Magic of The Moon

By Carlos Sonarts

Nothing in Maia's life is going as she imagines.
Until one day she finds a magic necklace. From now on, Maia escapes into dreams every night. With the help of a magic chain, Maia dives into erotic dreams every night. Whether as a ballet dancer in the strong arms of the Scotsman Conor, as a powerful ruler of a long-forgotten empire or with the surfer Chris under the starry sky of Hawaii - carefree, she enjoys that the men guess their most secret desires.
But magic also has its pitfalls and the next morning is approaching faster than Maia would like.
How can she bring happiness from her dreams into reality? Will she see Chris again?
But magic has its pitfalls...
The dreams turn against her.
Maia desperately struggles to bring her love to reality.

A stirring, sensually erotic novel about dreams, courage and the magic of love. Carlos Sonarts takes us from one world to the next. Every dream was unique. The story was unpredictable... 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Martinez
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215841105

Book preview

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Table of Contents

Leap into the night

Champagne and chili

Honey pot

Magic of the moon

Slaves

Swan Lake

Buzzword bingo

Rosebuds and wolves

Smooth leather and tobacco

White Linen

High heels

The purple of the aureolia flowers

Under the wings of the goddess

Bittersweet pomegranate

Salvation

Untamed

Power

Taste of fear

In the shadow

Whispered Spells

Circle of blood

A silent scream

Northwest wind

Platinum

Futuristic

Sound of time

White water

Pink frosting

Andromeda's wink

Home port

Top dog

Blind mirror

Strawberry lip gloss

Of spies and cowboys

Starfall

Winter solstice

Soot and gold

Roots and wings

Sign of hope

Magic of The Moon

Author: Carlos Sonarts

Leap into the night

I wake up and blink out of the shade of an umbrella acacia into the blazing sun. My bare belly presses into the dust with every hasty breath. The ocher sea of grass crouches around me in the shimmering heat. Not a sound can be heard. Everything hides, holds its breath. On the horizon, the wind ruffles the grass and drives a wave toward me. Straws rustle in warning. A hot breeze brushes my face, whispering of wildness and greed and danger.

He lurks motionless, almost completely hidden, between the grasses, his eyes never ending on me. He pulls back his lips threateningly and shows his teeth. I hold his gaze calmly and kneel in the red dust.

He sneaks up and walks around me, sniffing my legs, waist and neck. His mighty body brushes against my skin. The fur is unexpectedly soft. He tilts his head and rubs it against my shoulder.

I instinctively take his head in my hands, searching the golden eyes for an answer. His expression softens, as if he sees his own kind, as if we know each other from earlier times. I lean my forehead against his forehead and close my eyes.

Leaning over his shoulder, I grab his mane and pull myself onto his broad back, resting my head on his neck and inhaling the spicy scent of freedom and strength. »Take me to the waterfall!«, I whisper in his ear and look into the distance at the blue mountains. He growls in agreement.

We cross cracking, splintering branches, lonely skeletons with faded bones and dead watercourses. Small animals scurry by. We race north across the plain, relentlessly exposed to the sun. The savannah blazes in shades of amber. My chest rests on his back. The shoulder blades move under me. My belly, thighs and bare lap rub against his fur. I dig my fingers in the imposing mane. He carries me safely on his body. Pleasure and strength flow into my pelvis. My breath matches his. I melt into him, feel his paws fly across the earth as if they were mine. A startled herd of zebras galloped away from us in a cloud of dust.

The melodious calls of the plovers herald water. Moisture floats down and covers me like a veil. I lick my dry lips thirsty. The air tastes sweet.

The spray blows over to us from the raging waterfall. He settles on the rock to watch over me. The pool far below me lures with clear blue like a long-awaited salvation. Full of confidence I jump and let myself fall.

The water surface explodes on my skin. I sink weightlessly into icy stillness. The cold quenches my thirst, washes away the dust and sweat from my heated body. I let myself be carried to the surface. The falling water hits the rocks and shatters into thousands of dancing drops. Tingling needles of water rain down on me.

Lush greenery, glistening with moisture, clings to the rugged stone walls at the side of the waterfall. Drops of water roll and run over fat mosses, lush ferns, lush cascades of leaves. Tendrils glide and entwine, falling in green waves. Fog hovers in the shadows.

The rock is still warm from the sun. I lie down close to my companions. Buried in his fur, I listen to his heart beating. The vastness of the savannah lies below me, like a promise of the future. I just have to reach for it.

