Mia's Journey: An Erotic Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

and she opened up.
     
    It is great to hear someone say the things that are rattling around inside my head! I think I told you, I don’t know any other writers.
     
    I am in my late twenties. I have a Bachelor’s Degree in education and am currently a substitute teacher. I write on days I’m not subbing. I have been writing for only about a year.
    I really am into Romance novels, ones that lean towards more ‘adult’ themes. As I mentioned before, I wrote a 70,000+ story and am about 1/3 of the way done with a second.
    I read a lot, which is what got me interested in writing.
     
    I think my stories sound good, but I don’t know if that is just because they came from my head! I average about 800- 1000 words on days
    I can write. Some days the words seem to write themselves and other days I have to stop and think often. Sometimes it feels like the story is eating my brain, and I can’t wait to get it out! Does that sound crazy? :)
     
    As for fear, I am the person that always over thinks things. I never put myself too far out there because it is safer not to try.
    Does that make sense? Writing is the only thing that has made me not want not to pull back. That is part of the reason why I don’t want to stop.
    Geez, I sound like I am in therapy.
     
    Thanks,
    Mia
     
    The man sat back and read her email. Feeling it, tasting it. He suddenly realized what the feeling was. He liked her. The thought took him totally by surprise.
    Why? He asked himself. It wasn’t sexual. Then another feeling hit him just as hard. She’s me, years and years ago. So long, it might as well have been another lifetime.
     
    The man recognized himself in the reflective beauty of her words.
     

“Love is something far more than desire for sexual intercourse; it is the principal means of escape from the loneliness which afflicts most men and women throughout the greater part of their lives.”
     
    Bertrand Russell
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    The prostitute knocked on the hotel room door, and the man opened it.
     
    She was pretty, probably a co-ed, bleached-blond hair, but it didn’t look bad. She was no more than twenty-three. She wasn’t dressed like a whore at least. She wore very little make-up, she didn’t need to, and a gym outfit.
    She looked like a young soccer mom. Maybe she was.
    “Hi. Can I come in?”
    “Sorry. Sure.”
    She walked past the man, and he checked out her ass. Not bad. She continued walking into the room, checking things out as she did. She was looking around for some clue as to who this John was. The man didn’t bring any personal items with him, so good luck with that one.
    “Did they tell you on the phone how much I charge?”
    “I seem to remember they didn’t forget that part.”
    “Well…?
    The man gave her the money. The transaction finished, she unzipped her top and took it off. The man looked at her. She had nice tits. He had gotten the “mom” part of the soccer mom right anyway. She took off her sweatpants as well and stood in her underwear, waiting for a cue from the man.
    “So what are you into?”
    “I wish I knew,” said the man.
    “Huh?”
    “Nothing. What’s your name?”
    “Candy, what’s yours?”
    Yeah, right.
    “You can call me ‘That Guy.’”
    She giggled. “Is that your first, or last name?”
    “Both. My parents were simple people. You see, their last name was Guy and they only referred to me as ‘That.’”
    “You’re putting me on, right?”
    “Probably.”
    “OK, That Guy, it’s your money and you paid for an hour, but the clock is ticking.”
    He looked at her eyes and could see the hardness just starting to creep into them. He decided to move his mind up a plane and see what he could see in them. He slipped the mental gear into place. He noticed his lower mind was carrying on the conversation and putting her at ease. Good.
    He stared at her eyes. They were bright blue. Fake contacts , he thought, then slipped behind them. There was blackness and rot gnawing at