Now the fourth volume of my little “Marion F.” series is available via Amazon: “Party Leftovers”. At Marion’s birthday party all protagonists of the previous volumes meet for the first time. In this respect, the volume forms a first bracket around what has happened so far.
The prize question now is: What does Marion look like to you? Would you like to hear more stories about her life? Whether it’s about her work at the advertising agency, training in her jiu-jitsu class, chatting with her friends, or meeting new guys? Feel free to use the comments section here on the blog to give your feedback.
Here’s what the story is about:
In “Party Leftovers,” Marion tells about the morning after her birthday party: Not only is her loft littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays and other party garbage – there is also a naked leftover guest in her bed. He would like to spend a little more time with Marion – but has no sense of what would do her good right now, namely a little help cleaning up. Well, sometimes, as a woman, you have to be dominant.
A couple of meddlesome rays of sunlight sought their way through the curtains and tickled my face. My head was pounding. The noise of the blackbirds discussing their state of mind in the birch tree in front of the open window didn’t make things any better. I yawned, pushed through my back and, stretching leisurely, spread my arms.
In doing so, my hand came across an obstacle that didn’t belong there. Not at my side. Not in my bed.
Cautiously, I turned my head and discovered a tuft of blond hair beside me. The rest of the body was snuggled under the covers. I lifted my head to take a look at the face of the peacefully slumbering surprise guest. Who the hell was he?
He was maybe in his early thirties. Skin like amber. Three-day beard. Muscled upper arms.
The obligatory glance under the covers revealed two things: yes, I was stark naked. And so was the guy beneath me. At least he had a nice butt and muscular legs.
Did we have…? I slid a finger into my cunt and smelled it. If we had, this guy had used a condom. That was a small consolation. Fucking alcohol.
Slowly it dawned on me. Karin, a colleague from the agency, had brought him to my birthday party last night. What was his name? Marvin? Martin? No, it was something biblical: Matthew, or – now I remembered again: Marcus. But if he was in bed with me, who had Karin gone off with? I could only remember everything vaguely.