A cloud of birds rises from a nearby tree – dancing shadows against the pink sky. Silently the night creeps up on black paws and settles down. My body vibrates with energy, from the contrast between heat and cold, from security and adventure. I have to scream before it tears me apart. Standing, I stretch my arms to the sky, throw my head back and roar out my strength, my lust, my hunger for life.

The pink glow of the sky has faded to pink. Stars glimmer and twinkle. Shooting stars are raining down on me. With a running start I leap into my future, into spraying showers of shimmering stars, into a flickering spark storm of possibilities.

––––––––

Porcelain with gold rim

The November rain is pattering on our umbrellas. We look up at the Art Nouveau facade of the four-storey residential building near Klosterstern.

That's looking promising, says Becca. As my best friend and editor of a living magazine, she didn't let that stop her from accompanying me to my viewing appointment.

The cobblestone street is lined with my favorite trees. In the spring, the chestnut trees will blossom white and pink and provide shade in the summer. I remember, as a child, breaking open the prickly green shell in the fall and pulling out the chestnuts, then running my index finger over the delicate skin of the cavity.

'Are you sure you don't want to talk to him about it, Maia? You could make a scene, vent your anger and throw dishes at the wall," Becca suggests as we climb the stairs to the attic.

No, I say firmly. I can't take it anymore, and I don't want to anymore! I've tried long enough. Any further thought of him is wasted lifetime.

Becca nods. Luckily you weren't married.

And we have no children, I add. I am free.

You've known each other since school, right? she asks.

"Yes. He was always very idealistic. Justice was important to him. After working as a lawyer for a few years, he was all about winning, even in the relationship. All the time I thought we were a team.«

Instead of arguing, he probably smiled silently and then did what he wanted anyway, says Becca. Typically passive-aggressive.

I nod. 'He just wanted to be left alone. And I didn't understand why nothing ever changed. I couldn't imagine that he put me on purpose on purpose. Instead, I ended up feeling like a constantly nagging, paranoid woman.«

Although the room is small and dark, I feel safe right away. The world outside seems far away. Raindrops tap against the window panes. Next to the door is an old bed with a tarnished brass frame. The wooden floor is polished smooth from countless steps and creaks in places. Through the lattice windows in the dormer window I can look down on the tops of the chestnut trees.

It was originally a servant's room, explains the landlady, opening the door of a closet in the sloping roof. 'The last tenant left some things behind. If you don't want to use any more of it, I'll throw it all away."

I see some books and an old-fashioned radio on a shelf at the top of the closet.

There are still dishes in here. She points to a 1950s sideboard next to a small hand basin.

There's just enough space for your shoes in the closet—if you stack them. Becca looks at me blankly. Where do you want to put your bags and clothes?

'I sell everything. I don't want to carry memories with me, nor do I want to leave anything of me with him. I'm starting from scratch.«

Where's the bathroom? Becca asks.

The landlady leads us across the hallway to a bathroom with a bathtub and light blue tiles.

If you want to go to the toilet, you always have to cross the hall, says Becca critically.

Yes, but you too, I reply.

»Yes, but the hallway and the bathroom are in my apartment.«

We laugh.

»Apart from you, nobody uses the bathroom,« says the landlady. 'You are quite undisturbed. A few tenants have storage rooms up here, but rarely does anyone come up. By the way, there is a laundry room in the basement with a coin-operated washing machine.«

"I take the room. Can I get the keys right now?' I answer firmly.

I'm going out for a moment, calls Becca, waving her cell phone. If you want, I can take you right away and drop you off at your old place.

Yes. Thanks.

I take a look at the sideboard. The previous tenant left behind a modest amount of equipment, just enough for one person. A china cup and mismatched saucer, a cake plate with a pattern of delicate blue flowers. A bowl with a chipped corner. I ride over the edge of a soup plate. The gold has worn away or disappeared in some places. It is precisely because of the flaws that each piece seems special to me. They are unique pieces with various scrapes and scars, cracks and scratches, just like me.

While Becca is still on the phone, I take the books out of the closet and stack them on the table. Among them are some faded novels, an old atlas and a well-worn cookbook from the 1960s. I can give them to the flea market dealer later. A leather-bound booklet with a lock slips out of the pile.

I try in vain to open it. Completed. I carefully feel the shelf of the closet, but there is no key to be found. I put the little book in my purse.

