Tag: factual fiction thriller

Fuel Your mind with Creative Writing

Hi everyone, it’s a while since I posted on my blog. Wow what a time we are going through with the Covid 19 Virus. It’s like living in an sci fi movie. Isn’t it?

Well since I last posted I have being doing a lot of writing courses and workshops. I have finished my book Eventide Love and wrote short film script that was about to go into production but had to be postponed because of the virus.  So as I self isolate like so many of you have to do for all sorts of reasons,  I thought what a better time than now to share  everything I have learnt and my experience of writing.  Let’s put fingers to the keyboard or pen to paper  and let the words spill out.

Olliepop staying Close

Olliepop minding me as I write in bed in self isolation.

Let’s start to write that story that has been percolating in your brain but you never had tome to take on. Or you might want to write about what you are going through right now. If you need inspiration or want a few quick tips to help keep your words flowing onto the screen, you can dip in.  Anyone, Anywhere, Anytime. I will be posting on instagram every day so you  can follow for the latest tips. This is all new so it will take a little bit of tweaking as we go along. Let’s create together and get though this together. Let’s create not despair.

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.” –Anaïs Nin

 

Eventide Love #10/1 – Dark Wildness

FullSizeRender

 

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

img_0284-2

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

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.

tumblr_o1mlts1a2C1qfb1k4o1_r1_500

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 #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.

Eventide Love – #8

Artist: Suzan Bushnaq, Intimate.

Artist: Suzan Bushnaq, Intimate.

This Post contains strong language and sexually explicit content. 

Our time in London ignited a magical thrill, an excitement I had not felt for many years. I felt alive. When not attending presidential election meetings or out dining we were ensconced in the luxury of our suite at the Capital Hotel. Locked away from all distractions, we completely relaxed with each other. We listened to music, talked, kissed, cuddled and loved each other. It became apparent we had the same tastes in art, poetry, music and books. We both had a passion for politics. Chris was particularly excited that we both loved Pink Panther movies. The trip was an ongoing discovery of us. On our last day, we visited Frieze Art Fair, for which I receive a VIP pass every year as an art collector. Set in Regent’s Park in purpose-built units, the fair is one of the most important events on the art calendar, hosting galleries from all over the world representing the best of contemporary art. It takes place the same time every year, and I was excited about introducing Chris to an art world that was so integral to my life. Chris loved the experience—the buzz, the diversity of galleries and the art. He was thrilled to get this insight to the international art world. Appropriately wearing wedges that I find easy to walk in, I guided him around the space, introducing him to friends and colleagues. He engaged with enthusiasm, like a child in a sweet shop. Once we had finally weaved our way around the galleries, we grabbed a quick glass of champagne before moving on to dinner and then to the airport to catch the 10 pm flight home. We boarded and settled into the short flight, tired but happy in the knowledge that our relationship was much more than a sexual one, that we now felt we were, as Chris put it, soul mates. The trip was a long way from my normal weekend activities, walking my dogs, visiting my mum, pottering around town or meeting a friend for a coffee. Ordinarily I would have spent a Friday or Saturday night reveling at one dinner party or another, the setting different each weekend but the content the same.  I always felt a void and did not know what it was until now. I was missing passion, and Chris gave me that in abundance. He made my life feel alive and real.

I don’t give a shit about discretion or prissiness. You ambushed me. You are destroying me, you have wounded me, and I am supposed to keep quiet. What words am I supposed to use for what you’ve done to me, for what you’re doing to me? What should I think you’re doing with that woman you described as a non-entity in your life? Do you kiss your breath into her life? Do you fuck her till she can take it no more? Do you tell her she is the love of your life? Do you? I hear your words – “We are soul mates. We should die rather than  not be together.” – a hundred thousand times, I hear them at night, I hear them eyes open, eyes closed.

Dublin, Thursday 13 October

We disembarked the flight from London quickly and rushed to the short-term garage where we had parked on departure. We were hoping to catch the back end of a book launch by a well-known chat show host. When we arrived the event was still in full flow, and Chris introduced me as a colleague from the campaign. We mingled for about an hour before tiredness hit us both and we snuck out.

We entered the dark corridor of the house, and as Chris went to switch off the alarm I turned on the small light on the landing.

As soon as Chris switched off the alarm I pulled him to me.

