Being Eloise (An Erotic Romance Collection, Books 1-3) by Spanks Eloise

Author:Spanks, Eloise [Spanks, Eloise]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Satirev Books
Published: 2012-11-29T22:00:00+00:00

ONE ADAM & EVE

I dialed the A/C’s temperature down as far as it would go, but the arctic-blue color on the faceplate didn’t at all match the lukewarm air puffing from the dusty vents. It didn’t help that the infrequent San Francisco sun had decided to pick this hour to emerge and bake the nearly floor-to-ceiling bank of windows of this large room. I chipped a small piece of whitewash from the window with my fingernail and looked out. I saw the windows of the characterless building across the street, small windows set in brick with window A/C units in the lower casements, affixed like barnacles. I saw paperwork piled on desks, wilted plants in too-small pots, and not a soul. I could hear honking outside, though, but signs of life here were different from other big cities I’d been in. San Francisco streets—at least out here in the former industrial areas away from the touristy vistas—were unappreciated and worn. Even the honking of cars was less urgent and more cautious, as though any of the nondescript buildings could suddenly roll open a wide metal door and swallow passersby whole.

It was like the A/C unit wasn’t even trying. I kicked it with the toe of my boot, then turned and resumed my pacing in front of my clients. I was dressed in the fur coat they’d brought for this session. I could hear one of my colleagues barking orders a few rooms away, here on the second floor of a former textile factory that had its heyday back in the sepia days. Now, though, the building had a plain graffiti-covered door, a buzzer, and Stanley, who sat just inside and kept things safe for us. The first floor used to be a punk club, years ago, but had been vacant for decades, or so Stanley told me. We all loved Stanley. Maybe sixty-five, big as a house, and never one to ask any of the women what we did up here. Maybe he knew everything. Maybe he’s secretly the owner. What he couldn’t see, though, is this:

I wore Eve’s fur coat while Eve wore my blindfold. Eve isn’t her real name, of course, nor are most of the names in this memoir of sorts—of sorts because I’m turning my daily deeds into words fairly quickly, without the benefit of letting them age a few decades. I figure that life’s too short to put off inking your memories. My motto: these are the halcyon days, believe it or not. Live now, as the cliché goes, to which I amend, Write now.

This desire to live in the present, to the fullest, was a quality I admit to liking in my clients, especially in Eve and her husband, call him Adam. Not that I had many clients. But the few I had and the existence of a workplace for me gave me a routine, albeit a highly unusual one. I hadn’t had a routine since I last worked as a ghostwriter, back in that apartment above the garage (see Tongue Tied).

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