch the road. It was crazy, but hey, wasn’t that the nature of our relationship? He looked tired and preoccupied. I put my hand on his, asking him if he was okay.

“I need to tell you something,” he replied gently.

My stomach tightened. It sounded ominous. He glanced at me, assessing me.

“Do I really need to know what you are about to tell me?” I asked.

He sighed and said nothing. I waited.

“I love you. You know that?” He went silent, waiting for my response.

“Well, what do you want to tell me?” I asked with trepidation.

“I am only telling you this because you are good at sensing things,” he continued, and I swallowed hard.

“It’s Jen. The young girl I met with you at the Mansion House. Are you fucking her?” I asked, my voice quiet and emotionless.

“See, I told you you’re good at seeing things.”

“Are you fucking her?”

“I did, just one night. It was in the very early stages of being with you.”

I said nothing. I took in his words, wondering why he was telling me this now. And why on a drive, when we couldn’t get away from each other. “Only one night?”

“Yes, I promise. I don’t know why. We had a couple of glasses of wine. She came on to me, and it just happened.”

“Chris, she is a twenty-five years old.”

“I know. I need to tell you something else. I had a relationship with her aunt a couple of years ago. It ended badly.”

“And I need to know that for what reason?”

“We have something really good going on. I don’t want to ruin it by keeping things from each other. I don’t want to lie.”

Now I was confused. Lies?

“What lies?”

He took my hand, and his lips twitched, almost as if he found my confusion funny. I didn’t see the humor, and pulled my hand away.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Chris.”

“I have never told anyone this before.”

“What?” I asked, my mind in turmoil.

“I am not your normal guy.”

“Well, I know that,” I said with a smile.

“I am fifty and single out of choice. I could have been married ten times over. I have never been good at relationships. It’s different with you. I feel for the first time I have met someone I want to live with forever. I feel we have a future together. I don’t want to lose you,” he said with a tinge of loneliness.

With that simple statement he blew me away. My heart was beating. He put his hand on mine, pulling it to his lips. I saw a broken little boy in his eyes, a damaged soul. I longed to fix him, to give him the love he needed. And anyhow, he only fucked her once, and before we became hooked into each other. What difference did that make to us? No difference. As for her aunt—He fucked her aunt, I thought, aghast—well, that was a long time ago. The whole thing sounded sordid. Though reeling from the entire conversation, I somehow believed him. Believed that he loved me with such depth he could trust me with the truth. Believed him when he said I was the first person he wanted to share his life with. We were true soul mates. That was in the past. We were the future.

We both remained relatively quiet for the rest of the drive, simply commenting on the phone calls coming in, or news comments from the radio in the background. Chris took my hand and placed it between his legs, rubbing it against his dick. He held my hand like that for most of the drive. Every now and then I nibbled his ear, kissed his cheek.

An hour and a half later, we pulled up outside the grand Marfield House. As we climbed out of the jeep, Chris suggested we take a little walk around the garden before lunch. We had a gentle, romantic walk, passing an ornamental lake, stunning flower, vegetable and herb gardens. We were in a haven of tranquility, with peacocks, hens, dogs and ponies greeting us along the way. Entering the hotel, we made our way to the restaurant for lunch. It was like walking into someone’s elegantly cozy country home filled with fresh flowers, gleaming antiques, mirrors and period paintings. We sat on a couch in front of a blazing fire. We kissed and talked about us, about how we thought the Candidate would do. We reminisced on the craziness of the whole campaign. We each ordered a light chicken salad and shared a half bottle of white wine. We whiled away the day. We were so relaxed that we would have stayed the night, but Chris was due on a primetime television panel at 9.30 pm to analyze the campaign once the press embargo was over.

I tossed restlessly in bed, hankering for Chris to arrive home and be beside me. I heard the front door open and close and his footsteps coming up to the room. I stretched out on my back, my arms and hands out in anticipation of Chris. He walked in removing his tie and then shook off his jacket.

“You were brilliant on the TV,” I croaked sleepily.

“I love doing it. I want to do more TV. I am good at it,” he said, elated.

He undressed quickly, throwing his clothes on the back of the old brown leather armchair in the corner. I threw my arms around his cold body, hugging him hard. His cock instantly thickened and lengthened.