“Kiss me,” I said intently.

He scooped me up in his arms and kissed my lips slowly. He pressed his body close to mine. His kissed me for a long time, with all his body, his lips devouring mine, his tongue parting my lips, sucking and licking my tongue, his hands pulling my head tightly to him and his crushing kiss.

Then he looked into my eyes and kissed my forehead gently, affectionately. I was blissfully happy. He took my hand and led me upstairs to the darkness of the bedroom, lit only by a streak of light from the hallway. We undressed in silence. I lay on the bed, and he lay down next to me and touched my cheek softly. Then he leaned over to kiss me again. He slowly moved his lips along my neck to the tips of my nipples, sucking them gently. He buried his face in my neck and breathed in.

“I love you.”

I smiled at him as he sat up and straddled himself over me. I ran my hands across the panes of his chest, over his abdomen, and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He clasped my wrists above my head, kissing the back of one hand as his moved it, and dragged his lips across my arm. We were both lost in the intensity and warmth of being together. He kissed me again, faster. I left my arms above my head as he moved his lips down my neck and my breasts. He continued to move lower, down my chest, and over my stomach. He pressed his fingertips into my hips as he leaned down to kiss me. I sat up on my knees. With ragged breath, I arched my back as he pressed his body onto mine, ever desperate to get even closer. I moaned, longing for him to slip into me and give me the inexpressible joy that I could feel building. He pressed his firm hands on my hips and rolled us over, so I was lying on top of him. I pressed my hips onto his, trying to get him inside, but he grinned evilly and pulled away. He caught my head between his hands and pulled it down to him in a fast, passionate kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth, sucking my breath away. When he finally pulled back, I gasped and moaned again, his hands caressing my back. My body shaking, I was desperate to feel him inside me.

He rolled us back over so he was on top and ran his hands slowly over my breasts and up to my neck, rigidly clasping it and making it hard for me to catch my breath. He looked deeply into my eyes and pushed himself slowly into me. I moaned in ecstasy and closed my eyes. He pulled out slower than he’d gone in and pushed back in, making my body shake with pleasure. His hands were still heavy on my neck as I moaned again, racked with feverish arousal. I tilted my hips up to feel him deeper. He resisted my move and kissed my lips just as slow as he was moving inside of me. He ran his tongue over my stinging lips. I caught his eyes, vacant and distant—a now-familiar gaze in our heightened sexual moments. His grip and weight on my neck intensified, as did the look in his beautiful soft blue eyes, and he pushed in further. I whimpered softly, powerless, and asked breathily, “F-faster?” He tilted his head back, pushed in harder. I grabbed his hands, trying to ease his weight and clutch.

“Move your hands,” he growled quietly.

I shook my head and managed to squeak, “Loosen them a little.”

I sucked in air the instant he removed his grip on my neck. Suddenly, he placed a hand over my mouth and nose, suffocating my breathing. At the same time he pushed himself hard into me. His force and control racked my body with an instant orgasm. I locked on his darkened eyes as he thrust and thrust, faster and faster, his hand solid over my mouth. The lack of breath sensation and him pumping into my body drove me wild. He drove into me harder and faster. My body was in continuous spasms as I orgasmed over and over, my head quavering for relief from Chris’s hand over my mouth. When he finally, suddenly freed his hand,  a scream of ecstasy surged out rebounding in the stillness of the room.  I did not want it to end. I kept yelling, “Faster! Harder!” And he kept going, faster and harder. With one big final thrust I orgasmed again in the shuddering of his body just as I felt the warmth of his pleasure inside of me. Immersed in me, he continued to pulsate. I was blissfully euphoric to the point it hurt.

I closed my eyes and arched my back further until my upper body lifted from the bed and I was in a sitting position. I pushed him backwards. His eyes were burning with anticipation as I took control, straddling myself over him. I pushed myself onto him, shivering as my sweating body felt the cool air. He laid his hands over my breasts, pinching my nipples, as I pressed on his dick. I moved back, losing him, but his hands clutched my waist and pulled me down onto his cock, jabbing into me, pushing deeper than before, fast and hard. I followed, moving my hips in sync with his feverish breaths and jabs. With no respite, he held the bottom of my hips, guiding my movements, harshly pushing me up and pulling me down. As exhaustion began taking over, my body weakened.

