Attending the cocktail reception welcoming the conference attendees was not at all out of the ordinary for me, as I always wanted to check them out before the opening sessions in the hopes that I might find a hot one to hook up with. In my early years of writing I had attended many such conferences as an attendee, for the past few years it had been on their dollar, as a paid speaker. I tried to do one or two of these conferences a year... picking my spots so it would be to a place I enjoyed visiting... and Newport Beach definitely ranked up there on my list of desirable places. There were innumerable bars and good restaurants along the beach and if I didn't find those to my liking, it was an easy drive to one of my favorite places, the racetrack at Del Mar, or I could go the other direction and head a few miles north to one of several card casinos in Los Angeles county... and play poker. Anyone who's ever read one of my books would know I'm a gambler and very into poker... of course they'd also know the number one thing I'm into... is beautiful women.
I'm 58 years old and am frequently told I'm handsome but I doubted it was just my looks attracting the somewhat matronly looking group that had quickly gathered around me. They were undoubtedly primarily housewives most of whom were probably wannabe writers of romance novels so I'm pretty certain it was the fact that I had sold more than a few books that had drawn them to me. It's always amazed me how many women writers, even the hot ones, are anxious to get close to... actually, even fuck a successful writer... perhaps they think they'll get unaccountably injected with writing talent. So here I was at a reception surrounded by an eager crowd of mostly novice writers... but unfortunately none of this group would grade much above average. Most of them were just seeking to glean some useful bit of information from a successful writer... namely me. Looking to locate some minute item that would some how magically transform them from writing hacks into best selling authors. Actually, if the truth were told, this crowd of women would rank somewhat higher than most other conferences... not that there were a lot of hot ones... they just weren't quite as fat or nearly as homely as the ones you'd find in Birmingham or Altoona. To be perfectly honest, not all writers of romance novels are below average... it only seems like they are. I suppose the majority of the hot women have more important things keeping them occupied than writing about dreams of love and sex or perhaps it is the other way around... the homily ones have so little excitement inhabiting their lives they dream about it... then try to write about their dreams.
I was having trouble keeping my mind on the questions they were throwing at me as my eyes scoured the room trying to find someone I would have some interest in. I had spotted one earlier when I had first arrived... it had been only a brief glimpse, and just from the rear, but the ass view had been stunning. She was a blonde in a short white dress... dipping halfway down her back... clinging tightly to beautiful round ass cheeks and eventually stopping midway down some terrific tanned thighs. It was most difficult for me to pay attention to the horde of wannabe writer's questions as I craned to get another longer and better look... so the majority of my responses were simple nods of the head or murmurs of agreement. They were all smiles... crowding close to me... eyes on mine... trying to secure my attention by leaning toward me only to ask something ridiculous. "How were you able to find a good agent?" "Why is it so hard to get published?" "What's the secret to your writing success?" "When did you first begin writing?" "Do you ever look at other writer's manuscripts?"
If I wanted to be an asshole... and occasionally I did... I could answer virtually any question with slight variations to the same answer. "Basically it's like every other profession. If you're good you'll be successful." It's sad... and I know it sounds arrogant... but the honest truth is that the majority of them can't put anything close to a good story together. Generally speaking they're all bright enough and some are conceptual enough to create a quality story line but don't have the writing ability to turn it into a good story. Many have writing ability but their style doesn't transmit their ideas into a good story. Some are great writers of words but aren't conceptual enough to create a story anyone would be willing to pay money to read. There is much that goes into being a good writer and most of it can't be taught. It seems like those who have what it takes just have it. There are things that can be learned... methods can certainly be refined... but there is no way a writer can be taught how to be creative or to write with an interesting style. Anyway... I need to quit thinking about all of this writer shit and get back to what's important... finding a hot one that isn't boring. Actually I should have said... finding the hot one with the great ass that I had caught a glimpse of earlier.
"Excuse me," I said, gesturing with my nearly empty glass. "I'll be back. I need a refill."
Carefully scanning the large room, I walked slowly toward the bar... she was nowhere to be found.
