Tales of Passion: One Woman’s Erotic Journey

By Minou Duvet

Minou Duvet was born in Canada, raised in Europe and lived in the US for 20 years. Travelling has always been a part of her life, providing her with stages for these stories. Her career goes from A - Z. Acting to Woofing.Huge cities to small islands. The world has been her playground. Now she tells of the fun and wonderful experiences in her first book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312451025

Book preview

Want

Tales of Passion: One Woman’s Erotic Journey

Minou Duvet

For M

Copyright

Copyright © 2013 by Minou Duvet

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the publisher.

ISBN 978-1-312-45102-5

Cover Artwork: Colt-45

Published by Primrose Hill Publishing [e-mail] www.facebook.com: Minou Duvet

www.eBookconversion.ca

Smooth Ride

Nobody should have to work on a Sunday. Not in California when the sun is warm but not hot.

Leigh took a deep breath of air. For once it was smog free thanks to the strong wind from the day before. As she pulled onto the Santa Monica freeway she thought of yesterday. They had just set the sails on Ad Vert, the 41 foot Islander, named for the profession she chose and also a play on words meaning ‘add green’ for the color of her eyes. They had planned to go to Catalina, a fast trip with good wind, when her cell phone rang. It was her client from out of town saying that he had made up his mind. She had been trying to close the ad campaign for two weeks and could not let him leave without the contract being signed. As Stephen, her husband, rounded up the boat heading back to Marina del Rey, Leigh was forming her team of graphic artists in her head.

The ad agency had grown during the last two years. It had taken a great deal of hard work and an enormous amount of time. Late nights, breakfast conference calls with New York, out of town trips.

It seemed like she lived at the agency. Actually, she kept a small wardrobe there. Good thing she thought, as she looked down at her white dress. She had left Stephen on the boat to clean and lock up, while she went directly to the agency and spent the night rewriting the contract.

Stephen grumbled about being married to a company and not feeling like he has a wife anymore. Leigh had taken the job as a survival tactic. Stephen had been drinking far too heavily for much too long. The verbal and mental abuse had gotten so frequent that the only chance the marriage had was to be away from the home as much as possible.

Home, a beautiful large Spanish estate in Santa Barbara. Leigh liked the lifestyle. The tennis and golf clubs. The acceptance by the old money that had come after Stephens law practice had grown. Her own involvements with local charities had given her an outlet for her creative ability while she raised their children away from a work environment. They had worked hard as a team and she is determined not to lose a very envied way of life.

As she passed Robertson Blvd. she glanced towards Beverly Hills. She had started her career more than 20 years ago as a gofer in a large agency. She recalled the small studio and her beat up Honda as she ran her hand across the leather dashboard of her Jaguar convertible. Sea Green, tan interior.

It matched her eyes and golden hair that was flying loose from its usual businesslike coif.

The leather seats were warm from the sun as they moulded to her hand as it lay palm down. In her mind it felt like soft skin – pulled tight over well – exercised muscles. Sort of like the whole car – strong, sleek and commands attention.

Leigh was trying to remember the last time she and Stephen had sex. She was astonished to realize she could not recall. Moreover she did not seem to miss his lovemaking. Stephen was usually well into his sixth drink of the evening by the time they reached their bedroom. He either became abusive or passed out. Orgasms of late had been courtesy of the eight – way jet shower she had installed in what has become her bathroom. Fantasy lovers had become a way of life. She missed the touching but that was covered by her weekly massage done by David with the magic fingers. He introduced her to erogenous zones in her body she did not know even existed. Absentmindedly she was massaging her inner thigh as she passed through the McCan Tunnel and onto Pacific Coast Highway.

She glanced longingly at the golden beach, where sun – tanned, scantily clad bodies played, slept or struted along the shore. She reached down to slip off the sling back heels, and wiggled her bare toes in their new – found freedom through the lush carpet of her Jag.

The day was warming up. She grabbed her water bottle and relished the cool liquid pouring down her throat. Some escaped her mouth, falling on her neck and trickled down her chest, tickling her cleavage. As the warm wind passed through the car it dried the droplets. The sensation felt like light kisses.

She found herself more than mildly aroused and was glad that she never wears underwear. It would have spoiled the sensation. Besides, ‘Underwear is just one more thing to wash’, had been her motto since college.

As she sped North, she passed a few farm trucks with their immigrant drivers concentrating on keeping the ramshackle vehicles between the lines. She pondered the opportunities of an exhibitionist. A partially clad body whizzing by big rigs on the 101 or better still the California Grapevine. Sort of like the ultimate safe sex rush. Playing peek-a-boo with the long distance truckers.

Traffic was thinner once past Malibu. Slowing down to admire the foliage and hills she became aware of hunger. No breakfast and it was way past lunchtime. The only place to grab a bite was a shack of a restaurant she passes every day of the week. It looked greasy but it would do. She would call Stephen and tell him she would be late in arriving home. She remembered the pay phone outside the building as she had left her cell phone on the desk.

Coming down the hill her eyes caught a twinkling coming through the sunshine. She’d never seen that before. She peered over the steering wheel trying to determine the cause and locate the point of origin.

At a dip in the road she lost site of the silver glints but became aware of a low rumble. She looked up scanning the sky for clouds. It sounded like rolling thunder but deeper, maybe more like the purr of a huge cat. Thinking of her vanity plate, kitty cat. She had wanted pussy cat but Stephen had been outraged at the possible connotations.

She rounded the curve and was immediately struck by the shimmering blue of the ocean on one side of the road and the shimmering sea of black on the other. As she slowed to turn into the parking lot near the pay phone the images appeared out of the dark. Bikers. About 150 or so. She slowed her car to a stop carefully pulling in between a row of parked bikes. Slipping her shoes back on she strolled in the direction of the phone booth taking in all the pulsating ambiance around her. While leaving a message on the answer phone, her eyes are pulled to a bike standing alone, quite a distance from the others. It did not look new by design but it was like new by care. Built like speed with brakes as an option. It radiated pure masculinity.

Like a moth to flame Leigh slowly approached what in her mind looked like a silver stallion. Tentatively reaching out, she placed her index finger on the seat. It was warmed by the sun and like the leather on the dashboard of her Jag it too felt like smooth skin. An electric pulse seemed to travel up her arm and she shivered.

A beautiful lady beside a beautiful bike. You make quite a picture, said a soft deep voice behind her. Jumping, she apologized for standing too close to the machine. She turned quickly and was blinded by the sun. All she could make out was a tall man with a well – toned physique surrounded by a golden glow. She was trying so hard to focus on his face that she did not move and was holding her breath.

Do you like bikes? said the voice.

Finding her own voice, she replied, I’ve never been this close to one before. It’s... it’s...I’m not sure what the right word would be.

I know the feeling, he said moving sideways so the sun was no longer blinding her.

She was arrested by a pair of deep blue eyes set in a rugged, but angular face. A smile was pulling at the side of his mouth.

How about two firsts in one day. Would you like a ride? he offered.

Every cell in her brain screamed caution!! I. You don’t talk to half naked men, in the middle of nowhere, let alone consider taking off on a bike with one. But every bone in her body screamed,

GO!

While she was battling with herself he pointed to a ridge above the highway.

We’ll just go that far. You could still see your car from there and the other bikers could hear you if you needed to yell for help. Just a short ride. It’s a first for me too. I never share my ride.

She looked at his hands. They were well shaped and appeared to be manicured. His haircut was windblown but she could recognize a good cut when she saw one.

She held her purse in front of her as if she had made her decision. He took it from her and put it in the saddle bag. I’ll help you on he said as he