“Don’t stop. Keep going,” he demanded.

Pulling on my energy reserves I went for it, relentlessly pounding him. “Yes,” he moaned, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me down on him, his body shuddering against mine as his cock erupted the hot flowing liquid. I lay on him for a few minutes, lovingly feeling the semen seeping out around my clit. Chris moved me off him, got up, and went to the bathroom. I threw myself to the side of the bed and clutched the sheet over my sweating, naked body. He came back and got in beside me, pulling me into his arms. I lay with my back against his chest. He whispered in my ear.

“I love you… you’re my everything… you mean the world to me… we are soul mates forever…”

We fell asleep, exhausted.

Dublin, Friday 14 October

We were now exactly two weeks to the election date. Sitting back in my chair at the campaign headquarters, I sipped my latte and studied the PR plan for the money bomb launch the next day. Before I left for London, I had signed off on the video. We used a song by Irish band In Tua Nua, “All I Wanted,” as the soundtrack. A large screen had been placed in the window of the office on which the money bomb video was to play during the reception. I was frustrated the screen was not working, and no one had thought to bring in an engineer to fix it. To make matters worse, Chris had booked the PR launch for the money bomb in the pub against my express wishes. The plan was for the event to be centered around the bus, but this was now impossible because the pub was located on a clearway street and the bus wouldn’t be allowed to park out front.

I was now back in the office in the cold light that a lot of work needed to happen to bring in any amount of funding. Sitting at my desk on the first floor I could hear an ongoing stream of well wishers and supporters popping in to the reception downstairs. They were a captive audience to support and promote the money bomb, but there was no promotional material available, and no screen working to show the video. The video presented inspiring images of the Candidate in the community, in his work environment, and with his human rights achievements. I believed it had the potential to raise funds if properly utilized and promoted, but right now it was dead. I had been keeping an eye out for an email I was expecting from the driver of the bus, and finally it landed:

‘Hi Aliki, I spoke to the traffic gardai as you asked. Unfortunately, they said it will not be possible to pull the bus up outside the pub. We will have to keep driving up and around and down the street. I know it’s not ideal, but there is nothing else we can do.’

I buried my head in my hands. What a mess the whole thing was, and Chris was not getting it. I decided to call him and encourage him to change the plan. Nothing had gone to the press yet, so there was still time to change the venue. Lillian answered the call.

“Hi Lillian, how are you?”

“I’m great,” she replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

My feet tapped restlessly. I was worried about the launch, anxious to have it resolved.

“Is Chris there?” I asked.

“Yes, hold on, I will put you through to him. Talk soon.”

“Yes, great, thanks.”

A moment later Chris was on the other end, and my heart fluttered.

“What do you want, Aliki?” He startled me with his abruptness.

“I need to talk to you about the money bomb launch.”

“I am at a meeting. I told you this morning I had a busy day,” he snapped, throwing me off my train of thought.

“Sorry, I will go then.” I hung up feeling very unsettled by his tone.

Instantly my mobile rang—it was Chris. I answered thinking he had realized how he had spoken to me and wanted to apologize.

“Don’t ever hang up on me again,” Chris barked.

I flared, “Are you at a meeting or not? What’s your fucking problem?”

“I am dealing with you now.”

“‘Dealing’ with me? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Don’t swear.”

“Why did Lillian put me through to you if you are at a meeting?”

“I told her to always put you through. But I told you this morning I am busy today. What do you want?”

“The PR plan for the money bomb is not going to work. We can’t have it at the Trading Pub. The whole point is that the money bomb video plays on the side of the bus, and the launch needs to be around the bus. The press needs to see the bus. They need to have access to the bus. That is the story and the photo.”

For a few seconds, he remained silent.

“Since when are you a PR expert?” He deliberately menacingly pronounced each word.

Marg the administrator and reception manager appeared upstairs, commandeering the desk in front of me and logging on to the computer. The campaign team by this stage was firmly divided in two opposing groups. One lead by Chris and the other Cathal. She was closely aligned to Cathal or as  Chris called him ‘The Saboteur.’

Stupid bitch, I thought, she wants to listen and report to Brian or Cathal. I got up, went into the meeting room, and slammed the door shut behind me with my foot. In a lowered, exasperated voice I replied,

“It does not need a PR expert to know that holding the launch in a stinking pub at midday, in a place where the bus can’t pull up outside, is not going to work.”

