Oliver Adair. Beautiful on the outside. Damaged on the inside. One bad decision followed by the next leaves him broke and out of options. When propositioned to sell his body he enters into a parallel world of sex for hire. Oliver embarks on a journey that will force him to confront his demons, answer for the sins of the past, and become a man.
It's Valentine's Day. The slowest working day of the year for a bunch of prostitutes. What does Oliver do on a day filled with romantic cliches and mishandled expectations? He does what he always does and tries to make the best of a bad situation and possibly learns something about himself along the way.
My Memoirs series has achieved success beyond what I originally imagined. Sales are excellent and rankings are consistantly high.
The Matchmaker is possibly the perfect woman in my estimation. Unlike younger women, she is supremely aware of who she is and what her place in the universe is. Her pure confidence is the sort of thing one can only aspire to rather than hope to ever achieve. Her body is hers wholly. It does not own her so much a she owns it. It holds no grip on her psyche. She no longer was plagued by media boogey men telling her that she was fat when she was thin, ugly when she was beautiful in a psychological onslaught to get her to buy creams and potions with the promise she might one day be remotely acceptable if only she tried just a little harder.
This is the beauty of the Matchmaker. If she has cellulite on her thighs then such is the way of life. If her breasts are less than perfectly firm, it is the result of tending to the needs of her infant so many years earlier. What was the one thing I learned about the Matchmaker that most took me by surprise – she is a mother. Very few people know this. I only found this out because we were having our weekly meeting when her daughter called.
Our weekly meetings have always taken place in her bedroom. What does it say about me that I wasn’t even remotely taken aback the first time she took me to bed? Probably nothing good. Somehow I had known from the beginning this would be where we would end up. We’re a lot alike the two of us. Sex is sex. Gender is gender. One need not limit oneself based on societal conventions. That and the fact we both like screwing around on the sly. We both get off on being deviant. She has a girlfriend and I’m her employee. I’m the ultimate forbidden fruit. Do I need to note that she is a phenomenal lover? No. But she is. My god that woman knows her stuff. Her hands are like butterflies, her tongue is a velvet ribbon, her skin is a warm satin cover. Her bed is a large four poster thing that is designed for an afternoon of pure sexual bliss.
