The Spice of Life (The Transformation #1)

The Spice of Life

The Transformation

Jake Furie Lapin

Copyright © 2014 by
Jake Furie Lapin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.

Blackman Morgan Sachs Group

Jake Furie Lapin

PO Box 7503

Freehold, NJ 07728

www.tsolbook.com

Authors’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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The Spice of Life: The Transformation/ Jake Furie Lapin

Ebook ISBN 9781499145342

DEDICATION

To my one and only child, Jacob. It’s finally done. Love you.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First and foremost, I must thank my parents, Fifi and Nabeel, who have sustained and supported me so much throughout my youth and even today as a man.  To my son, Jacob, to whom my character takes his first name after, who has stood with me in the last few years in the writing and marketing of this book. To my fans and friends, who helped me during my trying years without an expectation of anything in return.  To my “The Spice of Life Vixens”, better known as TSOLVixens, in both my Twitter and Facebook Street Team, who hung in there with me during my ups and downs while writing this book, supported not only the project, but myself as an author and kept the faith and the message.  To my awesome amazing inside supporters of this project, who carried me emotionally and financially, to the project completion.  To the REAL HazelEyed Vixen, who bore my first child, and made me believe that I truly won’t live my life alone, even though our marriage didn’t work out as planned.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PRELUDE

{ 1 }

{ 2 }

{ 3 }

{ 4 }

{ 5 }

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PRELUDE

I started this journey more out of a sense of curiosity

A need to understand and know what journeys I've been missing

The cab was crude, strong, and gentle, big and slow

The first few journeys were lessons learned, I felt new, unseasoned, abused and misguided

But I was willing to keep driving, as I quickly learned I liked the adventures

And that each journey was special, unique, and I wanted more

I refined the cab; new headlights, slimmer body to attract better passengers

Same engine, same pump, better premium gas

I defined the cab ride: Creative partners, Amazing lovers, or Best of friends

And it’s OK if you don’t know what ride you want, or you may want them all

Don’t be scared as being scared is usually the ride to take

I am your driver, I’ll always be there

Just feed the meter, even if it’s just aimless

I apologize if our ride ends short, as I may have felt that our journey was over

Don’t try to understand the driver, as to understand, I need to know as well

But if you enjoy our ride, and if you are unsure of our destination,

Just keep feeding the meter; otherwise, I’ll run out of gas

Occasionally I may ask for other passengers to share the ride, as we have a mutual journey

Or you may want to wear the belt, the tighter the better

We can even swap, and I’ll watch you drive

It might be necessary to take a short break, and stop. And I’ll wait, your driver

Just keep feeding the meter, so I know to keep waiting

However, if I feel ditched, I’ll be disappointed and feel cheated

I would rather you pay your toll, even if you have no money

Just don’t pay with 3 dollar bills or ask me for a discount, as I gave you my cab

And it’s OK if you found a better cab, just pay your toll along with mine

You can kick the tires, slam the door, and give the cab dents

The pain is superficial, temporary, and easily fixed

The engine and pump are unique, and irreplaceable

That pain is real and permanent, not so easily fixed

The cabbie will retire, when there is no one left to feed the meter

{ 1 }

The morning light broke, pushing incessantly through half-closed blinds. Kelli moaned in her sleep.
He was fucking her. Her entire body was alive with pleasure and she was close to cumming, hard. He had her arms pinned over her head, thrusting fully into her, with her naked legs thrown over his shoulders. She lifted her entire body to take him fully. God, it felt good. So incredibly good. His cock must be absolutely huge; her whole pussy was full of him. She was almost there, straining against him to reach her climax. He grabbed her hand, put her fingers in his mouth, and began sucking on them. Suddenly he started to lap at the top of her hand with his tongue. Unsure why he was spending so much time there, Kelli was becoming annoyed. It started to feel strange. Why was his tongue so sloppy? Where was her orgasm? What was…what….?
Her eyes popped open. Immediately jerking her hand off the bed, where it lay on top of the sheets, she found her golden retriever, Samson, looking up at her from the side of the bed with his big wet nose and drooling tongue. Her hand was covered in his drool. “Oh my god! Gross, Samson!” Kelli groaned. “Ewwwwww.” She pushed Samson away and rolled over, feeling disgusted, but the atmosphere of the sex dream was still with her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the face of the man who was fucking her, but it was just a shadow. Someone she’d never even met. Even as she tried to recall the details, the dream disappeared.
Ugh
, she thought.
Forget about it. Better get up.
Even before she rose to check, she knew that the day outside was hard, cold and bright. She groaned inwardly. Not even any snow. Snow would have made today just a little bit easier. She turned from the window, just in time to see Paul twitch and let out a snort in his sleep. Gazing at her husband of twenty-two years, she saw his slack, open mouth, the spot of dried spittle on his stubbled cheek, and the flannel pajamas she had been trying to convince him to throw away for years. Looking at him, a familiar thought came:
He looks ridiculous.
Immediately following that thought was the equally familiar pang of guilt and ache of loneliness.
Maybe we can make a new start this year.
She made another mental note to talk to Paul about New Year’s Eve and fresh beginnings.