“You drive me crazy,” he bellowed. “I can’t function when you fight about everything.”

Bewildered, I retaliated.

“I am not fighting. I rang you to have a normal, objective discussion about the launch, and you have been difficult. You are the one fighting, and I have no idea why.”

“I am not talking to you when you are in this mood. The launch stays as planned. That is my final word,” he said vociferously. “Now leave me alone for the rest of the day.”

After he hung up, I sat in the meeting room for a while, stunned and upset. I wanted to call him back and challenge his behavior, but a pang of nervousness stopped me. I did not know how to manage Chris when he was like this. I had seen his mercurial moods with others, but never with me. I was special. I was his soul mate. What the fuck just happened? He does not speak to me, the love of his life, like this.

Darkness was falling as I gathered my belongings and finished up at the office. My mobile rang; it was my husband calling from the States. When I answered, he told me he was now in New York and planned to be home on Sunday morning.

“Will you be home?” he asked.

“I am not sure yet. The pressure is on with the campaign.”

“I would like us to have dinner on Sunday.”

I had not heard a word from Chris since he hung up on me. I felt disconcerted, uneasy and tense.

“Yes, that would be nice. The campaign can survive without me for one night.”

“Do you miss me?” His question took me aback; my husband never asked me things like that.

“Where is that coming from?” I retorted.

“Nothing. I miss you,” he said. He sounded lonely.

“Yes, I miss you,” I lied, wanting to make him feel better and ease my conscience.

Marg shouted up.

“I am locking up. Are you ready to leave or will I leave you my keys?”

I shouted back, “Coming.”

Marg locked up, and we talked for a few minutes on the street before going our separate ways. It was a mild, dry evening, one of those evenings that invites you to lounge under the stars with a cold glass of Chablis in your hand. I headed towards the Westbury Hotel, where my car was parked. My mobile started ringing in my handbag. Thinking it had to be Chris, I frantically dug in my bag, pulling it out just as it stopped ringing. The missed call was from my mum, not Chris. I was fraught with disappointment. Why was he blanking me?

My mind was in a whirlwind of not just Chris’s abuse but also the ongoing tensions within the campaign. The presidential campaign was moving in divergent directions, with no coherent strategy being followed. I was starting to feel isolated and helpless at the core of all the trouble. Chris and Cathal were the two antagonists, and the Candidate was allowing them to ransack the campaign.

I reached the hotel and started to make my way down the ramp to the garage. The valet—tall, lean and young with a thick mop of glossy hair—shook me from my thoughts. He’s new, I thought, I don’t recognize him.

“Good evening. Would you like me to bring your car up?”

“Yes, thank you,” I answered. “Do you know which one it is?”

“Yes, I saw you arrive this morning. It’s the silver Porsche?”

“That’s the one.” I threw him a smile.

I got some coins ready as a tip. Within minutes he pulled the car up. I handed him the tip, collapsed into the bucket seat, and slammed my foot on the pedal, accelerating up the road. I drove to Chris’s house; we had arranged to have something to eat locally and spend the night together. I slammed to a halt at the closed iron gate. The house was in darkness. I rang Chris. As though he was waiting for my call, he answered instantly.

“Hi,” he said, sounding tense.

“Hi, Chris, I am at the house. Are you on the way?”

“No, I am with my parents. I am spending the night with them.”

“What? We had a plan.”

“You’re all over me. I can’t be with you twenty-four hours. I have to spend time with my parents.”

“Chris, I don’t know what’s going on. This morning we left the house with you telling me, ‘Going to miss you, can’t wait to love you tonight.’ Since that nasty call this morning, I have not spoken to you.”

“In the scheme of things, my parents come before you. I am with them tonight.”

I hung up. I wanted to scream from the bottom of my lungs, “What the fuck are you talking about?” But my hurling gut told me I would get nowhere. I sat still in the car, my heart beating against my chest, every nerve in my body quivering.

