Love, Unscripted

By Miriam Jewell

A highly erotic, explicit and deeply introspective look at love, sex and relationships, seen through the eyes of Karl, a film director in his mid-forties, as he eases himself away from the movie business to retire to an idyllic cottage in France. His final project is to be a reality film of the most intimate moments between couples carefully selected to reveal a variety of desires and emotions. As the project takes shape, Karl starts to feel the aching void in his own love life, and finding love becomes his overriding desire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strict Publishing International
• Release date: Mar 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9780857791603

Miriam Jewell

Writer of erotica and historical erotica

Book preview

Love, Unscripted

by Miriam Jewell

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Miriam Jewell

Published by Strict Publishing International

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CHAPTER ONE

Standing alone in a field of lavender that had grown wild over time, stood a small stone cottage, or gite as it was called in its native land of France. The gite had quite a long history there in the Perigord region, and was about to see a whole new generation of visitors after sitting empty for some thirty years of solitude.

Since the tall handsome man from the North had bought the home a few months ago, he had hired a roofer to replace the old broken terracotta tiles with fresh, vibrant new ones that seemed to glow with brilliance and softness. He managed to salvage the wooden shutters and sanded the flaking green paint off, and replaced it with a deep cobalt blue, thankful for the fact that the gite was outside of the village limits so officials could not dictate the colours that were allowed in Beynac. His choices would have been an off white, an insipid blue or an institutional looking green. He also used his cobalt paint for the front door and fitted it with wrought hinges and knobs to give it a strength that matched the stone exterior. But this was no ordinary stone, as one might have expected to be a grey or pewter colour much like the ones his homeland of Sweden. No, these Perigord stones were golden brown, full of warmth and promise. The Swede worked on them night and day, digging out the crumbling mortar and replacing it with a new coat, stuffing it as deep as his fingers would allow him.

And Karl could have easily hired someone to do the work for him, as he was not an experienced handyman. So he enjoyed doing simple tasks when he could and hired professionals for the major work. He was happy with the rustic beauty of the place and kept the theme going throughout it, even when choosing new fittings like cupboards or the bathtub. He especially enjoyed seeking out special items from the treasure trove of French flea markets found in the region, though he was prepared to travel great distances to acquire a special piece that carried a charge of its own and made an impact in the home. In just two months, the gite had gone from its status as a derelict to being eighty percent finished, with only the bathroom and landscaping not yet complete. He felt such satisfaction of the progress and gratitude to find a reliable worker such as Marcel, that his mood was one of steady high spirits for the whole time he was working on his project. This was a major accomplishment for the typically intense, deep thinker. His ex wife would never recognize the new, free spirited Karl as he was fast becoming. The chances were she would be immediately suspicious and would frown at his newfound joie de vivre, and that thought brought a smile to his face.

Nobody would guess that the tall, slim man with the weathered tan sun hat and Birkenstocks had more of a history making thought provoking films and award winning documentaries than fixing up old cottages. There was evidence of a life lived well in his thick blond hair, which he wore a little long for a man of his age, and his clear tanned skin. But he was polished under his torn work tee shirts. A closer look would tell someone that his eyeglasses were an expensive Swedish designer pair, and when he did smile, his teeth showed the results of bleaching and straightening.

Karl attracted attention from women of all ages, and he seemed to be unaware of this as he went about his daily business. He simply thought they responded to all men the same and took the smiles and coy gazes for granted. It was not as if he did not like women; he thought they were, in general, mysterious and sensual creatures on a higher intuitive plane than most men, himself included. This type of thinking, however, created a division in his mind of the two genders, and so he was shy around women and was quite happy to have a woman make the first attempt at interacting with him. He was quite convinced that the reason for his hesitancy was because he was waiting for the love of his life to appear in front of him one day, and then, of course, he would let nothing stand in the way of him pursuing her relentlessly until he claimed her as his own. But so far, at forty-seven, it looked like his ideal woman was not going to stroll through Beynac looking for him.

He prepared some lunch for himself in the newly finished kitchen, and kicked off his sandals to let the tile floor cool his feet. He had still not quite become accustom to French groceries and still had to find a bread that was suitable for sandwiches, but not the British kind that lacked texture and flavour. His habit of being a perfectionist was unravelling a bit, and that was part of the allure of living part time in France. One would go insane in a place like this trying to control every minute of the day according to a script. That kind of life was waiting for him at home in Sweden in the rat race that had pervaded his life for too many years. Here, he was creating a balance that was long overdue, and he was counting the months to when he could finalize the necessary documents of his independent film company and hand everything over to his assistant/accountant/personal advisor/friend Krista and escape the long dreary winters of the north to his new home in the country.

He did not know where he would be without Krista; the thought frightened him for a moment. He sat with a salad and cheese plate while he poured a glass of Burgundy and made a mental note to phone her before retiring for the evening. Without her emotional support during his divorce from Bianca, he would surely still be dragging his emasculated body around his studio back in Sweden, trying to tough out the already grey and sombre winter on his own, not allowing himself to enjoy the ideal of one French summer evening in the garden.

Karl still had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the woman he had once loved and wanted a life with actually loathed him. It was a small victory for him to hold in his heart the memory of a lady before Bianca, one who would remain there, and was there all through his fifteen-year marriage. Maybe Bianca knew about Lia, he wondered as he nibbled a sizeable chunk of Brie. She could always smell blood on the water. He was sometimes in awe of her ability to sniff out a lie or pick up an impression about a client that would always prove to be very accurate. But the information was usually coloured by her personal insecurities, like when he hired Maryke to come to work with him on a screenplay for a few months. Bianca met her, and later that evening over dinner, she told Karl that his new employee was a slut. When he asked her how she could say such a thing, she shrugged and said, What difference does it make? It seemed unlikely. Maryke was cute, but no great beauty, and she had an average body that was concealed under loose fitting worn out clothing. But, while she was businesslike around Karl and Bianca, she proceeded to bang as many men in Stockholm as she could in the time her contract with the company would allow her, and with a live-in boyfriend waiting for her at home in Denmark.

But Bianca’s instincts saved him a lot of headaches when it came to business deals. Being a very jealous woman, she would size up her competition with a wary eye. Maryke steered clear of her, and Karl was secretly relieved. She knew how to read clients and co-workers well, as it benefited her to protect her husband’s business. Sometimes Karl felt he had a guard dog patrolling around instead of a supportive wife. He knew they were not well matched from the beginning, but he had wanted to get over Lia in a desperate way and Bianca was someone who did not like any sort of drama, so he felt safe