Authors: Lizbeth Dusseau
Table of Contents
The Alexandra Series
by Lizbeth Dusseau
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2013, All rights reserved
Original Copyright © 1990, 1995
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
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Cover Image: © kondradbak, Shutterstock.com
My Darling Jocelyn
Jocelyn & Alexandra
This novel was originally hand-written in what is now a tattered blue notebook. It was 1989. I was sitting in a lawn chair in my in-laws backyard, relishing my first Midwest spring – a pretty amazing experience for this West Coast girl. Something about the fertile ground, the sun, the humid air, the feel of the rich earth moving beneath me had a pleasing, and very decidedly erotic effect on my physical body. The story that had haunted me for years began to flow out on the lined notebook paper so fast that I could hardly keep up with my thoughts. From the notebook to a typewriter to Red Stripe Books, a publisher willing to take a chance on the story, regardless of the fact that it was so clumsily written that I’m surprised they even considered it. Since its first rather awkward incarnation, the novel has been through many re-edits and has been offered by Pink Flamingo Publications since 1995 in one version or another. However, I never felt
In the spring of 2013, after a two year hiatus from writing erotica, I started to feel the urge to write again. Maybe it was the approach of spring, perhaps I felt the need to reconnect with the beginnings of my writing career. Regardless, I suddenly felt compelled to revisit Alexandra, Will and Reggie one more time. On this occasion I wanted to take the time to add the polish and sophistication that seemed missing in the novel's earlier versions; to make the words fit the vision I always had of this special story. After all, this was the fantasy and these were the characters that were born of my own sexual awakening.
With the same kind of obsessive fervor I recall from 1989, I spent the much of March 2013 madly, obsessively, happily rewriting Alexandra’s Awakening almost from scratch. While the story remains the same, many scenes have been expanded, others have been combined, I’ve updated the story for the current times, and in the end, the novel has grown a good 15,000 words. (probably my biggest surprise is how the work has expanded) This story will always be close to my heart because this is where my writing career began… though, frankly, it’s my hope that this will be its final incarnation.
Of course, once Alexandra’s Awakening was complete, I turned my attention to the four sequels to the novel. Written after I’d honed my craft, they didn’t need the attention that the first required. I am so pleased that I could find put them all together in one volume. Now it’s time to leave Alex and her friends and move on to something new.
I straightened my skirt before I entered the bar. The pink and green neon flamingo blinked against the white painted walls. It took some time for my eyes to adjust to the dim lights, but once they had, I noticed several pairs of eyes glued to my every move. My low cut blouse showed them just enough breast to keep them looking. Wait until I lean over, I thought. With just the right bounce I moved to the long shiny bar. The eyes followed.
“Gin and tonic,” I ordered. The bartender smiled, while I peered out of the corner of my eye at the guy next to me. Ooo, he was hot!
“You waiting for someone?” I asked.
“Just you,” he said, smiling.
What a flirt!
We sat at a small table, and as my black skirt rose up on my thigh, I saw him staring. So did several other men. When I leaned forward, he looked down my blouse; and as he did my body heat soared.
I didn’t want to talk, the music was far too loud, so my gentleman friend and I danced. While moving sexily to the singer’s raspy voice, I watched the bulge grow between the man’s legs, and then rubbed myself against it as the slow dance began. He hiked my skirt to rub my ass, and I ground my crotch against his, thinking of how it would feel to have him slide his cock inside my wet home.
“You want it right here on the dance floor, don’t you, baby?” he purred in my ear.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he assured me, as he ran his broad hand along the full length of my back and let it come to rest against my ass.
Before long another man replaced him, and then another, until I was finally too exhausted for more and took a seat at the table, where for the rest of the evening, I entertained prospective suitors with shy smiles and playful banter.
I chose closing time to make my next move. Most of the women would be gone by then and I’d have the bar all to myself – along with the bartender and the half dozen or so who hung around to see what I would do.