“I missed you,” I whispered, gently biting on his bottom lip.

“I love you,” he whispered back. He kissed me softly, caressing my back, reaching my shoulder blades, cradling my neck in his hands. I drew him in with my tongue, eager for a more passionate kiss. His softness faded as I sucked his lips. I ran my hand over his shoulder, feeling the tautness of his muscles, then traced his neck and the back of his head, embracing him tightly. He kissed me with the same intensity I felt coursing through my body. He softly moaned as his hand moved slowly down my back, his lips moving across my cheek and neck. I arched my head back as I felt the smacks of his kisses on my throat.

“You feel sooo good, Chris,” I sighed.

“I know. I can sense it.” He dragged his lips along my shoulder blades, moving from one to the other, slowly, deliberately kissing me. My body was enthralled with his mellow loving, shuddering with each kiss.

“You’re amazing.” I could barely get the words out.

He returned his lips to mine.

“Let’s see if I can be more amazing,” he said, softly molding his mouth to mine.

His hand ran sensually down my thigh. I held the back of his head, my lips resting on his, gasping as he then moved my leg over his body, drawing me closer to him. I pressed myself into him as firmly as I could to pacify the ache inside my core. His fingers gently ran along my leg, tracing my calf down to my foot then moving up again along my arched muscles to my back. With his hand pressed against my lower back, holding me firmly in place, his mouth melted into mine, kissing me deeply. I shifted my other leg, urging Chris to lift his body slightly as I wrapped it around him. I now had him cradled between my legs. I squeezed him close, feeling his hard-on against my clit. I craved to have him inside me. I gyrated my hips, encouraging him to enter me. He caught my butt in his hands and I thrust my hips toward him. “Keep still,” he murmured, pinning me with a tender gaze. Then with one hard stroke he was deep inside me. I cried out in pleasured pain.

“Can you feel me?” he groaned.

“Yes. You’re deep, it’s so good,” I said. A teardrop ran down my cheek as I thought how deeply I loved this man.

He pinned me to him using his legs and hips, and I couldn’t see anything. All I could hear was my own rapid breathing and Chris’s swift breath in my ear. He ran his fingers across my body gently so that my body rose and filled with my arousal. My body shuddered and I swore the bed was vibrating as I screamed to fruition. Each thrust took him deeper inside me, hitting the sweet spot again and again. The onslaught was overwhelming. Another climax churned through me like a tidal wave. Chris held me tightly, burying his head in my neck, as his body shuddered and groaned, spurting hotly. There was so much of his liquid, it filled me and slicked my thighs. We swaddled together, lying still, and Chris naturally fell out of me eventually. Our lips gently caressing, we fell asleep.

Next post #8/5 Tuesday 1 September 


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, political, psychological, erotic thriller set in Ireland 2011/2012

If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Meet The Author

Eventide Love #8/3

Jessica Esther Hoflick @Artfetch 'Love In Thought'

Jessica Esther Hoflick @Artfetch
‘Love In Thought’

After lunch, Chris went to his office and I drove to my mum’s house. I collected my dog, Jasper, so I could take him for a walk on a long stretch of beach in Sandymount. When we got to the beach, I pulled out the walking boots I kept in my car trunk and put them on. I must have been a sight, walking out onto the expanse of the beach in my bright orange dress, a grey cashmere stole, and my walking boots.

The tide was out and the wet sand shimmered with a milky haze. The onshore breeze brought a chill in the heat of the day. The beach was teeming with people: mothers chasing children, joggers, couples strolling hand in hand sharing an intimate moment in nature. The low-water line runs three kilometers away from the high mark, and it took Jasper and me fifteen minutes to reach the edge of the water. Jasper jumped in the shallow water, his old legs too weak to chase the seagulls anymore. I felt exhilarated. Nothing in life soothed me and nourished my happiness more than being close to the ocean. I stared out over the expanse of glistening water to the horizon.