It was early still, too early to call either of the girls, so Kelli went downstairs to make coffee. The tree lights were on; she didn’t have the heart to turn them off before bed. They winked at her, reminding her of all those Christmases with Kaitlyn and Simone. The girls used to wake them up at 6:00 a.m., or earlier, especially when they were really small. Paul and Kelli would be dragged out of bed to stumble down in their bathrobes, exhausted from late-night gift-wrapping and glasses of eggnog, while their daughters squealed with delight and tore open stockings and gifts. As the girls became teenagers they slept in much later, but there was still always an air of excitement and anticipation in the house on Christmas morning.

This morning, however, barely felt like Christmas at all. With both children gone for the first time, the emptiness in the house was palpable. Kelli sipped her coffee listlessly and gazed at the gifts under the tree.
Definitely a smaller pile than usual
, she thought. Her eldest daughter, Kaitlyn, was happily settled in California, where she had landed last year after graduating from UC Berkeley with a degree in social work. Simone, Kelli’s youngest, was a sophomore at Columbia, but was currently traveling in Europe. Kelli had mailed all of Kaitlyn’s presents to her in California, but the gifts for Simone were still here. They had discussed it, and decided that it made more sense for Simone to open them when she returned from her law firm internship in the spring. Kelli had pressed her youngest daughter, “Don’t you want something now? Let me send you one or two little gifts, at least!”

Simone had been adamant, “It’s fine, Mom,” she said. “Honestly! I’m going to be in Biarritz for Christmas, and presents would just get in the way. That is, if they even made it here on time.”  Kelli felt mildly hurt, but she let it go. That was one thing about being a therapist: one learned how to let go. Actually doing it, however, could be a whole other matter.

Her thoughts once again turned to Paul. They had agreed to take it easy on the gifts for each other this year. Not that it really made a difference; Paul had never really been a great gift-giver, even in the early days of their marriage. He made an effort for a long time, though. She had to give him that. On a couple of occasions he had even gotten it right; a beautiful silk scarf one year, or a bottle of her favorite perfume. Things had changed lately, and it had become increasingly impossible to mask her disappointment at opening up yet another set of towels, or photo frames. She knew he tried, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he really had so little sense of what she enjoyed, or needed? Eventually, his gifts to her trickled to almost nothing: a token bottle of hand lotion or a pair of gloves. After decades, she’d almost convinced herself that she accepted this part of him, but there was still that tiny sting, every Christmas, every birthday, every anniversary. Yesterday, on Christmas Eve, they decided to get the whole thing over with and had opened each others’ gifts. She bought him the latest tablet, and he bought her a set of new copper-bottomed pots and pans. She wasn’t even surprised. She didn’t even like to cook – never had – but whatever.  It was just another reflection of the state of their relationship.

New Year’s, that’s what they needed to discuss. She had been dreading the conversation, but she knew it had to happen. There couldn’t be a repeat of last year. She cringed, thinking back to the previous January. She had made such an effort. She’d had her hair done in the way that Paul had always liked since they’d been in high school: long and wavy, with subtle highlights. She had gone for a mani/pedi, and had even gotten a Brazilian wax -- something Kaitlyn and Simone had been after her to do for years. She had always been afraid to try waxing, because she’d always had a full bush of pubic hair, she knew it would hurt, but surprisingly, it had been rather clean and enjoyable. She  loved the feel of her bare skin between her legs. Coming home from the wax, she became aroused and wet in anticipation of things to come. She’d bought a new dress, a sexy, burgundy, cocktail number that flattered her figure without being too revealing. After all, her figure was still something to be showcased. She knew this, and was quietly satisfied, although she recognized that good luck had a part to play. If it weren’t for her father’s side of the family, with their long legs and racing metabolisms, it might be a different story. She smiled, thinking of all the times she’d gone out running with her dad. It had paid off in giving her a sleek, long-lasting figure.

In any case, she looked and felt fantastic last New Year’s Eve. People noticed, too. They had gone to dinner at the Howells’ apartment, and all night she felt approving male eyes on her. Jeff Thomas had even started flirting openly and clumsily towards the end of the evening, after he’d had far too many drinks. She’d had a few glasses of wine herself, but she was focused on Paul. It had been a good night for him; he’d been at his best: gregarious, witty, charming. He looked nice, too, with the new shirt she’d bought him for Christmas that year. It almost felt like the old days. She had worried that he would overdo it with the vodka again, but he seemed to pace himself better than usual.

After midnight, just before their taxi arrived to take them home from the party, she’d found him alone in the kitchen. Putting her arms around her husband’s neck, she pressed up against him, nibbled his earlobe, and whispered, “I want you to take me tonight, babe. I need you. I need to be with you.” He’d smiled and responded to her kiss, briefly, before they were interrupted by Andrea Conte, who was looking for some more crackers. The kiss gave her hope, though, and in the taxi she’d even gone so far as to cuddle up next to him and slip her hand up and down his inner thigh. No reaction. He had either ignored it, or was too drunk to notice.