"Jack Daniels and water, please," I told the attractive young bartender.
"I like Grey Goose... chilled... no ice," a throaty... almost raspy... very sexy voice announced behind me. My cock instantly responded with its first twitch of the evening. I was almost afraid to turn around to check... fearful her looks wouldn't match the extraordinarily alluring voice.
"A Grey Goose, chilled, no ice, please," I relayed to the bartender while continuing to resist checking out the owner of the voice. I am a firm believer in proceeding slowly even though my mind and my blood were already racing...
If she's even remotely close to being as hot as her voice this might be a most memorable conference.
Holy shit! She's even hotter than her voice,I thought as I turned with her drink and even hotter than she looked from the rear... as smiling at me was the blonde with the great legs and stunning ass, wearing the form fitting white dress. Sparkling green eyes boldly moved over me as she reached for the drink.
"I'm George Benito," I said... reaching for her hand.
"I know who you are," she said, firmly grasping mine in her small very warm one. "I'm Talin."
In the 15, or so, seconds it had taken to do all this... I had quickly inventoried her assets with my practiced eye. Needless to say, her assets were most plentiful, and unbelievably splendid. She was very young... no more than early to mid-twenties... maybe 5'4 or 5... beautiful face highlighted by spectacular green eyes, full sexy lips and pearl white teeth. Her thick blonde hair was up off her neck; she had a deep tan, and great legs that I knew went perfectly with the terrific ass I had seen earlier from across the room. All very nicely decked in an obviously expensive, form hugging, white dress. To top it off, she was apparently braless as there were nipples making a very obvious announcement of her excitement. The only way to describe her was... stunningly hot and oozing class.
I continued to hold her small warm hand in my large one longer than necessary. "Talin." I let it slide from my lips ever so slowly. "I've not heard that name before." I paused while I once again slowly looked her over... my cock continuing to stir. "Your name goes absolutely perfectly with your astounding beauty."
"Thank you," she murmured with a just a slight hint of lust as her eyes simultaneously appraised my body.
"You know my name so I suppose you've read my books?"
"No." She laughed as her eyes paused briefly at my growing bulge. "Actually I'd never even heard of you before I saw your picture and the article in the conference brochure saying you were a writer and the keynote speaker."
"Never even heard of me?" I laughed. "Damn... you're good for the ego."
"Nothing personal." She grinned. "The article said you were a good writer but I never read anything that I don't have an interest in reading and I already know poker. I spend my time doing what interests me so if it's poker, I'd rather play than be wasting my time sitting around reading about it."
Damn
, I thought.
She's different
. "So what is it that interests you?"
Boldly, her green eyes once again moved over me. "Right now. You do."
Not just different. Bold and confident.
My cock was now making serious advances. Taking her arm I guided her away from the bar, and hopefully away from the horde of matrons wanting to talk to me, toward a deserted corner of the large room.
She spoke as we walked. "I've never spent time with a successful writer before. I want to pick your brain... see what I can learn."
I resisted the urge to pin her to the wall right here in front of the room full of people... kiss her... press my swelling cock into the softness of her belly... explore her mouth with my tongue... grab those inviting ass cheeks in my hands... teach her what I knew best... begin her education.
I sucked in a deep breath before deciding to press aggressively forward. "You're very beautiful, Talin."
"Beautiful." She smiled up at me. "I like that. Beautiful is not a word my generation uses much... it's usually 'you're a real hottie'... or some other supposedly fashionable line."
I grinned back... relieved that she hadn't been offended with an old man's words. "Too old fashion for most your age, I suppose." I saw the hordes beginning to edge toward me so I had an excuse to work on. "How about we find us a bar on the beach... where we can talk... so I can tell you what I know." I gestured toward them. "Without all these women getting in the middle of our conversation."
There was not even a hint of hesitation. "I'd like that."
Sitting our glasses on a nearby table we headed for the exit.
"How about we take my car," she said... more a statement of what was going to happen than a question. "In fact let's go to my hotel. They've got a great bar looking out over the ocean."