My thoughts filled with Chris. I was convinced that we were infinite, entering new realms of life with each other, about to go through doors that others would never understand. That’s what I loved; he took me to higher planes. My body tingled thinking about his passion for me. I had never felt anything like it before. Willingly, I was lost in his desire, his love. His words from last night resurfaced in my mind. You are my soul mate. My treasure. His words deepened my love, my adoration of him. Pushed out of my mind in my need for him were the clues to his wavering behavior, his capricious moods.

I dropped Jasper back to mum’s and went home to dress for the fuction at the Mansion House. Just before I left the house to make my way to the even where I had organized to meet Chris, I sent an email to the Candidate with a cc to Mary, the Candidates PA

Dear Candidate,

I regret that as a result of ongoing narrow-minded harassment from Cathal O’Donoghue, I no longer feel comfortable actively working on the campaign. He frustrates the smooth management of the campaign. The money bomb is not going to work if the support system does not kick in to promote and implement it. I have done as much as I can. I will, of course, continue to help you in the background trying to raise funds. I have to be straight up, though, and make you aware that my efforts are not very fruitful. The big issue is the lack of a coherent strategy and the negative press coverage.

I tried to explain on a number of occasions that I cannot operate solo with fundraising. Due to the late entry into the campaign, some imaginative initiatives, which also would have complied with the guidelines, are now proving very difficult to deliver due to Cathal’s ongoing resistance to me.

A decision was made by Cathal and, from my understanding, supported by you, to exclude me from the campaign management meetings. This has had a highly detrimental effect on funding. I respect your decision, however I fail to understand it.

All the best,

Aliki

I arrived at the Mansion House, the home of the Dublin Lord Mayor, a little late. The awards ceremony was taking place in the Round Room, a large circular banquet hall with a fantastic dome ceiling drenched in a black cloth from which shinning stars shone down on us. I entered and stood at the back of the room, trying to spot Chris. Not spotting him, I sent him a text. He texted me back, telling me to look to the left. There he was, standing against a high table, with a blond girl. Fixed on him, I strode through the jovial crowd. He raised his head and looked toward me as he sensed me approaching. The hue of his blue eyes struck me even at a distance. His face remained austerely handsome, yet his gaze softened at the sight of me. He moved around the table, catching me by my elbows, and discreetly kissed me on each cheek.

“Come and meet Jen.”

“Jen, this is the amazing woman I was telling you all about.”

We shook hands.

“I know Jen’s family,” Chris said, explaining the connection.

I thought they appeared quite familiar with each other. She was a pleasant-looking young woman, her bright blond hair and large baby-blue eyes her biggest attraction. Chris explained that she was looking for a job in the hospitality business in London. He thought with my connections I could help.

“Of course, Jen. I would be happy to help. Can you forward your CV to Chris and I will follow up,” I said.

Chris excused us and led me to the campaign table. Mary bristled when she saw me with Chris. Cathal, seated next to the Candidate, looked apoplectic. I gave him a little wave and smile from across the table as I took my seat between Lillian and Chris. The Candidate gave me a muted greeting. Obviously Cathal’s spin against me was working. Tonight the Candidate was receiving an award voted by the public for his human rights achievement. I was taken aback that in such a public place , he was knocking back the wine. His personality always attracted lots of attention and tonight was no exception. He became engrossed in the people coming over to talk to him, be photographed with him or get his autograph. As the evening wore on, the group around our table cloaked the Candidate so thatI could not see the Candidate through the throngs around hi.

lillies-bordelloRelaxed from the couple of glasses of wine we’d had at the event, Chris and I decided to head over to Lillie’s Bordello. Hand in hand, we dodged the soft rain as we hastily made our way to the nearby club. The interior felt like an erotic whorehouse, bathed in red light emanating from crystal chandlers. Gilt-framed paintings of nude women adorned the walls, and sections of the room cordoned off by wrought-iron frames were sumptuously furnished. I started moving to the pounding dance music, though Chris seemed less free, even a little embarrassed to dance. I took his hand and guided him to the sparsely populated dance floor. As I scoped the place out, I was surprised to note how few people were there, especially for a Saturday night. The recession must have been hitting hard. As we hit the dance floor, Chris took control and firmly kept me moving towards the sitting area at the back of the club. I danced around him, teasing him to join, but he resisted. He sunk into a large sultry velvet couch, pulling me down with him. He caught my face in his hands and gave me a long, lingering kiss while a compilation of Bruno Mars played:

When I see your face (face, face…)

There’s not a thing that I would change

‘Cause you’re amazing (amazing)

Just the way you are (are)

What you don’t understand is

I’d catch a grenade for ya

Throw my hand on a blade for ya…

We ordered two Caipirinha from a passing waiter. Chris took me on his knee, and we kissed with abandonment like teenagers in love. The waiter interrupted us with our drinks. As I sipped mine, I swayed to the music, straddling Chris’s knee, arching my back and moving my hips.

