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| Study Of A Young Woman |
James took a step closer to her, bent slightly, and kissed her on the lips. Melanie froze in confusion. She knew what she was supposed to do—slap his face and call him names—but that wasn’t what she wanted to do. Not at all.‘How was that?” he asked, dropping his voice. He looked into her eyes.“Are you making love to me?”“Yes.”“I liked it,” she replied, tilting her face up for more, thrilled with her own daring.I’m glad,” he murmured. He kissed her again, his lips soft, his mouth tasting of a hint of split pea soup. He put his nose in the hair just behind her left ear and took a deep breath. The feeling of the tip of his nose on her skin was electric. It had been so long—years—since she had felt a man’s touch. And that had been back at school, before the trial, chastely clumsy kisses in cloakrooms and in stuffy parlors.“’You smell so good,” he said, and kissed her again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He lifted a finger and gently slid it from her chin to the top of her collar. Melanie quivered. She was afraid to make a move. She was awash with pleasure such as she had never known. She knew what she was supposed to do. Melt against him (that was the alternative to slapping his face), but she couldn’t. Her hands hung uselessly at her sides.“James, you shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.
“I know. I can’t help myself.” He kissed her again, a long, slow, lingering kiss.“Please—please stop.” Her words came out as a little gasp. She didn’t want him to stop.James took a step back, smiling, holding her arms. “You are a peach of a girl, Miss Daniels.”“Thank you.” Melanie averted her face. “I don’t know what you must think of me.” She wanted him to kiss her again! And again and again.His left hand ran up and down her upper arm. She felt as if little shivers of desire were following along with it. “I think very highly of you. That’s why I kissed you.”“You know what I mean.”“I’d like to see you again, Miss Daniels. Soon.” The hand closed around her upper arm.It was an outrageous request. He had taken liberties with her.“I’d like that.”
***************************************************************************************************************When she was eight years old, one bright late Spring day, Harold Clarice, a classmate, had come up to her in the schoolyard. He had an ugly smile on his face.
“My ma says your pa kills babies,” he announced.“Harold Clarice, you take that back!” Melanie demanded.“Your pa’s a baby-killer,” Harold repeated.“You clam yourself!” She felt her face burning hotly.“Baby killer! Baby killer!”“You just clam yourself!”In a rage, Melanie lashed out at Harold, smacking him in the mouth. Harold stared at her in shock for an instant, then leapt upon her, flailing with his fists, and they both fell to the ground, biting and punching. Instantly the other children were around them, screaming delightedly, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“What’s going on here! Children!” Miss Chipman, their teacher, stood over them. Melanie quickly disengaged herself from Harold. Her white dress was torn, its pink sash hanging in tatters. Her blonde hair had been pulled from its ponytail and hung loosely at her shoulders. Harold’s shirtfront was covered with dirt, and blood ran down his chin. Their classmates hung back, fascinated.“She started it!”“Did not!”“Did too!”Melanie knew Harold dared not repeat his taunt; he would be punished for using such language.
Either the other children hadn’t heard him, or didn’t risk saying it themselves. Miss Chipman made both Harold and Melanie sit in opposite corners facing the wall for the rest of the afternoon. Melanie was grateful that her teacher didn’t inquire further into what had started the fight. She had a feeling that Miss Chipman knew.
And there you have it, mon chers.
At the risk of bragging, here are some Amazon reviews. If you don’t believe me, go here.
“Don’t start reading this wonderful tale if you have anything else to do for a while. It will grab you and keep you enthralled.”
“If you liked An Awfully Big Adventure and/or Tipping the Velvet, definitely give this one a shot!”
“The author’s evocation of that time period, the abundant showbiz details, and the personal politics of abortion all made it very rich.”
Do both of us a favor and pick up my book at Amazon. Oops. Seeing that it’s on Kindle, do download my book. You’ll thank me later, and I will thank you now.
Ciao,
Elisa & Fletcher
Diary Of A Mad Fashionista 