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timothyjoseph
timothyjoseph
Category:
Memoir
Publisher: create space
ISBN-10: 1523497084
Type: Non-Fiction
Pages: 241
Copyright: 2016
ISBN-13: 9781523497089
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
At age 50, Hannah finds who she is emotionally, passionately, and sexually through a loving and erotic affair.
This is a true account—a “memoir” of a very special woman who asked if I would consider documenting a short period in her life—that time when she became whole. Upon reading the many emails, online chats, and her diary of that period in her life, I felt a deep admiration for her conflict and struggle, as well as the wholeness and happiness she found. The exactness of this novel/memoir is due to that detailed documentation, and I was honored to produce her story.
At age fifty, having raised her children, Hannah Fleming, vibrant with life, found herself wondering what being truly happy and fulfilled means, only to realize she was neither. Though she was married to a handsome, prominent, and successful man who loved her and was good to her, he could not, or would not, give her the two things she needed most—emotional and physical closeness. She struggled to show him the beauty of intimacy of mind and body, to no avail, for his barrier to sharing was too strong an obstacle.
Hannah felt she deserved to be whole, too, she believed that marriage and fulfillment were not an either/or situation, and divorce should not be a requirement for sexual wholeness if not owned in marriage. She meets Hayden Durant and discovers the emotional and sexual women previously held captive within.
Hannah insisted that her story be as exact as words would allow, necessitating the graphic erotic detail, for it is this very detail that she wishes to relive in its reading. Only places, names, and circumstances are changed. Though this novel is decidedly sexually explicit, it is the very real-life journey of one woman who finally found emotional and erotic fulfillment. Hannah asks that no reader be offended, but instead understand the importance of her finding, and in doing so, better understand your own passion for life, love, and erotic sharing.
I fully understand Hannah’s wishes, and I hope in reading this novel, you will as well. I only wish you could know the real Hannah as I have. Just know she is a wondrous, deep feeling woman, and that I was honored to share so intimately with her in the writing of this special part of her life. You too will know of that intimate feeling in the reading of her truth.
Excerpt
A Touch
I admired my naked body in the full-length mirror as I had done more times than I could remember, but this time I saw the train of time speeding toward old age—with me on it. The vision struck me hard. The figure I saw before me was still sensuous, enticing, and erotic, but for how long? How many tomorrows were left before my full breasts sag, my shapely form turns frumpy?
I stared at my nakedness. “Good God!” I said aloud, “Hannah, you’re fifty years old today, a half-century, and I don’t even know you yet.”
Looking back at me was the woman I wanted desperately to fully realize and experience. I studied my image with even greater scrutiny. “How do I discover you, Hannah, before you are no longer lovely?”
I had been around the sun fifty times, yet the desire to experience emotional and sexual passion still burned within me; it would not, could not be quenched. More than air to breathe, I needed to be a whole woman. My husband, Andrew, could take me there, he was all I wanted, but Andrew didn’t. Two, maybe three times a month when it could no longer be reined in, I had my ways. My hand on Andrew’s manhood, bringing his hand to my large breasts, or fondling him after his shower would always embarrass him, but inform as well. Intercourse seldom lasted more than five minutes even when I did what I could to delay his orgasm, and foreplay would shorten it even more.
The statue of my flesh was there before me in the mirror, arms at my sides, looking back at me in question. Imagining it belonged to Andrew, my hand moved to my shoulder, fingers resting against my smooth skin. I watched as my fingertips slowly moved down my soft breast, stroking gently, absorbing the touch. The pad of my finger circled my nipple, and then moved deliberately around the entirety of its fullness.
Such a magnificent feeling, a simple touch—yet so intense, erogenous. No man had ever caressed my flesh this way, not even my husband. Both hands moved slowly, one under each breast. They were still firm, heavy, sensual, and as I lifted, I felt the weight of their passion as the touch and beauty again filled my mind with yearning. So beautiful, delicate, feminine, desirous, and erotic.
I lightly squeezed to take in the feeling upon my flesh—a wondrous and exciting sensation. I gently kneaded them, working them slowly, wishing I could place my mouth upon them, wishing Andrew’s mouth was upon them, his hands and fingers as gentle as mine. Why couldn’t Andrew just once enter this world of genuine passion and take them gently in his hands, caress the nipples with his lips for his pleasure and mine? Why didn’t he hunger for them in the way of passion and love?
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