A Touch of Fiction

To be so close to gaining professional recognition in the tough world of archaeology, only to be brought down by the King of Lottare's irascible son?

How do I cope with the stress of having two kids in college, then discovering my husband's job is on the line? I write! I imagine myself on the fictitious Mediterranean island of Lottare.

"Cucciola mia, you're hurt. I will kiss it away," he murmured and gently closed his mouth over hers. The glide of his tongue against the underside of her cut lip caused her breath to hitch. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest. His kiss was electric, dazzling. Her cells leapt to attention and cried for mercy.

But she didn't want him to show mercy. She wanted to be held, touched and tasted by him.

At night with my not-so-Italian-nevertheless-hottie-in-my-eyes husband, we frolic with abandon in the privacy of our bedroom, which is great therapy! It's a thousand times more enjoyable than getting a massage or visiting my former therapist, (not to mention cheaper).

A cramp twisted the muscle in Aris's right calf and he realized he'd stopped in the middle of his hard sprint. He stretched the muscle to relieve the pain, all the while watching the woman adjust bikini bottoms that barely covered a firm rounded buttocks.

Okay, I admit as I run down our country lane that I'm a middle age woman with a not-so-firm buttocks. And nobody is ogling my sagging body except for the neighbor's cows. (Did I mention humor is also a great stress reliever for me?) But as I gasp in cold air after jogging a pitiful half mile, I imagine a sparkling blue ocean lapping against sugary sand.

And when I drag my butt home then munch on carrots and celery sticks smeared with a dab of peanut butter, (because we can't afford meat anymore), I tell myself I'm a vegan. I'm finally going on the diet I always said I was going on. Yup. I'm working on getting this body back into shape. Plus, I can't afford a heart attack now!

But most of all, I look out the window and count the hours until my freshman college daughter, Audrey Harchar, drives up the lane, brimming with excitement as she lets me relive my carefree college days through her eyes.