“I want to know what goes on up here,” I said, brushing my glass against his temple. “What goes on in that strongly guarded mind of yours?”

He took my free hand, turned it palm up and touched his lips to the tip of each finger.

“You don’t want to know,” he said earnestly. “I have a lot of issues.”

“Oh, babe, we all do,” I replied soothingly.

“I am afraid if I let you in, let you see my fears, my bad moments, I will lose you.”

“I have seen some of it. I am still here. You will never lose me.”

“Why do you love me?”

“Because…”

He pressed a finger to my lips.

“No. On second thought, don’t tell me now. We are just starting our journey together in this lonely world. You don’t know yet. Don’t tell me until you know you mean it.”

“I do know,” I insisted. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t tell you I loved you if I didn’t.” Knocking back my drink, I threw out the same question to him.

“Why do you love me?”

He caught my hips and shifted me off his knee while giving me a quick kiss.

“I could murder another drink,” he exclaimed. “I’ll go to the bar and get them.”

I jumped up. “No, let’s dance, I love the Script.”

“I don’t dance,” he replied sheepishly, putting his arm around my waist.

“Come on. You will be beautiful on the dance floor.”

“No, let’s have another drink,” he said. I swung around to face him, jovially singing along:

Shit talking up all night,
Doing things we haven’t for a while,
A while, yeah…

“You’re nuts,” Chris said fondly, as he gently pushed me back into the couch and went to get our drinks.

We arrived back to Chris’s house late and fell into bed tired and drunk.

Sunday October 16

The Sunday papers, as I had anticipated, made no mention of the money bomb launch. We were having an early breakfast at Brown’s Café while scanning the papers. The early hour of nine thirty afforded us respite from the hustle and bustle of families that would invade the place by eleven am. Both of us were nursing a thumping hangover. My mouth dry from one too many Cyprians and my eyes stinging and tired from just a couple of hours’ sleep, I desperately needed my latte to bring some life back into my body.

“Not a mention of the money bomb,” I said, pushing the papers away from me. Buried in the papers, Chris ignored my comment.

“I am going to go to mass today. Take my parents.” Chris looked up from the papers, the rims of his eyes red with tiredness. He was very religious and normally went to mass with his parents every Sunday. The campaign schedule had disrupted his routine.

“Why do you go to mass?” I asked.

He looked at me with slight disdain. “What a stupid question. We have to go to mass.”

“Why do we have to go to mass?”

“If you are a Christian, you are obliged to go to church.”

Chris went back to the papers. I slowly sipped my latte.

“So you believe in God?” I blurted out.

“Yes, of course. And I believe there is a devil.”

“Wow, you go to mass because you are scared of the devil?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Well, it’s as good a reason as any. It also makes me good,” he retorted.

“What? That’s rubbish. So if a rapist goes to mass, you think that makes him good?” Giving me a scornful look, he continued reading the papers. I said nothing more. I spent the rest of the day pondering Chris’s words.

The campaign continued into chaos. I did my best, but amongst all the friction, the backstabbing and the frenzied behavior by the Candidate I was seriously hampered. Each day, his reputation was eroded even further with some new revelation or behavior. The press ran sensational headlines that drove the Candidate nuts. Joe spent most of his time protecting the Candidate, managing a man out of control. The campaign had transcended to absurdity. The Candidate’s three-pillar message was gone with the wind. I was struggling to achieve anything. I detached myself completely from the team. I worked out of Chris’s office and did not engage at all with Cathal. Chris, against the Candidate’s wishes, went on some of the canvassing routes to deal with local press and I accompanied him.

Our one and only major fundraising event, to which a number of high-profile businesspeople and celebrities were coming, was literally a wash out.

