Rebirth Part One

By Anne Summer

It is said that “Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned” but equally it may be said that “Heaven may have no joy like a woman whose sexuality is reborn”. This is the true (but anonymised) account of that reawakened sexuality and sexual rebirth of my best friend and confidante.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Summer
• Release date: Aug 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370915873

Anne Summer

We believe that women are emotional and loving rather than just sex-crazed animals. As such, the kind of erotica that we enjoy, perhaps crave, are basically gentle and affectionate rather than simply raunchy, even debauched.Our stories reflect this. Fundamental niceness and a degree of refinement in use of language is what we seek to achieve.Please Welcome my co-author, ? Sandy Sinful (or Sinful Sandy if you like!) Sandy joins me to make our team "Sinful Summer" in celebration of long hot, steamy nights of pleasure, taken in the delight of beautiful, masculine men and sometimes lusty women too! We are here to enjoy and be enjoyed. Sigh!

Book preview

Part One

I worked for years in a warehouse packaging consumer goods for distribution, mostly to ladies who secretly dress in sexy undies and maybe a few kinky men who like to do the same. Then came marriage to lift me out of all that, to be followed with a sort of awful inevitability by an acrimonious, exhausting and bloody divorce. You don’t need the details, dear reader, suffice to know that I came through the final settlement to find myself a woman still in my prime, the part owner and part mortgagee of a nice little town house that I loved but could not afford. My slim reserves of money would run out within weeks of the decree absolute and my employment prospects were distinctly limited. I had little choice except to put it on the market.

The estate agent gave me a lengthy and morale-sapping tutorial, the import of which was that because there was a sharp downturn in the local housing market coincident with the final disintegration of the specialised steel industry, it was almost impossible to get a realistic price. Structural unemployment (he uttered the term with relish) was staring us in the face and I would do better to hang on for a couple of years until things might eventually recover.

I sent him on his way, his face reddened by my invective. After all, he was there to encourage me to sell my house, not thoroughly put me off the whole idea. So I called in another one and then a third and even a fourth before I gave up. They had all given me the same dismal prognosis. One had even suggested that I rent it out instead (he was at pains to emphasise that they had by far the best rental portfolio in the entire midland region) but then I would have nowhere to live myself and I did not take very kindly to his suggestion that I go abroad and live off the rental income in some tax-haven.

My only real friend in the area, Emily spent many hours with me debating my predicament albeit from the security of her marriage to an overseas oil-sector industry manager. It was after the school run one morning, and under the influence of three-quarters of a bottle of Chardonnay that