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Passions: An Erotic Novel

by Ronald Cal

282 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); Adult Content; catalogue #04-2500; ISBN 1-4120-4692-0; US$24.99, C$31.00, EUR20.15, £13.96

Deliciously erotic, Passions seduces you with the sensuous fantasies of young Emily. You won't stop turning the pages once she puts her ear to the bedroom wall.

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About the Book      About the Author      Excerpts      Catalogue Information

About the Book

Deliciously erotic, Passions seduces you with the fantasies of Emily, a young lady at the portal of her sexual awakening. Naïve, manipulative and willful, Emily is haunted by agoraphobia (a fear of public places), and seeks refuge in the rural California home of Millie, a high school teacher.

Emily, in her secluded world, is romantically and sexually constrained by her neurosis. The solution is to put pen to paper and visualize the erotic world denied to her. But merely writing of unfulfilled pleasures is hardly exciting enough for the eighteen year old voyeur. Enigmatic and hauntingly beautiful, she plays on the repressed desires of Millie to spin a web from fantasy to reality.

The daring and risky demands of Emily's story entwine the unsuspecting Millie in a world of adult movies and exotic swinger parties. Emily thrills at the thought of pulling the strings of her characters but finds that her own psyche is being manipulated by real people unknown to her. Through an intricate web of fantasy and need, Emily becomes a player in one ultimate adventure; the outcome of which will determine her fate.

This tale pushes eroticism to the edge. A first novel by Ronal Cal, it is a 'must read' for anyone who has dwelled on the realm of sexual fantasy. Written by a former teacher and swinger, it is the ultimate bedtime story. You won't put it down once Emily puts her ear to the bedroom wall.

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About the Author

His first erotic novel, Ronald Cal draws on his rich and pleasurable experience in the world of swinging to spin a tale of pulsating erotica. A former high school teacher, his characters are drawn from the halls of professional respectability in to the steamy bedrooms of hedonism.

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Excerpts

The anticipation was more than I could bear. I parted the blinds and watched as another car drove down the street. Millie and I lived in a rural area five miles out of town and few cars passed, so any one of them could have belonged to her. It was a rainy night and all that I could see were the occasional shimmering headlights, each car warily passing ancient sycamores that stood sentinel on both sides of the road.

Millie had phoned earlier to say that they were on their way. That had been twenty minutes ago. How long could it possibly take, even with the rain? I tried to breathe calmly. I couldn't. My heart was pounding and I could do nothing to still it. Then I saw it. Her car was unmistakable with its one bright headlight, one dim and a mangled front fender. I watched as she pulled into the drive. After a moment, the car doors opened. He was with her. I waited no longer. Letting the blinds go with a snap, I bolted into my bedroom.

I shut the door just as I heard footsteps on the front porch. Hours earlier I had pushed the front of my sofa against the wall of my room. Now, silently, I settled inside as if it were a cocoon. Cattycorner to the sofa was my bed, which was against a wall that divided my bedroom from that of Millie. The walls of the house were almost as thin as the rice paper partitions of a Japanese Inn. Sound, I had long since learned, passed through them effortlessly.

The front door opened and Millie and the man entered. I heard them shed their raingear and the door was closed behind them. Millie was talking to him in her seductive voice. Then I heard her heels click on the old linoleum tile as she went into the kitchen. A few moments passed and I could hear the tinkling of glasses and the creaking of the living room sofa.

The man had a young sounding voice. It lacked the tenor of other men that she occasionally dated. There was a pause in their conversation and my imagination began to spin. There would have to be, I sensed, a gentle touch followed by deliberate sips of wine. The suspense was overwhelming. I had to know what was happening. I put my ear to the wall and prayed that no creaking sound would come from my dilapidated couch.

I was so intent on being silent while positioning myself that I missed their first words. Frustrated, I put my ear closer to the cold wall. It was not comfortable, but I was determined to concentrate and soon the sounds became distinct.

"...Pretty blouse, I like the high collar, those ruffles. Very prim, Victorian," I heard him say. "That's very sweet. I like Victorian, but women of that age were not as you would imagine. That was a myth invented by men."

He laughed. She had put on some slow jazz. The volume was low and I could still hear everything that was said. Millie eventually excused herself and went into her bedroom. I heard her closet door open and I knew that she was removing her dress and slipping into her nightgown. A few moments later she reentered the living room.

The wine glasses must have been refilled for I heard a bottle being set upon the coffee table. The talking slowed and then stopped altogether. An involuntary shiver passed through me. I heard the man's shoes drop onto the carpet and there was a little creaking noise as weight settled against the plush end of the sofa. It was in the same place that I usually sat and I knew the sound well. It was followed by a soft murmur that came from Millie. I was shaking with anticipation. The house was small and carved up into little rooms. The "parlor," as it was called when built in the twenties, was rectangular and narrow. Thus, the reclining couple was only ten feet from my bedroom wall. Behind that wall was my world; my darkened little room where I spun out my fantasies. But tonight, this very night, would be totally different from all the others.

I glanced back at my clock. The red metric numbers stared back at me, then blinked the next minute as if a moment of my life had suddenly fallen away into an irretrievable abyss. The couple had been on the couch for over twenty minutes. It seemed like eons. They had been so quiet and I had been straining to hear anything, but it had been in vain. Perhaps they had been exploring with only their fingertips ever so lightly; nothing that would elicit the prayed for gasp or moan. Then I heard more sounds; perhaps just the shifting of weight and position. And, again, there was silence. Maddening silence. I could only imagine what was happening. The couch groaned again and there was a sound like a zipper being pulled. They exchanged a few words; it was muted and I had to hold my breath so that I could hear every nuance. I dared not exhale. I tried to picture the scene beyond my wall. Was it the same as in the movies that I begged Millie to buy for me? Were his hands touching the fabric of her gown or had they already discovered the heat that lay beneath?

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Catalogue Information

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