It was Monday October 24th, four days before the election, and the night of the big debate on television. All the candidates would have a number of minutes to convince the electorate to vote for them. We planned the event from 7 to 9 pm, followed by the debate on a large screen. But that day, the city experienced torrential rain—one month’s rain fell in that one day. Rivers, such as in South Dublin where we were based, burst their banks, and rising waters subsumed roads around the capital city. Chris drove Lillian and I to the venue, his jeep splashing through the rising water. My mobile was receiving messages by the dozen, all people cancelling. Chris was called away by the Candidate, who was stranded in his house and needed Chris who drove a four-wheel jeep to get him to the TV studio. And then to compound things, the venue developed a leak in its wine cellar and back room. So there we were, along with the staff, helping to collect the water. Not surprisingly, no one turned up. The roads leading to the venue eventually became impassable as the water from the river across the road continued to rise. I could not believe what was happening. Ironically, the Candidate performed very well in the debate. Maybe because he had nothing to lose at this stage, he relaxed and spoke in a calm, collected fashion. The debate’s host sensationally exposed the favorite, the front-runner, as a liar. For a change, the following day’s bad-news headline was focused on someone other than the Candidate.

Except for the rare evening when I was with my husband and Chris with his parents, we spent virtually all our time together, working, socializing, talking and fucking. Our love deepened in the intensity of the hours spent together. Time flew by, and we arrived at the day of voting.

Eventide Love #3/4 to be published Saturday August 22.


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

Eventide Love #8/2 – To Believe in Somebody

Friday Oct 14

My body tensed with my overwhelming lust, my longing, to touch him. Suddenly, his face was so close to mine that I could taste his breath filling my mouth. I was fucking lost. My desire for him was so powerful it ripped open the knot that had tormented me all day. The pain dissipated into the air with his hankering lips, his seductive words. He filled my void for passion so completely, to the point that it was almost stretching it, overwhelming me with infatuation. Every inch of me crumbled with pleasure and relief. Chris once again captured my mind and heart. We looked at each other and we both knew that I would give up everything to have his stares, breaths, kisses, laughs, bodily fluids, touch, affection. I was back fully in love.

Saturday Oct 15

The day of the money bomb launch. Sneaking through a gap in the curtains was a beautiful sunny, warm day. Dublin weather was not predictable, so this was a bonus. What a pity it’s taking place in a pub, I thought. This beautiful weather makes no damn difference. I heard the shower running, so I got up and went to the bathroom, where I balanced my bum on the wicker laundry basket. Through the misted glass of the shower, I watched the rivulets of soapy water that ran down the ridges of Chris’s abdomen and thighs, down his long legs. In his usual systematic fashion, he ran his hands through his hair, down his neck and shoulders, along his flexing arm muscles. I love his body, I thought. I love touching it, tasting it, feeling his weight on me. Turning off the shower, he reached out through the condensation to grab his robe, and I handed it to him.

“I am enjoying the spectacle,” I teased him. The recognizable scent of shower gel stirred my sense of pleasure for a man who drove my body to delirium. I watched him intently as he casually rubbed his robe over his beautiful thick cock. He stood straddled in front of me, his firm legs apart, robe open.

“Take my cock,” he asked with a wry smile.

“You’re incorrigible, “I chuckled. My clit and thighs were still wet from the semen that he had erupted on me just before his shower. I felt so lucky to be the woman who woke up his desire.

“Come on, babe,” he said impatiently, his cock hard with craving.

I stood up and put my hands on my hips. “How would you suggest I do that?”

“Anyway you want.”

I kissed his lips and he responded with fervor. Suddenly, I stopped and stepped toward the door.

“I don’t have enough time to do you justice. I don’t want to have to stop just as you are in a state of ecstasy,” I explained.

He shifted and faced me head on, and his gaze slid over my face like a tangible caress. His face impassive, his stunning soft blue eyes were full of tenderness and love. With a quiet vulnerability he said, “I am all yours.”

I got down on my knees, cupping his cock in my hands. “You are all mine and I am all yours,” I murmured as I took him in my mouth.

