FanStory.com - Writer's Remorseby Thesis

As one of the keynote speakers at the Steamy Lit Convention this year, I had not planned on meeting up with any of my former editors. To my surprise, three were at the Anaheim, California event, trolling for new authors.

I ran into Sylvia McNair, the editor of my first book, “The Eyes Say It All”, published in 1999. It was a very erotic story about how a man could tell if a woman was interested in having an affair, even if she was in a relationship, married, or just bored with her sex life. Sylvia had at least two of those attributes and was very willing to collaborate in the research for the book. She was the main character whom I renamed to protect her identity.

After all these years, she was still a stunning woman and had that same craving look in her eyes when I saw her at the opening cocktail party reception on the first night of the convention.

“Well, well, well, the infamous John St. Clair does still exist. John, darling you were the one man I would have left my Geoffrey for, but when I heard you were still chasing skirts after our collaboration, I was crushed.”

“Sylvia, we had a very intense relationship, but I knew you would never leave Geoffrey, and I was not ready to settle down yet. I think it was all for the best. You are a stunning woman and perhaps I made a mistake, like many others I’ve made along the way, but at least you have stability with Geoffrey, and you look happy.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone approaching me quickly from the left.

“John, when I saw you were a keynote speaker, I had to attend this conference. We have some unfinished business, Mr. St. Clair!”

“Susan, it’s so nice to see you. You’re looking lovely, as usual. Let me introduce you to Sylvia McNair, the editor of my first book.”

“Nice to meet you Sylvia, but do you mind if I steal John for a few minutes? I have a few people he needs to meet. I promise I’ll bring him back quickly,”

“Well, we were...”

“Thanks for understanding. It will only be a few minutes.”

Whisked away by Susan, she walked me directly to the elevator and pressed the button for the eighth floor. “Where are you taking me, Susan?”

“To a private party. It’s by invitation only.”

She stopped at room 812. Unlocking the door, she pulled me into the room. She pushed me against the door, unzipped her dress, revealing a completely nude body in red stiletto heels, and pressed her body into mine, kissing me passionately.

“You have a unique way of saying you missed me, Susan.”

“Do you have a problem with it, John?”

“Um, no. It’s just...”

“Why don’t writers just learn to shut up and enjoy an experience?”

Speechless, I succumbed to her advance. To say she was an incredibly direct woman would not do her determination justice. Within what seemed like seconds, she had us both naked, in the bedroom, and engaging in passionate sex.

After an hour of luxuriating in her charms, I was exhausted. She had been in total control of our encounter and was insatiable. Realizing my stamina was waning, she paused. “What’s wrong, John? Can’t keep up with me?” she asked flashing a dazzling smile.

“I never could, Susan.”

“You mean the King of Erotica; John St. Clair has admitted defeat in the bedroom?”

“I will concede every time to a woman as sexy and devious as you, Susan.”

“Lol, you’re too easy. Get dressed, you owe me dinner.”

When we arrived at the lobby, there were over fifty or so conference attendees waiting to catch a glimpse of their favorite authors. Three or four fans block our path, asking for signatures and wanting to obtain advice on what it takes to become a published author.

The commotion drew a crowd of others, making it impossible to leave the lobby. Susan kissed me on the cheek, saying “Enjoy your groupies, but you still owe me dinner.”

Left alone with the gathering crowd, I tried to answer some of their questions and was able to escape, promising to add a session during the conference to answer their questions. Luckily, this appeased them, and I broke away after a half hour.

Physically and mentally exhausted, I navigated to the hotel bar and took an empty seat. The bartender came to take my order, but before I could give it to him, a familiar voice said: “He’ll take a double Bushmills on the rocks, and I’ll have a Kettle One Martini with blue cheese olives.”

Turning toward the voice, I realized I was the dumbest man in the world. Why did I ever let this woman I truly loved, slip away from me? Of all my dalliances with members of the opposite sex, she was the one who captured my heart, and I was too self-centered with my career to understand what was important in life. “I still love the sound of your voice Michelle. It’s been too long since I’ve heard it.”

“It wasn’t my choice, John. Anyway, it’s good to see you. I heard you were one of the main speakers at the conference and thought it would be well attended by want to be John St. Clair’s, so I’m here to do some marketing for new writers.”

“And, you knew I would eventually be at the hotel bar at the end of the day.”

“Old habits never die.”

“How cliche, but so true. Why did you find me? I remember the last time we were together, I was an idiot for letting my ego rule my decisions. I have so many regrets about our breakup and the pain I caused you. I hope in these last fifteen years, you have been able to forgive me for my behavior. The one thing I want you to know is that I never stopped loving you. In fact, I still do. Wow, I can’t believe I just said that out loud to the woman who probably still hates me.”

When our drinks arrived, she said: “I’ve never hated you, but I was disappointed. I thought we had a future.”

“Maybe we still do. I don’t want to blow it this time if we do. Here’s to the possibility that love can prevail at last.”

“Who knows? It might be worth a try.”