Becca comes in. 'I phoned around a bit. I'll take care of this if you want - painting, cleaning, buying a new mattress. Just give me the key and take care of the old apartment in peace. Then you can sleep here tomorrow night."

I can not accept that!

You have to, Becca replies firmly. You helped me so much when I was in the hospital.

Tears welled up in my eyes from emotion and relief. Even deciding on a wall color would overwhelm me today.

Oh, come here. She hugs me. The truth is, you're doing me a huge favor. I love furnishing apartments. I also have some good points with several craftsmen. Any wishes?

Light and warm and cozy, please, I say, wiping my tears.

I'm an anonymous decoration addict, Becca says, opening the passenger door for me. Did you know that?

Somehow I guessed it. I think about the crazy 1920s party she threw for her last birthday. And at Christmas, her home looks like a gnome workshop.

»As a child I decorated my Barbie house, as a teenager I constantly rearranged my room and during my studies I let off steam in my friend's apartment. At some point he got really annoyed because he couldn't find anything," she says.

I have to laugh. My friend won't be able to find some things when he comes back either. Above all, he won't find me again.

✰✰✰

You must meet a lot of different people, I say, packing a bunch of my DVDs and books into one of the garage sale's folding boxes.

Yes. children whose parents have died. couples separating. People planning a move. He straightens up and tucks his thumbs in the pockets of his leather vest. Ownership can be a liability, he mutters.

I nod. Things are bought quickly and are difficult to get rid of. But associating bad memories with things helps with letting go.

While I wait for the next prospective customer of my classified ads, I imagine what my own room will look like. It should be very bright and furnished with just a few things – things that I really like. I do not need much.

As a child, I dreamed of having a secret place all to myself. A tiny little hidden house in the top of a tree. Back then I listened to audio cassettes and eagerly drew my wish with colored pencils. The dream hideaway featured a hammock, a window to pick cherries straight from the tree, and a bright red slide that led down to the garden.

Champagne and chili

I wrap a towel around my wet hair and look out the hotel window at the Alster and the lights of the surrounding houses. Swimming in the hotel pool and then going to the sauna relaxed me wonderfully after a hard day. Arms outstretched, I fall backwards onto the king-size bed.

My cell phone rings. And my body immediately goes rigid. I don't want to speak to him now. In fact, I never want to speak to him again. I'll go anyway. I don't want him to suspect anything until I've done everything.

Hi. How did your first appointment go? I ask politely, pulling the collar of my robe up my neck as if to arm myself with it.

Oh, good, good, he replies just as politely. I haven't even thanked you for the excellent way you packed my suitcase, honey. His voice has become particularly loving on the last few words.

I grin to myself, he only uses endearments like 'honey' when he's really pissed off. And after an initial overly friendly behavior, it is usually followed by an all the more violent outburst. As a precaution, I hold the phone a little away from my ear.

The damn aftershave wasn't screwed on properly, he bellows, as expected. His voice comes out of the loudspeaker: I opened the suitcase in the hotel room and almost fell over ... stench ... all shirts messed up! His head must be bright red with indignation.

Oh well... I can hardly speak for suppressed laughter and I simulate a gagging sound. You, I have to throw up. Still gastroenteritis. With that, I push him away and turn on voicemail. Should he vent his anger? I will never listen to any of his outbursts again.

I gave him the noble aftershave when we were five years old. He himself didn't screw the lid on properly this morning. And I put the flacon upright in the toiletry bag as it was and put it in his suitcase. I can also be ›passive-aggressive‹!

I have no success with my nail file. The lock will not open. I twist and turn the little book curiously. it looks old The brown leather is cracked and bumped. A small corner of something metal peeks out from between the pages. The key? I pick at it and pull out a silver star pendant on a necklace. The pendant is about the size of my index finger nail. I impulsively slip the chain over my head. The asterisk is at the level of my heart. Overcome with tiredness, I snuggle into the luxurious pillows and fall asleep instantly.

✰✰✰

The morning sun peeps through a gap in the curtain and gently nudges my nose. I hold the pendant in my fist as if I had just caught a magical shooting star in a dream and saved it to my world. I leap out of bed and open the curtain. Some joggers are out and about on the tree-lined bank. Leaning against the wind, sailboats glide over the water surface of the Alster. And the sky is wonderful blue blue blue! I dance into the bathroom singing to take a hot shower.

