Sarah Douglas spent the bulk of her
days—and all of her nights, of late—alone. She worked from a small office
tucked in the corner of the cozy tropical beach house purchased with an
inheritance from an obscenely wealthy uncle who she'd never met. It would
be an idyllic life in an idyllic location if she had someone idyllic with
whom to share it.
EROTICA, EROTIC ROMANCE, CONTEMPORARY
Sarah Douglas spent the bulk of her days—and all
of her nights, of late—alone. She worked from a small office tucked in the
corner of the cozy tropical beach house purchased with an inheritance from an
obscenely wealthy uncle who she'd never met. It would be an idyllic life in an
idyllic location if she had someone idyllic with whom to share it.
Her relationship history provided enough fodder for a How-NOT-To manual on
dating and romance. The most recent debacle ended with a pathetic whimper the
week before Christmas. In fact, her day's agenda included returning the rather
expensive gift she'd purchased for Richard T. Worthington, Esquire. Or Dick,
as she'd since come to refer to him.
She decided that her relationships failed because she swam in the wrong sea. The
fish she needed to catch inhabited other, livelier, more interesting seas. Seas
swarming with handsome, debonair men with strong arms and vibrant personalities.
Not her typical catch: the pasty-fleshed geek who hung out on the reef all day,
finding his fill of titillation in the new season of Leverage.
Maybe, Sarah admitted to herself one particularly candid evening after half a
bottle of chardonnay, she should open her exploration even further. Women,
especially the type she'd never be—namely, vivacious and ultra
feminine—intrigued her. She didn't quite know if she wanted to bed them or be
them. It was difficult enough to find a life partner. Why rule out half the
Her experience with women was limited to a singular fuzzy episode in college.
She couldn't even recall the girl's name, but she could visualize her as if it
were only yesterday. Rum, Diet Coke, and a bawdy game of Truth or Dare led to a
night of clumsy—yet quite satisfying—girl sex. Sarah thought the experience bore
repeating while sober to determine whether she could be content with such a
The new year brought, as usual, a slate of resolutions. To the de rigueur
fitness, diet, and organization commitments, Sarah added a new one:
extroversion. She knew that sort of about-face wasn't going to be easy,
especially while working in a solitary profession at a secluded location.
However, she was determined to overcome her reticence to "meat space"
socialization and cultivate a crop of friends.
Even in college, Sarah hadn't been much of a partier. Crowds exhausted her.
Small talk bored her. Inanity made her want to vomit. She studiously avoided
situations that combined the three. Thus, her new resolution was proving a
Each evening, online, she poured out her frustrations to her closest
confidantes: a forum of discerning technical writers, much like her, who
provided commiseration and assured her that she was indeed worthy of such
quality companionship. However, their helpfulness ended there, for they—like
her—lacked the requisite "Social Butterfly" skill set.
It took a good two weeks before Sarah accepted that drastic measures were
necessary. She was going to have to have…