Back from mental vacation with tidbit of story for my ebook

If you feel this portion of my upcoming book should be classified as ‘erotic’ and for adults only, please leave a comment. My friend and I don’t feel it is erotic content, but we’re only two voices. Thanks.

So let’s begin the tidbit…

Childhood forms an adult, or so say some intellectuals studying childhood-to-adulthood development. If that is true, I make a very interesting study for such intellectuals.

My mother came from a prominent, wealthy, established family in Ontario, Canada, with a long history of political and business offspring. My father came from a family which bred no particular persons of interest, and in fact were quite a dull, middle-class lot. Thus lays proof of ‘opposites attract’.

My mother grew up knowing wealth and prominence placed her above others, particularity when it came to society and its rules. After all, she was a (name removed for blog post)! My mother made sure this elitist mentality of hers was adhered to by her husband and her children. Oh yes, children. I was first born, followed years later by my sister, and a brother each of the following two years.

We lived in a gorgeous old mansion in Rosedale, a neighbourhood of Toronto. A giant Chestnut tree stood guard at the corner of our property.

I was a bit of a tomboy, and beginning at six years of age I would climb the branches almost to the top and sit there waiting for people below to walk by the tree. I would then drop Chestnuts on them. I was scolded several times for doing that, but neither my mother or father ever did anything other than talk to me when I was misbehaving. I believe that is why later in life I sought a man who could control me. I was spoilt, and misbehaved without punishment of any lasting impression. Looking at my life now, I doubt even severe reprimands would have change how I turned out. But, who knows? For that matter, who cares? I’ve had a wonderful life and have no regrets.

I was a precocious child, and an avid reader early on in my development. I was also unexpected, a fact which I was constantly reminded of by my mother in a most malevolent tone of voice; “I had to get married because of you!” You can imagine the emphasis she placed on the word ‘you’. She’d then purse her lips and glower at me, as if I was responsible for her spreading her legs for anyone she fancied.

At the age of four I discovered how easily I could manipulate my father. It was the beginning of my disdain for weak men. A smile, a wink, a sad face, a pleading face, they all worked on my dad. Most four year olds probably don’t recognize the power they have at that age, but I did.

At the age of seven I discovered sex. I was upstairs in my bedroom reading when I got thirsty and decided to go downstairs and get some apple juice. I was about to come down the stairs when I heard whispered sounds of my mother and another man. Curious, I snuck a little further down the stairs to find my mothers’ head bobbing up and down between the legs of our neighbour Mr. (name removed for this blog post.)

My mother seemed to be having a lot of fun, sometimes swishing her head from side to side as she moved it up and down.

I couldn’t see exactly what  mother was grabbing with her right hand every now and then, but she would reach up and kiss Mr. Franklin whenever she was holding whatever it was she was holding in her right hand. This seemed to please them both, especially my mother.

Mr. Franklin moved his body up and down, sometimes in unison with my mom, but he didn’t appear enthusiastic about either.


Reliving lovers

I’ve been frolicking with past loves, reliving momentous moments, and am not sure how much I shall put in my ebook or book.

What attracted me to some of my loves was that all they needed was a little guidance from me and they would be greater. Confidence, that’s the word. They appeared to me to lack that extra level of confidence to make them greater.

It’s not that they weren’t already great in their particular realm of business, and for me every activity was business, whether the man was a doctor, lawyer, CEO, banker, salesman, or entrepreneur. Or some bum on the street whom I admired for his gumption.

I had my style of interviewing lovers who I felt could fit well with my group of boys, and if the potential lover passed muster there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to ensure my group accepted him warmly.

Some lovers failed my interviews miserably, became jealous or threatened physical harm. One or two reacted quite physically, thinking brawn won battles when it is really brains. They were just stupid. Summarily dismissed they would look not at them-self for answers, preferring the easy way of blaming others for their misfortune.

The stupid, stupid, toads. They had kissed the princess who could bring them the world but, like a dog with a bone, they snarled and snapped at the thought of someone else sharing their pleasures. Small minded cretins, that’s what they were, small minded cretins!

But there were handsome princes who passed muster, discovered more about himself and his understanding of the world through my guidance, and those wonderful lovers, those wonderful forces of nature and business who understood you could mix business with pleasure quite marvelously, those are the delightful creatures I’ve frolicked with these past few days.


What I have discovered while writing my stories is that I must have come across from time to time in some of my business and personal relationships as a conniving, man-eating, black-widow spider. Which is simply not the case.

In those instances I can only say that the male acquaintance/client in question was simply stupid, and left me no option but to dismiss him from my group. I offer him hand-peeled grapes and he gives me whine and jealousy. The fool.

Writing is therapeutic.

My social networking; when will I find time to write?

I have joined Goodreads, Twitter, Facebook, Linkedin, and for publishing/distributing my works I’ve chosen Smashwords.

It has taken me most of this morning to setup accounts. I was hugely excited when I received my first follower. A woman!

I have few women friends because all of my working and private life involved businessmen. The few women I did meet were wives or girlfriends of my clients, and few of those girlfriends or wives regarded me with anything above hatred or extreme suspicion.

If I did anything which would alter an existing relationship between a client and his wife, or a client and his girlfriend, that would be to improve their relationship. I never had any interest in taking their husband or boyfriend away from them. What would be the point of that when I could do it so easily?

Now that I’m on these ‘social networks’, and perhaps it’s my age but I find communicating digitally to be anything but social, I can see where an author, or anyone for that matter, could fall into the trap of ‘networking’ constantly to the detriment of their writing.

Advance warning to readers: If I’m not writing something here, or on Twitter or Facebook or Goodreads or Linkedin or wherever, it isn’t because I don’t want to hopefully write a pithy sentence or two, but because I am roaming fond memories while writing and time is of no meaning to me.

The Tarot reader

I’m writing erotic bits and pieces in Scrivener about some of boys in my life when I suddenly thought of the time a friend and I visited a Tarot card reader.

This was in the 1960’s, the time of ‘free love’, and one of my current boyfriends took me to a Tarot card reader. He was expecting her to say how much I loved him. I know this because I asked him why we were going there.

The Tarot card reader, rotund and smelly, sat at dimly lit table at the back of a restaurant in New Westminster. We sat down and my friend said he’d like to know her (meaning me) future. I told him I could speak for myself, and asked the old woman to tell me if my love life included him. She asked for the $5.00 and my friend paid her.

She passed me the cards and asked me to shuffle them, which I did. She then created a pattern on the table of the top cards. She looked at them a while, then looked up at me and said “You hate men.”

My friend and I made fun of her decision and left. Now, many years later as I reflect upon my life and write about it, I know she hit the nail on the head. I loved men, but I hated them at the same time. Love and hate, what strong passions they are.




Here is a youthful picture. I went through quite a few pictures before settling on this one.

older by tree

This step into technology and writing is exciting, challenging, and worrisome.

Will anyone like what I write? That’s the ‘please love me’ inside everyone. It’s about acceptance, the “Am I good enough?” inside me when I was young and later found I was.

The worrisome part is will I be able to satisfy ‘them’ and me? Like meeting a new lover, there are expectations, dreams, desires, and questions. For me it was always the striving to do my best, to be the best, to fulfill all expectations, dreams, desires, without question.

Now I’m older. I no longer have my husband. Yet I still crave the feeling of and for intimacy.

Will I be able to build an intimacy with readers of my book? Will I be able to put the truth so real they will feel it themselves? That’s the worrisome part. Will I be able to satisfy them?

I created a Twitter account. I don’t like that limit on the words. It’s binding, restricting. But it is a challenge, and I do love challenges.

You can follow me on Twitter here.


At my age no one can truly hurt me, emotionally or financially, for I carry that hard protective shell formed by layer upon layer of learning’s now past.

I say that because it took me a long time before deciding to write a book and a blog about certain lessons in my life.

A friend had given me 50 Shades to read and said, “This could be about our lives, or some of our friends. We should write something and see if we can’t make a little money too.”

Just the thought of prostituting myself once more for money turned my stomach, but after thinking about it all I came to this conclusion ‘What can anyone do to me now that hasn’t been done already?”

I did a little research, bought a program called Scrivener, and a few weeks back started placing memories within it.

I had many teachers in my life, a wonderfully rich life overflowing with fulfilled dreams. I’ve had harsh lessons too; the worst being the death of my only true lover and friend, my husband of 30 years.

I buried his ashes near this tree in the back part of our property. Our property. That seems so strange to write now that he is dead. But in my heart it will always be ‘our’ property.

Memories buried here

I have to stop writing.