With a pang of warmth, I picked up my set of keys to Chris’s house from the kitchen counter. They were a special gift from Chris.

I drove home at speed to dress for the money bomb launch. I slipped on the Michael Kors orange fitted shift dress I had purchased for this event and paired it with high black wedges that lengthened my slender frame. Chris had suggested I wear a black suit, but never being one to conform, I resisted. The strong, deep orange reflected my personality and gave off the exact aura of elegant sexiness I wanted.

The launch was, as I expected, a flop. Lillian and I strutted our stuff up and down the street in an attempt to entice people into a dark, stinking pub on a rare sunny Dublin day. Chris was amazed that I had no problem approaching strangers, offering them free coffee and tea if they came to the launch. Terrified the place would be empty when the press arrived, I had no choice. The band was setting up to sing their song “All I Wanted”, which was the fundraising theme song. Lillian was randomly putting up banners and placing bar mats branded with the money bomb logo and website. I looked around, wondering if I’d missed something. The PR event was being organized like a bingo game in a local community hall. I was shocked.

Moneiba Lemes - Crowds @Artfetch

Moneiba Lemes – Crowds @Artfetch

Chris stood at the back of the sparsely filled room shoulder to shoulder with Cathal. I stood on the stage, concentrating my view on Chris.

I delivered my speech in the dim light and the stench of old beer to a divergent solicited group of people, all of whom looked on in bewilderment as they sipped their refreshments. In my speech, I introduced the management team of the campaign, deliberately leaving Cathal out. I glanced at Cathal  and noticed his face flared in the dimness of the room with fury at my slight. It was one of the most miserable events I had ever participated in or, for that matter, attended. I announced the arrival of the Candidate, who entered in his usual gregarious, bombastic way. He appeared oblivious of the ghastliness of the place and quickly worked his way to the stage, greeting the bodies along the way. He graciously complimented me on how I looked, then proceeded to introduce the money bomb fundraising drive. The band played the theme song while the fundraising video played on a large screen behind them. The event ended as it started, like a damp squid. I looked around for Chris but could not see him. Lillian told me that he and Joe had left urgently.

“Cathal is furious you omitted his name in your speech, so I think he demanded a meeting with the men,” she told me laughing. We both got a real chuckle at the idea of upsetting Cathal. He terrified Lillian. He was always abrupt, brash and downright rude in his interactions with her. Without lingering we departed the stinking, dingy pub, returning to the fresh air and sparkling sunlight.

I walked the few minutes to the campaign office to ensure that our social media was promoting the money bomb and to check my emails. I stopped at the reception for quick pleasantries with Liana.

“You look stunning today,” she kindly complimented me. “And you spoke well.”

I thanked her and climbed the steep stairs to the office space. As I rounded the corner of the last step, which faced the meeting room door, I noticed the “In Use” sign up. I passed quietly to my desk, placing my bag slowly and gently on the desk, and looked behind me, thinking I heard Chris’s voice. I stood for a few seconds intently listening to the slightly raised, frenetic quarreling going on behind the closed door. I tiptoed to the door. I put my hand on the door handle, turned it and pushed the door open, holding it ajar with my outstretched arm. There was instant silence, and there I stood with three sets of eye staring at me. Chris was at the head of the meeting table on one end, and Cathal was at the other end furthest from me. Joe was standing with his back to the window.

“What’s going on?” I expressly directed my question at Chris. His demeanor was subdued. His eyes looked strained. Before Chris could respond, Joe moved over to the door.

“We are having a private discussion.” The coldness of his tone cut through the air as he firmly shut the door against my body with my hand still on the doorknob.

I went back to my desk and turned on the computer to see how the money bomb was performing on Facebook and Twitter.

Incredulously, I couldn’t see any posts on Facebook or Twitter promoting it.

I felt exasperated. How did these idiots think the money bomb was going to work with no presence anywhere across our platforms? I hastily wrote a stinging email cc’d to everyone on the campaign including the Candidate. I caught up on unread emails. Each one brought bad news. Everyone bloody respected the candidate but did not want to offer financial support. To date, I had managed to bring in a mere €20,000 from a couple of uber-wealthy guys I knew well who were helping me out. To compound things, Lillian had forwarded me an email from our contact in London:

Dear Chris and Aliki,

It was good to see you both in London. Unfortunately, I am emailing you with some bad news. Firstly, I have not heard from your office Chris with information we agreed you would forward. Secondly, after some preliminary investigation, I am not getting a good response in relation to supporting the campaign. So I think at this stage, not to waste any of our valuable time, it’s best if we don’t move forward with what we discussed. Will follow with interest.

