Angrily, Emma Harding slammed the book shut and flung it across the room. It thudded against the living room door before falling to the floor, open at some page but face down. For a few seconds Emma could only stand there, silently fuming. What was wrong with her? She hadn't needed to read that bit again? For the hundredth time the unspoken words howled in her head, how dare he? How dare he reveal their relationship in this way? So what if it was fifteen years ago? Exposing her with his words, he had revealed her sexual awakening, her secret desires, her passion, and her erotic soul. The sensuousness, the sensitivity of their brief time together was opened out for the whole world to slaver over. And the whole world was no exaggeration. The book had been a massive best seller.
She had never been a great reader of fiction. Law books took most of her attention, but her first knowledge of this damned book had been a headline in a newspaper acclaiming a raunchy novel called:
ABOUT EMILY
She hadn't bothered to read the article. Then colleagues in the law firm, where she was a partner, had made a big fuss about the sexiness of the book. She had paid little attention to their excited tales of being jealous of what the hero did to the heroine. Then, only a few days ago, a few months after the book was published, she had spotted it in a shop window, surrounded by colourful marketing hype. And there, for the first time, she noticed the author's name. Brad Sumner. Her throat had tightened. Could it really be that Brad Sumner? Was he the man whom she had once thought of as her Brad Sumner? In the short time they had been together, he, a raw journalist with a local newspaper, she struggling through law studies at York University, he had talked about his hopes of becoming a novelist. So his name prompted her purchase of the book and she had started reading it that night.
From the opening page she began recognising small details, familiar names, and places. She hadn't got too far before any doubts were totally removed. His female character was called Emily. How close was that? The seductive male character was Brian, close enough. Emily was given tawny, lioness hair. Emma had tawny hair, and Brad himself had once remarked that it was 'like a lioness'. Emily's breasts were 'just a good handful.' Exactly what Brad had said about Emma's breasts all those years ago.
The whole scenario dealing with Emily's deflowering, brought it all back to Emma. The location, that rather cheap hotel room, with its faded floral wallpaper, the drab bed cover, and the grubby little toilet and shower were all accurately described in the text. Add to that an uncertain twenty year old virgin, sitting on the edge of a bed, watching a lusty twenty two year old man strip down to a pair of bulging boxer shorts. They say you never forget your first time, and it was true, as Emma now recalled her own trembling at that bulge. Emily trembled too, as the man, Brian, in the book, raised her to her feet, and kissed her warmly, before slowly and very delicately unbuttoning her blouse.
Reading on from there, Emma almost knew what was coming next, felt again her feelings as his eyes gazed wondrously at her naked body. It should have been embarrassment, but it wasn't. Emma recalled how a kind of elation was mixed in there. Clearly, Brad had not detected that elation, for he had his heroine, Emily, feeling shameful. Emma had never felt that. In spite of a level of uncertain nervousness, she had been willing to be rid of her virginity. And Brad hadn't rushed her.
That scene went on to recount in great detail how loving, generous and caring Brian was in preparing Emily for the final act. Emma had to admit that it had been very clear that Brad had already had sufficient experience to know his way around a woman's body. His touch on her most tender parts created sensations in her that she had never experienced with the few boys she had allowed to get that close. He had proved that her breasts were a vital starting point for the fires that, over the three months they were together, readily stoked up inside her lower body.
His account of Emily's first fingering of Brian's erection was fairly accurate. As he wrote, 'Emily was just a little reticent,' that was true, but that reticence only existed for a couple of further encounters. His description of the latter stages of that first time, he was perhaps guessing at how she reacted to his fingers entering her vagina before teasing on her clitoris. That had been special, for her, and apparently for Emily.
The moment of entry was signalled by a nervous normality of whether her small part could take his large piston. In reading that, Emma had a little laugh as he appeared to be stressing how large he was. Emma had subsequently seen larger, maybe not as accomplished, but larger. Her ex-husband, Larry, had been quite well endowed, but rarely lifted her to heights, she knew, could be hers.
