Olivia ia an aspiring Asian American actress who teaches part time at a local college.
So far she is unsuccessful in both love and career. When she sees an audition notice
on the college wall, she decides to go. The director is French, an dimly seen figure in the
back of the auditorium. At first, he is complimentary, encouraging. But when he asks her
to remove her blouse, she has second thought. She complies but when he wants her to
go even further she refuses. The audition ends abruptly.
Later, though, she gets a callback. When she finally meets the French director face to face,
she is in for the sexual and emotional shock of her life. After that, her life is a roller coaster of
boiling emotion and sexual desire. Has she met the man of her dreams? Or is the hunky Frenchman just exploiting her for his own, sick sexual needs?
EXCERPT FRENCH KISS BY SERGE DE MOLIERE
The shade was obscenely yellow and pulled down until it reached the sill, which hadn’t been dusted in weeks. A spear of sunlight sliced in at its edge, striking Olivia in the face. Blinking, she woke up, licked dry lips with a coated tongue and rubbed her eyes. She’d been dreaming.
Her eyes were puffy, watery, the intense blue color diluted and dull as she glanced in the mirror on the
near wall. The dream was vivid; the man’s touch incredibly sensitive. Her hand was shoved between her bare thighs, which were damp and sticky. Blue eyes were unusual for an Asian woman. Offhand the only person she knew who had that coloration was a mixed race Asian actress who played a robot on TV. Stretching her arms over her head, Olivia shrugged. That actress probably wore tinted contacts. Her own eyes were naturally blue, some kind of sport or throwback to a distant ancestor. They contrasted sharply with the rich olive of her complexion.She smiled. Mama had named her for the warm color of her skin. Extending one long leg, a cramp stung her calf, and she kneaded it as hard as she could. Right now, her thighs ached, and her head pulsed as if a small rubber hammer were striking it.
She had grabbed onto the dream before it faded completely. In it, she wore a sheer, cream-colored gown and was seated in front of a frosted wedding cake. On the topmost layer were two small figures: a bride and groom carved of gooey, chocolate fudge. The bride cradled a tiny infant with a marshmallow face. Olivia broke off the groom’s head, and upper torso stuck it into her mouth and sucked, savoring the mushy, sweet flavor. The dream ended when the cake exploded like a vanilla orgasm, spraying whipped cream and chocolate syrup all over her.
Oddly, when she woke, her vagina was warm, slippery.
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