Manjula Das
Warmth tingling through your skin as each passing moment made your temperature rise. Closing your eyes to relax and lose yourself in the sun’s searing shadow, you don’t notice the door open. A trickle of water falls from the ice cube and glides down the back of your neck. A soft gasp escapes from your mouth, followed by a welcoming sign as the ice slides across your shoulders. Your head rolls to the side and you pull your hair out of the path of your new sub-zero friend. Holding ice in both my hands allows my icy massage to melt and leaves dozens of watery lines streaking down your body. With gentle ease, your body moved and your towel dropped to the floor. Seizing the moment, my ice coated fingers, worked the tension from your spine. Dropping to my knees and replenishing the ice, soft kisses dashed about you lower back. Your sighs released as the ice worked around your curvy bottom, with each stroke followed by my warm mouth. The mixture of the cold and hot of the melting ice and. I eventually came to love the job and especially the people I worked with, but we were struggling financially in a big way. One day, as my daughter and I were picking out our weekly groceries, something I enjoy just slightly more than a root canal, we passed down the magazine aisle, by all the romance novels with their busty heroines and Fabio cloned heroes on the lurid covers. I remarked, ‘I wonder how much money someone gets paid for writing that stuff?’ My daughter replied, ‘You should give it a try, Mom. You could probably knock one out in a coupla hours.’ Hmmmmm… I thought that over for awhile. Sure, I had always thought I might like to write a little something here and there. I had almost fully fleshed out plotlines for at least 3 novels in my head at any given time, one of which I STILL think would make a fabulous Lifetime TV original movie starring Melissa Gilbert and Jack Wagner. Problem was, I didn’t have a computer. And no matter how grand I thought a particular idea.
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