I drove home. I pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition and leaned back into my seat, staring at the large, dark house. I missed the dog barking at the window, now that he was moved in with mum. I needed to make sure he was looked after while I was busy with the campaign, I told her. Of course, the reality was that it freed me up to be with Chris. I felt tightness in my gut like a rope knotting around it. It squeezed tighter as Chris’s unpleasantness resonated in my mind. The knot was a real physical ache. Unbeknownst to me at that moment, it was to stay with me from here on in like a rumbling tumor. Just as I stepped out of the car and the security light switched on, illuminating the driveway, my mobile rang. I leaned into the car to get my phone from the passenger seat where I had dropped it. I answered hastily, missing the call id.

“Hi,” it was Chris. My heart skipped a beat. I said nothing. “Are you there?” I still said nothing, the knot of anxiety strangling my voice.

“Aliki, can you please say something?” he asked tensely.

“Hi, Chris,” I said, trying to control my breathing, not wanting him to sense my upset.

“Where are you?”

“Outside my house.”

“Mum was not well today and I got home to check her and discovered dad is not taking his heart tablets. It has been a very stressful day.”

“Really.”

“Look, Aliki, I love you, but I am under a lot of pressure with my parents. I did not expect to be caught up with them this evening.”

“Why were you so horrible to me? This morning you were ‘so in love’,” I said, mimicking his tone for the last bit. “The way you treated me today was not like someone who cares or is in love.”

“Mum is going to bed soon and I have made sure dad took his tablet. So I will see you at the house at ten.”

Agitated by the way he was dancing around his treatment of me, I croaked, “Chris, you can’t treat me the way you did today.”

“Lighten up, my cupcake, I can’t bear it when we fight. I need to kiss you, to feel you next to me.”

“Chris, I am not fighting, this is not a fight,” I replied in a softer tone.

“Well, it feels like it to me.” Feeling confused and bothered by his onerous attitude, I did not respond. “Come over,” he urged. “I have something special for you.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“You are going to like it. It’s something you want.” I once again said nothing, sensing that my curiosity was weakening my resolve to tell him to go to hell.

“I want you.” His voice took on a sexy, raspy warmth I had longed to hear all day. “I will give you some amazing makeup sex. I need to fuck you.”

My tension was easing. His last words aroused my desire and broke my resolve. “Okay, I will see you later.”

“Love you,” he said as he hung up. I could sense the self-satisfaction in his voice.

Wearily I turned off the ignition as I parked my car in the drive way at the front of Chris’s house. The front red door was framed by two large red flowerpots. I jumped out of the car, leaned in and grabbed my handbag. I turned to take the couple of steps to the door step and noticed a key in the lock. I reached out to turn the key noticing it was on a cupcake shaped keyring. Hm I thought have not seen this before. As I turned the key, Chris opened the door with a wide grin. We stood at the door, him on the inside, me on the porch staring at each other. I looked at him bemused and curious at his obvious, new found happy mood.

“Wow you have cheered up.” I said hesitantly.

He turned to the door and removed the key from the lock.

“This is your surprise.” he said excitedly as he placed the key of his house into my hand.

“What?” I was taken aback.

“I have never given anyone my house key before.  London brought us to the next level. This is my way of showing you how much I love you.”

“Gosh this is amazing Chris.” I gasped.

He kissed me gently, then clasping my hand with the key he whispered in my ear,

“I want you to have a key to my heart.”

He pulled me into the hallway and shut the door to the outside world.


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 #7 – Sunday Times Tip-Off

I found a quiet corner in the gardens of the Serpentine and called Chris back. He was apoplectic, screaming at me. I committed the ultimate betrayal. I ignored him. I ruined his weekend, left him alone. He cried all day Saturday like he had never done before. He had not slept all weekend. No one had ever reduced him to such despair as I did. Then, out of nowhere, he demanded I answer a question he was going to ask me.

It was a bright-warm morning. My friend Sue and I were enjoying a coffee in the cork clad Serpentine Pavillion. I was on edge. Sue picked up my anxiety. Debilitated in fear, I clasp the mobile in my hand unable to turn it on.

In my desperation, my solitude, I told Sue the story for my edginess. Chris told me an article was going to print in the Sunday papers on the back of a note sent to the press. The note detailed the affair.

“Chris wants me to tell Cian.  I can’t believe this is happening.  It’s all my fault. Cian does not deserve this shit, he should not find out like this.” The mess overwhelming  my face falls into in my hand softly crying.

