Awakenings and French Songs
By Nell Iris
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2019 Nell Iris
ISBN 9781634868471
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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Dedicated to anyone who’s ever been moved to tears by a great song or changed their life because of music. I feel you.
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Awakenings and French Songs
By Nell Iris
I slam the door to the men’s room stall so hard, it bounces back and hits me on the elbow. With an undignified yelp and a grimace, I close it more carefully, turn the lock, and lean against the door. Kneading the sore spot on my elbow, I groan. What’s wrong with me?
Today is my birthday and my friends took me out to celebrate as they do every year. This year, they surprised me with a foam party and a very kind and thoughtful sentiment of even if you’re old in body, you need to stay young at heart.
Real nice.
Usually, I’m a big fan of foam parties, even though I haven’t been to one in ages. The bubbles bring out my inner child, and I can’t help bouncing around, waving my arms, and singing along to the music like I’m a teenager again.
Most of all, I appreciate the abundance of half-naked guys getting all slick and soapy. I love sliding my chest against a slippery body and the not-so-secret hand-jobs under the foam where no one can see what’s going on.
But today, I wasn’t the least bit tempted to throw off my mesh T-shirt and fling myself in the middle of the writhing masses. As soon as my friends disappeared onto the dance floor, I stomped to the dry, suds-free bar, where I spent a couple hours dodging invites from horny guys and downing one drink after another until I remembered I had to work early tomorrow. Dealing with insurance companies sucks on a regular day. Doing it while hungover is torture.
So I downed a bottle of water, slithered away from another set of grabby hands, and marched to the bathroom. Just to take a piss, not to hide. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I let out a sound somewhere between a huff and a
