JEFF D BUCHANAN
THE CARNAL EDUCATION OF MISS VICKY
“In graceful poetries of movement, they explored each other, bodies bending to the desire of the other, the lust getting into their hair and on their skin like opium smoke.”
“You see, men do not have a monopoly on the orgasm.”
“The great bane of life,” Camille deliberated, hands anxiously kneading, “gifting women with such an immense capacity for love, then stifling it with a woeful shortage of worthy men to accommodate them.”
“Words have such pitiful value in the face of a proper fucking.”
“The two of them lay still and quiet on the bed, fingers playing with curls of hair,
gentle touches that spoke to future want.”
August 5th, 1918
What a horrible fright today. We were ordered over the top in the middle of a shelling. Never have I seen men so scared, frightened to whiteness and silence. The order came, echoed down the line by staff sergeants, to fix bayonets. A dread hung about the trench as the men fixed their weapons, anticipating what horrors awaited them up there, past the protection of the parapet, because the advantage is always to the defender.
May 11th, 1918
My Bed Friend, With that Most Perfect of Roses,
I received your letter dated the 26th. Please do keep them coming, as your reveries bring me more joy than you could know. They sweep me away from this hell and violence. If I concentrate hard enough I find myself not in the cold, muddy, rat- and lice-infested trenches under the indiscriminate fall of heavy artillery, but rather in your room at the Avalon. The sheer curtains wafting in the afternoon breeze and your beautiful nakedness laid back on the wrought iron bed, amorously awakened among the folds of white bedding and soft pillows. I can become so engrossed in that image that I forget where I am, even when the big guns are letting go, and drift away into your arms, into your breasts, with their hard brown nipples, into the soft, beautiful folds of rose petals between your legs . . . your luscious vagina, your magnificent and wondrous cunt, full with the plumpness of amour, ready for a thorough pounding.
Jeff D Buchanan was born in Dallas, Texas but grew up in California. An award-winning commercial director and former independent film producer, Buchanan has enjoyed a long career as a motorcycle journalist. He has penned two science-fiction novels, a book of short stories, and published a collection of his motorcycle essays.
“The Carnal Education of Miss Vicky” is his first foray into erotic romance. The author currently resides in Mt. Baldy, California.