Brad had written that Emily had yelped with the pain of his entry, and Emma knew that, although there had been a moment of deep discomfort, she had not made a sound. But what had followed, the feel of having a man's penis up inside her for the first time, had been very pleasant. Emily had experienced an ecstatic orgasm. Not quite, Emma had thought. Her ecstasy was to come on later encounters..
At that point in her first reading, Emma had stopped and wondered whether she should go on, knowing, if the book followed a true course, the development of her sensuality would be very evident. More threatening was the fact that she had managed to expunge most of it from her mind. Was it all going to be brought back to haunt hder? The thought of millions of people reading about it was maddening. Cursing herself, she realised that, in reading about, what was ostensibly her own deflowering, she had actually moistened down there. Damn him! Yet, she could only shrug, and read on.
Exactly as she had feared, Emily's (or was it her own?} rising lascivious actions were described in some detail. Emma cringed at being reminded of the many locations their liaisons had taken place. Once in a train carriage, in a car, in Brad's flat, on a beach at night, twice in her own home while her parents were on a short holiday. Emma did recall how they did it wherever the opportunity presented itself, and with each consecutive occasion her own (and consequently Emily's) passions broadened, her behaviour became more sensuous, more demanding. And she could tell from the writing that Brad had been delighted to uncover, gradually, the many layers in her awakening libido.
God, would any of their acquaintances from that time recognise the connections? Surely not, although she was frequently in touch with some of her old college friends, and they had known about her spending much of that summer break with Brad. But, thankfully, there had been no shocked phone calls. So, hopefully, no one had made the connection.
Yet something else was being revealed to her in this book. The hero, Brian, was clearly increasingly romantically inclined to Emily. He even went so far as saying the words, "I love you," to her. Something that Brad had never quite got around to with Emma. Although he had never ceased to be most affectionate. Perhaps in writing his book it had become a dramatic ploy, and this became most obvious when, in the final chapter, Emily was killed in a tragic motor accident. Brian was left in utter devastation at this loss, and grief loaded the final pages. But was this his way of saying, "Get out of my life"?
If it was meant to be a tear-jerker, it received little sympathy from Emma, only something close to anger. Brad had probably made a fortune out of her sexuality. How about that? Finishing the book at two thirty in the morning she had vowed to put it out of her mind, just as she thought she had dispelled most of the incidents reawakened in the book.
So, why, over the next few days, had she kept picking it up, and browsing? Simply, and annoyingly, it was because those forgotten times were back, alive in her mind. It was like a challenge. She read again of the night on the beach, on a blanket among the sand dunes. A warm August night, when he'd removed most of her clothes to apply his tongue to every inch of her body. God, yes, every inch! He had written that Emily had squealed with wild abandon, and this time he had been accurate. His ministrations had lifted her to desperately exquisite heights. God, had she forgotten that?
Another opening and she was reliving that time in his car, where, for the first time, she straddled his body taking his erection into her so that she had felt beautifully skewered. It was almost aggravating to read that Emily enjoyed it too.
With each random read she would throw the book down with her annoyance raised once more, partly because of Brad's use of that time, partly because she wanted to believe that the recall was more exciting than the actual event. But she knew she was kidding herself.
Get a grip, Emma Harding, she had scolded herself. This all happened fifteen years ago, and you have had sufficient sexual experience since then to eradicate it from your mind. She pulled a face. One failed marriage lasting four years, two short affairs, and a few one night stands, with none coming close to giving her that bodily sensation that an eager twenty year old had revelled in. And it was all stirred up again with the publication of this book.
Now she stood, uncertainly, staring at the book lying on the floor. The black and yellow cover seemed to hypnotise her as it lay there. What page was now lying face down? No, stop being stupid, she told herself. You're only upsetting yourself. It is all in the past. Brad came into your life, a journalist with a penchant for backing horses, a charming lover, and then her had taken off without a word. God only knew why. She had no wish to dwell on the hurt of that occasion, of finding his flat deserted. Being told by his newspaper that he had left their employ, had left her in tears.