“Aliki, Chris is crazy! Can’t you see that? There is no note, and if there is, he sent it. There is something wrong with him. I spoke to your sister about it, and she feels the same. He is destroying you. Don’t say anything to Cian.”

Sue pulled my hands from my face. Her eyes intently caught my tearful eyes.

“I don’t recognize you. No one does. You have completely changed. Everyone is worried about you. But more than that we are very upset. You have to find the strength to leave him.”

Of course, I should have listened, should have thought about the warnings, but I lived in a unique, all-consuming private world with Chris that no one understood. I felt her sadness, her intuition that Chris was a destructive force in my life. I turned on the phone. It took a few minutes for the roaming to connect, and then my notifications came up. I looked and looked again. The blood drained from my body. Tears welled up in my eyes, my hands trembled, my stomach lurched, my eyes glued to the phone. Then, like an omen, the phone suddenly rang. I jumped—it was Chris’s number. In my panic, I dropped the phone. Quick as lightening Sue was beside me and picked it up I felt the warmth of her breath and softness of her arms as she embraced me. She looked at the phone and noted the missed calls from Chris. He phoned non-stop all weekend—69 missed calls and 19 on that Sunday morning.

“Aliki, he is seriously crazy. He has no boundaries, no care for your life.”

The phone rang again, and a text message landed at the same time from Chris.

“The story has not gone to print.”

Sue read out the message. Then she shut off the mobile. She turned to me, holding onto my shoulders commanding my attention.

“Now you know it was nonsense. He was lying. Enjoy the rest of the weekend. Forget him.”

What Sue did not know was that I lived in constant pain, addicted to Chris’s intensity. My mind was crazy, my body thin and betrayed. I could not get rid of his shit. My energy condensed to a slow vibration. His mercurial emotions were eating into the muscle of my brains, piercing my stomach and uterus. My body twitched as the darkness moved in and out of me, crawling up my spine and nestling into my brain. Like an evil intuition from out of nowhere, burying itself in my psyche like a bloodsucker looking for a vein. Chris’s seduction has hooked me, his essence firmly implanted in my mind and locked into my body.

I found a quiet corner in the gardens of the Serpentine and called Chris back. He was apoplectic, screaming at me. I committed the ultimate betrayal. I ignored him. I ruined his weekend, left him alone. He cried all day Saturday like he had never done before. He had not slept all weekend. No one had ever reduced him to such despair as I did. Then, out of nowhere, he demanded I answer a question he was going to ask me.

“I don’t want you to think about it when I ask you the question, just answer it immediately. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” I responded quietly.

“Spell the word Porsche.”

“p-o-r-s-c-h-e.” I spelt it out.IMG_1481

“Whoever wrote the note, spelt Porsche wrong.”

I was bewildered, was Chris was testing me?

“You don’t seriously think I sent a note about us to the press?” I blurted in my realisation at what he was doing.

He ignored my question and dismayed me even further.

“I have made a complaint to the Garda and so has Lillian, and I want you to do the same.”

“A Complaint about what?”

“About the note being sent.”

“Chris, has anyone seen this note?”

“Yes, my friend in the Sunday News, I have told the Garda, and they are going to talk to him.”

My mouth was dry, my heart racing, I went silent.

“It’s one of your friends that sent the note. I want you to go and report the names to the Garda. Then they have to question them.”

Chris was irate, barely catching his breath as he spoke, his voice high-pitched. He was demanding that on Monday when I was back in Dublin, I should go to the Garda station.

“I will coach you on what to say.”

“Chris I don’t think there is any note.”

I was in the eye of his storm, and it was raging around me. To get him off the phone, I appeased him agreeing to his stipulations on my return home. Once again, I had that fleeting ominous premonition that Chris was raising the stakes in his efforts to control my mind and destroy whatever I had left of my old life. I had no intention of going to the Garda.

 

The next day as though the call had been a whiff of my imagination Chris picked me up at the airport with a little surprise. He was taking me on a romantic night to one of his favorite haunts, Dunbrody House.

TE_LM13898_With_You_I_Breath10

“I am going to love all that stress out of you.” He beguiled me.

Yesterday’s hysteria ignored. I found him achingly beautiful and confident. Not wanting to disrupt the equilibrium, I let his phone call about a note go.