I feel like a spy in safe hiding place. He doesn't know where I am. Nobody knows where I am. I could just bolt, hop on a plane, fly to Florence, stroll down the cypress avenue at Giardino Boboli, and have an espresso later.

But in an hour a couple is coming to my old apartment to pick up my dining table and chairs that they looked at yesterday. Also, I'm curious to see what Becca has done to my room.

Order listed! Becca drops the key to my new home in my hand.

You're the best! I hug her. »Hmmm, is that pizza?«. Hungry, I open the lid of the box Becca brought. "With chili! Thanks. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast at the hotel. All hell broke loose here. But I met interesting people. And almost all my things have been sold or given away.«

What about it? Becca asks, pointing to the leather couch we're sitting on.

'Belongs to Marcus. He really wanted these I struggle for words and wave my hand, huge black designer monsters."

She pulls a champagne bottle out of her pocket. »I saved these for a special moment.«

I'll get two of the crystal glasses that Marcus' parents gave us when we moved in.

Becca pops the cork and pours generously. »To your new home and a heavenly future.«

We toast. I drain the glass in one gulp and toss it over my shoulder. It shatters on the floor with a clatter.

My girlfriend looks shocked. She's not used to either exuberance or rioting from me, and she's certainly not used to effusive rioting at all.

What? I ask. »That brings luck!«

"In Russia! With vodka!«

Drink your glass and throw it away, I command.

Ok. She shrugs and tosses the empty glass over her shoulder. »To you and freedom!«

i squeeze her "Thank you so much for your help! You truly are the very best friend in the world. It's good to let yourself be taken care of from time to time.«

It was my pleasure, she replies. By the way, photos of the transformation of your room will appear in the next issue of Wohnmagazin. Title: Back to the 70s. She grins. You got wallpaper with huge patterns in orange, brown, and spinach green.

»With the color combination, at least I don't need coffee to wake up in the morning. I hope I have a flokati too.«

"Of course. I even shot the flokati myself.«

"So? I heard it lives in the highlands of Peru and eats polyester grass and lycra berries.«

That's not true, she corrects me. He eats hemp, jasmine flowers and incense sticks and stands in the IKEA pasture.

I laugh and grab a piece of pizza. 'The room must have turned out perfect. I trust you."

I'd love to see Marcus' face when he comes back tomorrow, Becca says.

"Sometimes he can't turn on the hall light. It's hanging in another apartment now.« I happily bite into the hot pizza.

Becca grabs the champagne bottle.

Next he goes to the bathroom to pee and trips over the towels he threw on the floor two days ago, I continue the story. 'Something's different in the bathroom, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't notice that the washing machine and dryer are missing. His optic nerve always filtered them out anyway.«

Laughing, Becca chokes on the champagne. She sets the bottle down and wipes her chin with the back of her hand. In the kitchen, he is greeted by the enticing smell of iridescent green ham and curdled milk that you accidentally left on the windowsill, she continues. »The refrigerator and the fitted kitchen have recently been in a shared flat for students. Only a few lonely dust bunnies are left on the floor and glare at him cheekily."

He rushes into the living room, collapses exhausted onto his show-off couch and dials my number. I hold my palms up and look puzzled. But . . . no line on this number.

Becca grins. 'I wonder when he'll figure out what's going on. I hope he's at least as shocked as you are when you discover his cheating."

'I think he's actually relieved I'm gone. But it's going to hurt his ego a lot that I left him. So that he can forget this low blow quickly, he will immediately call the thong woman. I mimic his voice and whisper, Hi sweetie, I have a surprise for you. I broke up with Maia. You can move in with me immediately.«

Becca joins in and squeals with delight, »Oh, baby. It sounds so sexy the way you say it. I'm getting all dizzy."

I keep imitating my ex: Tell me, do you have a...?

Corsage? Becca guesses.

Uh, no, such a big device...

Dildo? she suggests.

No. What's that called again? A shirt-washing thing?

Baby, Becca pouts and puts the back of her hand on her forehead, I always get bad migraines from doing housework!

We almost fall off the sofa laughing. I'm kidding, but secretly I feel deeply hurt by his betrayal. How am I ever going to be able to trust again - a new man, but also myself? Why have I stayed in this relationship for so long?

Towards evening I also sold our bed. The bed he took another woman into. One wearing red thongs.

I go through the rooms. The apartment seems strange to me - like a plundered battlefield. In the living room, the pizza box and the empty champagne bottle are in front of the sofa. Shards crunch under my feet. I took a box with