Sincerely,

Mark

I replied to Lillian, ‘They are falling like flies.’

The only possibility we now had of fundraising was by small donors, powered through the money bomb. No one, especially Chris, seemed to get it. Just as I was about to shut down my computer, thinking the day couldn’t get any worse, an email from Chris came in. I was surprised he was writing to me when he was right next door.

Hi

Please find attached an email from Cathal that he has asked me to forward to you. You let off another one of your grenades with that speech. The Candidate is attending an awards ceremony in Mansion House this evening. He asked me to accompany him, why don’t you come with me?

Chris

Attached was a note from Cathal:

Aliki

Thanks for your email  with instructions on how to manage the campaign. With all due respect unlike you I am extremely experienced in running such campaigns and don’t appreciate comments from a novice. Secondly you are the fundraiser on this campaign, so please get on with your job. It does not appear to me so far that you are doing a good job in that capacity. I want a comprehensive list of funds raised to date and projections. I am at a meeting with Chris and Joe. We agreed that in the you will liaise with Joe, who will in turn relay messages or pass on emails to me. I expect your report by tomorrow five pm. Cathal

I was not angry or taken aback by either the email or the fact that Chris agreed to forward it. I now found the whole scenario comical.

In my usual impulsive fashion, I pinged back a response to Cathal and cc’d it to Chris and Joe.

Cathal,

I am tired of your rude and ignorant attitude.

Firstly I have no intention of answering to you regarding fundraising or any other matters relating to the campaign.

Get on with your job at which you are failing miserably and let everyone else get on with theirs. The low poll yesterday as a result of your unimaginative campaign strategy is detrimental to fundraising. You concentrate on getting the Candidate up in the polls. The only success you have had with this campaign is alienating me and collapsing the Candidate in the polls. Great legacy!!!

Aliki

Just as I pinged it on I thought “This is crazy.”

I swung my chair around. I bounced over to the shut door and thrust it open. Standing right in front of me, about to leave the room, was Cathal.

“Who do you think you are?” I demanded between gritted teeth. Ignoring me, he roughly pushed past me and proceeded downstairs.

As though I were a ghost, Joe turned to Chris in exaltation, “Chris, you were magnificent with Cathal. You forcefully took him over.”

Joe applauded Chris.

Turning to me, Joe said,

“You should have seen Chris perform. As we walked into the room, Chris slammed the door and went for Cathal’s jugular.”

I had no idea what they were talking about.

“What’s going on? What happened?” I asked with bated breath.

“I will take you to lunch and tell you everything,” Chris said, pulling himself up from the chair like a proud peacock.

“Your speech was excellent. I was proud of you,” he said, adding to my confusion.

“Thanks, darling,” I cooed sarcastically.

“I am out of here, leave you lovebirds alone.” Joe gave Chris a smirky smile, collected his briefcase and left.

“Why did you send me that email?”

“Just optics. Keep Cathal happy. He is not too bad.”

“Are you nuts, ‘he is not too bad’. He shafted you, for god’s sake.”

“Well, I am back on the road show. I think it’s your grenades that are causing the problems, babe. So pleeeeeease no more grenades.”

At that moment, I realized that Chris was like a chameleon. He reflected whatever wavelength suited his intentions at that moment. He was like a child, excited that he was, in his mind, liked once again. Cathal, Chris told me over lunch, had nothing but respect for him, and he respected Cathal in turn. Chris believed Cathal when he said that he respected him. Chris was happy, beaming with the developments from the meeting. I did not have the heart to break his bubble and tell him that I believed Cathal was playing a game.

Eventide Love #8 part 3 Thursday 20 August. 


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for all of you as loyal followers and fans, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE. I am wracked with doubts and insecurity about my writing but am lucky to have a wonderful editor, Amy Scott, holding my hand.

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