Before hitting the highway to Wexford, Chris drove to his house to collect his iPad he left behind.

While Chris was in the house, I phoned and quickly asked Lillian if she made a complaint to the Garda station about the note. She was surprised by my query,

“No what would I complain about? I don’t know anything about the note.”

We agree it was better not to let Chris know we spoke about the note. I still felt an uneasy strangeness about the whole thing, but I decided to bury my apprehension.


We are on the way with Eventide Love; blog to book. A factual fiction, political, psychological, erotic thriller based around a Presidential Campaign in Ireland  2011/2012. It’s a story of passion and vulnerability; survival and destruction based on factual events.

Meet the Author 

@PTsouros

Eventide 6 – End of Presidential Campaign

tumblr_mslhidfhs31r6j7rho1_500

It was a tumultuous few weeks. The Candidate started at the top of the polls. The support dramatically dropping as each week progressed finally heading into election day with a dismal six percent support in the latest poll. Unsurprisingly the Candidate ended up with just over a hundred thousand first preference votes finishing fifth of the seven candidates. The voting percentage was disastrous for him. It did not qualify him to receive the two hundred and fifty thousand euro rebate against campaign expenses. One significant disadvantage with Cathal hijacking the campaign was a lack of financial transparency. However, I reckoned the spend had to be in excess of three hundred thousand with only twenty thousand funding raised.

Do I feel sorry for him at this moment? The honest answer is No. He enabled the chaos. He would not speak to me, trust me, the only one other than Brian, who had no agenda. I tried to support him. He fervently rejected my effort to liaise with him, his deep dislike for Chris spilling over into his sentiment towards me. His arrogance became his Achilles heel. Detail after detail, the campaign unfolded in disarray. His intuition proved resistant to his brilliant rational evidenced in his Senate debates. It was like bacteria outwitting an antibacterial agent. The man I thought I knew exposed a mercurial nature as integral to him as his name and age.


Chris unlocks the front door holding it open, I move past his body into the dark hall, going straight to turn off the alarm. I am bone weary. We have now been on our feet for virtually twelve hours. A lot of that time bunkered in the count centre at Dublin Castle.

“Let’s go to bed.” In the obscurity of the night Chris takes my hand and pulls me up behind him.

I drag myself upstairs, my body aching.

“Chris I was thinking?”

“Really.” He sounds worn out.

“What happens to us now,” I ask my eyes suddenly welling up in tears. I wearily sit still on the side of the bed. Chris taking of his cloths watches me.

“Are you going to get undressed?” he asks

Tears flow down my face. I sit there motionless overcome with emotion. Without a word Chris now undressed moves over to me. First he takes off my jacket, then lifts my arms hiking my shirt over my head. He raises me from the bed and evocatively runs his hands down the side of my body reaching the band of my skinny pants then unzipping and letting them drop to the floor. I think he wants sex. Not tonight. Could he be so insensitive?

“Take off your shoes,” he whispers into my ear. Now gently crying I obey. He presses his lips soft to my forehead. Gently tracing the outline of my face he wipes away a tear speaking softly.

“What’s wrong cupcake?” his voice full of tenderness.

“It suddenly hit me as we drove home.  It’s all over.” I gulped ” Where do we go from here? We don’t have the campaign anymore.”

“You’re tired. You are worrying about nothing. We are always going to be together. You know we are soul mates.”hugging passion

He climbed into bed patting the sheet for me to lay down beside him. My cheeks still damp from the tears, I cuddle into him. He pulls the duvet over our bodies, cloaking us in warmth. Soothingly, he delicately smothers my face in kisses. His mouth absorbs my dewy lips. His softness is soothing me. My eyes are fluttering shut. He then turns me to my side, away from him, and entwines his hard body around me.

“I love you Chris,” I croakily whisper.

“Shh Aliki go to sleep, love you more.”

I fell into an exhausted and deep sleep enveloped in his hug, consoled by his sensitivity.


Eventide is a Factual Fiction Psychological Thriller; in the course of a year two people intertwine in two tales of passion and survival; duplicity and destruction. We are are on the way with the blog to book.  If you would like to receive a book launch offer especially for  you as a loyal follower and fan, please register below. Your details will not be shared. PROMISE.

Meet the Author

%d bloggers like this: