These are the first pages of each chapter of an erotic romance novel. No other images are or will be displayed in the narrative. Please take into consideration that these lines were not professionally edited. The website was created before. My apologies!!
Two Fateful Days in December
It was almost 3 pm on a pleasant and sunny Sunday afternoon that the calendar chronicled as
December 20, 2009! Known to be a foppish guy, I shaved and dressed-up more than casual but
at the last minute, I passed on a tie. “Hey, you are not going to a concert,“ I said to myself,
“You are going just for a date, and a blind one too.”
Regardless, blind-or-not, an imperative first impression was before my eyes and mind.
Three decades older than she, I had to conclude that age and looks would represent a thorny
handicap for her to overcome.
I chose black pants, shined black shoes, a long-sleeve white shirt, and a striking looking brick-red
jacket. It was such a distinct color that no one, not even a blind person, could miss. Before leaving my residence, I glanced one more time in the bathroom’s mirror and embraced what I saw. With aviator type dark sunglasses, I looked - well, at least so I pondered - quite presentable, enigmatic, and tidbit James Bond-ish too. Yes, yes, I admit, Bond had a full head of hair; I was bold. He was smoking, and I was not. Besides, truth be told, I never saw him in a splashy colored coat like mine. I must admit, however, that even the soft analogy made me feel good, sure and desirable. Alongside all these external embellishments, and with little help from the man above, I intended not just to surprise, but even compel admiration into my date, inglorious age-gap or not.
The days following our second memorable encounter, Vronica was on my mind night and day.
How could it not be? I tried to measure up the chances a venerable gentleman like me would have in
landing, even just for one single night, such a young, hot fabulous lass. I patted myself on the
shoulders, “But wait, you forgot, you had her under your sheets not once but twice, and in two
consecutive days too!”
Seconds later, further amending my thoughts: “You also missed to consider Vronica’s desire to stay
in touch and keep it going.” Not sure what the real chances would be for something like this to happen,
I guessed, 1 in 50; 1 in 100; in 200; in 1000? I couldn’t care less and I considered myself privileged being, in this case, the lucky number one. “But wait, my friend,” I pleaded further with myself, “Don’t miss out, she is not just an anybody womanness percolating female, but also 31-springs younger than you, geezer.”
Consumed by the facts, I was replaying for myself the events of just the last two days like an endless loop.
A Final Good-bye
My blissful togetherness of almost a quarter Century with Brenda, the sexy, elegant, and bright
Canadian born wife ended 15 months before my life intersected with Vronica’s. A two-year struggle
with a deadly form of a rare medical condition, best University-based specialists could not cure or
stop, ended in her premature passing. Frustrated, even angry that my profession blinked big times
and let me down was harrowing. Alone and lonely, the home we shared for over two decades, filled
with memories of our happy times, became much too big for my lessened needs.
Separated from my children and my grandchildren, I concluded that to continue living without a distinct purpose in life would become more and more painful and disheartening.
A medical doctor for over four decades, a surgeon for over three, I realized that my office, my patients became less relevant to me.
A complete 180-mindset turnaround. Tired, left behind, deserted by fate, I concluded nothing challenging remained for me to face and do, here in the US.
Yes, I had a few good friends, all married with large families, eager to help. I sensed I am incomplete, fragmented, and when invited to social events or holidays, I would come by myself.
After at least half a year of grief, the same support group aiming to lift my spirits introduced me to several age-appropriate women. All these ladies had their own medical problems and were mainly preoccupied with their children and grandchildren.
In the Promised Land
After an uneventful non-stop 14-hour flight, I landed in Israel. It was an early hot and humid afternoon.
When I left The Promised Land in 1980, Ben-Gurion International Airport, named after the founder of
modern-day Israel, was a dilapidated structure not worthy of its legendary name. This time, I refused to
believe what my eyes were seeing. An ultra-modern architecturally captivating structure, bustling with
people, could be easily compared to most contemporary European or US airports I have ever passed through.
I knew from friends about its complete reconstruction and modernization, but seeing the place in person was
much more impressive than hearing it described.
During those long hours in the air, though I was flying business class, I wasn’t able to sleep much. Feelings of ambivalence clouded my mind. I was miserable leaving behind the woman I learned to love, and with no hope to be with her again. Yet, I tried to be confident, that with healing time, I would create a new life for myself. I would start by forging a welcoming apartment making do with the soon to arrive Chinese furniture, my late wife’s taste. It the same time I intended to renew old relationships with friends, colleagues I worked with, and my relatives, all second cousins. I predicted that this challenging, exciting fresh chapter of my latter years would keep me preoccupied and balanced for quite some time. Besides, who knows what may happen down the road. To forecast the future is implausible, yet it could be full of surprises.
I recalled how my chin dropped, during the previous year’s preparatory trip, the first time I visited the Club with its incredible grounds. It hosted a variety of sporting possibilities I was much interested in.
The day before her arrival, I hired a cleaning company to tidy my entire apartment and made it immaculate. I wanted
to please Vronica, a well-groomed neat woman who will share my life and roof for almost two weeks.
Fresh linen and sheets decked my adjustable king size bed, I brought over from my Los Angeles home.
A well-stocked refrigerator awaited her, Champagne included.
The trash containers emptied, the bathroom, including the shower enclosure, stockpiled with a brand new unopened
shampoo bottle, hair conditioner, and scented bars of soap, stood spotless and shining.
A small bouquet of colorful flowers, a box of truffle chocolate, and a welcome card were all placed on the top of a
small end table. Positioned several feet in front of the main door; will be the first things she will have to acknowledge
entering the apartment.
Everything was ready to transform my bachelor pad into a genuine love-nest for the next coming days.
This would be a novelty for both of us. True, we spent hours in the company of each other, including one entire night of passion in my hotel room, before leaving Los Angeles. However, none of that would measure up to living together experience. The next coming twelve days and nights under the same ceiling would represent a different reality for both of us. I did and intended to do everything possible to make it pass without headaches.
A Daring Decision
It was well past midnight when I made it home. Lost, miserable, and hopeless I sat down on the living room’s
Hunched, head supported in my hands, I could not remember the last time I tasted the salty content om my tears
meandering down my face. Her presence was everywhere, in the living room in the bedroom, all around. The
apartment without her was barren and lifeless.
I could see her sitting watching TV with me, or in front of the computer and Skyping with her two children she
did daily, sometimes when possible, twice a day. I could hear and see her brushing her teeth, showering, getting
dressed or undressed. The reality, however, was different and bitter. She was nowhere and gone forever.
Mentally and physically drained and tired, I entered the bedroom and fully clothed as I was, crashed on the sheets just to realize I am alone there too. Vronica’s sleeping side, to my right, was empty. She was not there to touch, kiss and wish good night the way it used to be in the last two weeks. As I lay still, I sensed that the surrounding walls are closing on me, whilst reverberating her voice, her laughs and her used vocalization of bliss during our lovemaking. I could not take it, I stood up and put my body down on the living room’s couch.
The early morning sunlight woke me up.
Thirsty, I opened the refrigerator looking for a soft drink. Three hand-written stickers glued to the backside of the door read, “Good night my love.” “Thank you for being a wonderful & fantastic lover.” “I will miss you!”
Reunited in the City of Angels
A few days before my upcoming return to Los Angeles, Vronica proposed again, to abstain from
Skype-enabled physical release. Her reasoning, like before her visit for my birthday, to heighten the level
of passion when we join up again. “ I want we both should be hungry for each other.
We should discharge our lust and desires when we will meet skin-to-skin,”she informed me several
times while I tried to change her mind. Not having a better alternative, I surrendered to her wishes, as I
The evening before my midnight time flight, I needed to blow off steam, and share my worries.
Together with a good friend from Old Country, we took a long scenic bike ride along the hot and humid Mediterranean shoreline. Excited and happy, a guarded optimist, I still sensed a mild degree of apprehension as I was not sure what fate has in store for me, victory or demeaning defeat.
After miles of pedaling, we had a cold drink in a trendy coffee shop and enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Same age with me, he was the only one among my group of friends, confident that the reunion would find its place under the sun, and blossom too. Before parting ways, for all possible future intentions, I entrusted him with a copy of my apartment keys I was to leave behind for an indefinite period of time.
Drenched in sweat, I returned to a cool apartment, stored my bike and took a shower.
To keep my thoughts at bay, I played some classical piano pieces, trying to guess for how will my beloved keyboard remain silent.
Sic Itur ad Astra
The days chased each other and passed without teething troubles. I did everything possible not to interfere in Vronica’s
motherly duties. It was she who decided when we saw each other and for how long. As things progressed well, less than
three weeks of togetherness was plenty enough for her to conclude I can look for a suitable place to stay.
My preference for living on the boulevard, however, limited my choices.
On a third attempt, I found Shangri-La. It was an only two-year-old property, built on commanding standards and
designed for condominiums.
For unknown reasons, to me at least, the developers changed course and the place became a high-end rental.
They showed me the last available two BR corner apartment. It included a nice balcony from where I could see the office building that hosted my practice for the last 24 years. In addition, the place was just shy of a mile from the home I sold six months beforehand, part of my original retirement plan meant to be 7500 miles away from her. Much to my like, I was back in my old neighborhood, which was comforting.
The place, as expected, came with everything a rental property should have, a refrigerator, microwave, oven, dishwasher, and a wash and dry machine. However, the moment, accompanied by the leasing officer, we entered the premises it was my impression that we invaded a place that belonged to someone. It was a show apartment fully furnished, wall-art hanging in every room, master bedroom ready to accommodate a tired person.
Another Fateful Day in December.
It was almost 3 pm on a pleasant and sunny afternoon; the calendar marked exactly December 20th.
Known to be a foppish guy, good impressions never escaped my eyes and mind.
For our Anniversary observance, just half-an-hour away, I shaved, and I chose my best black suit,
a long-sleeve same color shirt adorned with a silver shade necktie. For added impact, my breast pocket
displayed a little square of the same material and tone. A well-shined black shoe capped a
Not forgetting the James Bond-ish look of years way back, I had my dark aviator type sunglasses on
my face as well.
Before leaving my residence, exactly as a decade before, to the day and hour, I glanced one more time
in the mirror and I appreciated what I saw. Despite the added years, I looked not bad, and still quite presentable. Well, at least so I thought.
Alongside all these external embellishments, precisely like then, I intended to surprise, even compel admiration into my lady, decennium or not.
Well ahead the stipulated time, with seven fresh roses in my hand, I entered the same shoddy looking dinner of yesteryear.
Waiting for my date, and facing the entrance, I sat down in the hind darkest corner of the establishment. The place was empty of sport and spirits loving patrons. It was much too early a Friday afternoon. Since I had no interest to spend much time in that shabby-looking place, I only asked for a glass of water.
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