When one of them boldly reached for my left tit, I gasped, seething with sensation. He was even daring enough to reach down and kiss it, tenderly, his lips lingering on my soft skin.
Another man approached – in jeans and cowboy boots. Oh my, he was hot! I could see the bulge in his pants too, and I began to think that maybe I’d have them both.
The new man read my mind: “How many of us do you want?” he asked directly.
I giggled to myself, thinking, how about all of you!
“So, what did you have in mind?” I asked.
“Maybe we should close the bar and take you?” the cowboy suggested.
Suddenly, the whole lot of them were swarming around me, knowing exactly what I wanted. Did I have no shame? No. Not anymore. And this would be heaven. . .
The phone rang, jangling rudely in my ears. It brought me out of the bar, out of my fantasy, back into the room where I lay on my bed. Alone, as usual. By the time my conversation was over and I’d hung up the phone, my arousal was only a distant memory…leaving me with only shame, the dreadful shame of my hidden fantasies.
As I pulled myself from bed, the morning light streamed through the ruffled curtains. It seemed to dance on the papered flowered walls. It was spring outside, but there were clouds in the sky. I couldn’t decide what to wear . . . the pale pink jersey or the brown tweed. I chose the tweed. Both were dull and boring, like my life. Both were sweet and appropriate, just like me.
Always sweet and appropriate. Always the good little girl.
As I began to dress, I looked at myself in the full length mirror, at the blonde hair cascading down my shoulders. Naturally curly, which I always considered a curse, so I wore it in a tight bun or tied at the nape of my neck – my mom’s idea. Taking another look, I wondered, could those curly shoulder length tresses be fashionably sexy now? I tried a lusty expression to match their wildness and the allure of my sensuous pose. There was a fire in my eyes I’d not seen before, and I began to feel a warm heat rising in my belly.
otta go to work, Alex
, I reminded myself, and I promptly pulled on my skirt and blouse and pinned my hair back. Looking in the mirror again, I saw myself—neat, trim from hours of aerobic workouts, and totally proper. Just as I always was.
“You’ve got fantastic legs,”
I remembered him saying, that boy I dated when I was twenty. At twenty-eight, my milky white legs were still smooth and thin and perfectly shaped. I suppose a lot of men would like to look at them, though I rarely gave them the chance.
Wait for the right man
. Mom’s sage advice.
He’ll come along, dear, and want you for your mind, not your body.
But dammit, I’m tired of waiting!
I could have screamed out loud, I was so damn frustrated. I looked in the mirror displeased with the Alex I saw, but totally at a loss as to how to change her.
At work, I abandoned my fantasies and my identity crisis, burying myself in work and a stack of invoices a foot deep. My boss was having a sniveling fit over missed deadlines, while the secretarial pool jabbered away about trips to Hawaii, spring clothes and their children’s dental visits. I was too busy to be interested in their babble.
Half-way through the stack of invoices by lunch, I took my sandwich, apple and the newspaper to the lunchroom. Reading news from a real paper wasn’t the same as reading news on-line. I was old-fashioned that way. Glancing through the entertainment section as I slowly chewed tuna on whole wheat, I found the movie ads: TOPLESS REVIEW-NIGHTLY beamed out boldly in black and white. I squirmed in my chair feeling a familiar heat rising through me. Breathing deeply, I attempted to push back the thoughts that threatened to come raging into my mind.
Why did those ads do that to me?
I wondered. At the same time, I relished how I felt.
My body pulsed all afternoon with the heat inside me needing an outlet. As soon as that familiar feeling arose, I knew I’d be driven all afternoon, all day, until tonight when I could complete what I’d begun in the morning. It had happened hundreds of times before, always in the same obsessive way. My sexual arousal could be ignited by the least little thing, the desire would beckon and, suddenly, I’d succumb, propelled by my fantasies until the orgasm came crashing through me.