Love pearls on spicy horseradish E-Book

Joanna Turbowicz

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 84

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Ten friends talk about their amorous adventures over dinner. They talk about good and bad sex, eroticism, lust and one-night stands. They debate when a man is a good or a bad lover and how different women's fantasies are. This book is a real grab bag, fast-paced, erotic, funny, full of spicy punchlines and always full of surprises. Joanna Turbowicz has succeeded in writing an exciting, stimulating and exciting book - a modern "Decameron" from a female perspective.

Leseprobe

"It's good to think about sex.

At least then you won't get any ideas."

Elmar Schenkel

Prologue

Wonderful!

At last!

So nice to see you!

Gosh, how long has it been since we've all seen each other?

They all laugh, hug each other, the atmosphere is exuberant, fleeting kisses are exchanged left and right.

The friends, or the girls' clique as they call themselves, meet up as often as they can, usually to eat, drink and chat. Sometimes one of them has a pizza evening, sometimes it's just baguettes, cheese and red wine on the table. Only Agnes, who is proud of her cooking skills, always has a proper meal with three or four courses.

Of course, they also like to go out. Cinema, exhibitions, opera, concerts, beer gardens - anything is possible. But they are rarely all together at once. It's just the way life goes: Whether it's yoga, an Italian course or a family reunion, birthdays or trips - getting ten people together is a real challenge. Sometimes there are also major obstacles that keep them apart. Last year alone, Viola had a hip operation, Verena had to get a new knee, and Esther disappeared from the scene for a while because she was looking after her daughter and a new grandson in faraway Hanover.

Corona has also slowed her down from time to time. But now the time has come again. They have all managed to meet up together. All ten of them.

Today is supposed to be a bit festive. Agnes is tonight's hostess, so there's sure to be a delicious menu, and for now they're drinking champagne in the kitchen.

Why is our WhatsUp group now called "Garden Flowers", asks Verena. Didn't it just used to be called "Girls"?

Oh yes, laughs Sabrina. That's right. You weren't there. That was last summer. There were six of us in the beer garden, and suddenly a rather drunk man stands next to us. He leans on our table with both arms and slurs: "S-so beautiful ladies. W-like the flowers. B-flowers in the B-beer garden. G-garden flowers." Then he disappeared again and we held our stomachs tightly from laughing. And decided to call each other that from now on.

Nice story, says Verena. It's a wonderful name for us.

Our message volume is really considerable, Esther complains. But at least we're silent on our cell phones, as quiet as the garden flowers.

Now they're all laughing.

When they finally sit down at the festively laid table, Julia is beaming: finally the top ten are together again!

Yes, comments Agnes. From the decimal system to the ten commandments to the countdown - and to us - ten is simply the number of perfection.

I'm sure you're right. But I can think of something else," smiles Esther.

What is it?

Decamerone.

Decamerone?" Julia wonders. What does that mean?

Yes, I know that too, says Viola. Erotic stories by Boccaccio. 14th century, if I remember correctly. I read that when I was about 15. My ears were red with excitement.

That's right, Esther comes forward again. Ten people fled from the plague in Florence, holed up in a beautiful villa in the countryside, and each had to tell a story every day for their own entertainment. For ten days. That's why it's called the Decamerone. From deca - ten. Well, and these stories were usually pretty hearty.

Were they just women like us?" asks Julia again.

No, Agnes intervenes. I've just googled it: There were seven women and three men.

We should do the same today.

What do you mean by "make"?

Well, tell erotic stories, says Esther. Here and now. We're making our own Decameron.

You're crazy!

Have you gone mad!

Listen, we're all plus minus 50 here and you want us to tell each other raunchy stories?

Quiet, girls, quiet, Esther intervenes in the loud cries of protest. Firstly, I'm sure we've all experienced something like this in the past. At least I hope so. It doesn't have to be from today. Secondly, the story could be made up. Maybe we'll even pretend they're all made up? Nobody has to be embarrassed. It's not supposed to be porn, it's just supposed to be a bit sizzling.

Silence.

And then suddenly Karin says: I'll do it. I'll tell you a story. And it's actually true.

Karin

- the bicycle

Can you remember Agnes' 40th birthday?

They all nod. Yes, they all knew each other back then and were all invited.

Her current hostess had recently inherited a lot of money. A rich hereditary uncle, they heard. Several houses in Düsseldorf, it was rumored. In any case, she could afford a lavish party for her milestone birthday.

The celebration took place at Bamberger Haus. There was a sit-down meal at several round tables, flowers were everywhere and there was even a DJ.

I was there with Peter, says Karin.

Peter was her husband. For 100 years, she always joked. Two children, a condominium in Munich, a solid relationship. They liked and respected each other. There wasn't much more to say.

They danced after dinner. When a stranger asked her to dance, she thought nothing of it. He was here, so he probably belonged somehow.

His name was Jürgen. He wasn't particularly good-looking. He was a bit slight, barely taller than her. But he was a wonderful dancer. She told him that too.

Yes, he nodded. I'm really good at three things. Thinking, dancing and shagging.

Did he really say that?

Were you outraged?

Did you keep dancing with him?

And then?

All the girls are talking excitedly to each other.

Was she outraged? No, surprised rather, taken by surprise. You don't tell a woman that, she thought. But before she could answer, Peter appeared next to the couple. He was tired, he said, and he wanted to go home. Well, he had never been much of a joker. But at that moment she was almost grateful to him. It relieved her of an unusually strange situation.

Yes, goodbye then, she said goodbye to Jürgen somewhat abruptly. I have to go.

Are you coming back? he asked. I'm waiting for you.

My first thought was - he's crazy, Karin continues. But at home, after a kiss goodnight and the usual hint from Peter: Please turn off the light in the bathroom soon, you know I can't sleep with the light on, my feelings suddenly changed. Yes. I turned off the light, but instead of undressing, removing my make-up and going to my room, I went to the front door. I left the apartment very quietly and returned to the Bamberg house.

Because suddenly I knew: I wanted to see that crazy guy again. Do you understand? He didn't ask for my phone number, didn't sweet-talk me, didn't give me any big compliments. And then this sentence - I'll wait for you. It was like a pull.

So, was he there? The girls lean forward, completely under the spell of the story.

Yes, he was there. He was leaning casually against the entrance door to the hall. He took my hand as I approached him, kissed it on the inside and pulled me onto the dance floor. Without a word. We danced very closely, he held me tightly, touched my face and hair very lightly with his lips. And we both still didn't say a word. I don't think I've ever wanted a man as much as I wanted him at that moment in my entire life. And then, after that one dance, we left. Just like that. In the cab, he kissed me for the first time. My God, I longed for that kiss. I was shaking all over - like a fried fish before his first date. We drove to a hotel. I was a little confused at first. A room for one night and a wife at home, I assumed. But he who sits in a glass house, I thought further ... after all, my husband was also sleeping unsuspectingly in our apartment. But Jürgen obviously didn't live in Munich. Don't be surprised, he whispered in my ear. I live in Hamburg.

I'll never forget that elevator ride in my life, Karin continues. He lifted my skirt up to my waist and removed my panties in one movement. As if in a trance, I stepped out of my panties and he put them in his jacket pocket. Fetishist, I mumbled quietly, and he laughed.

His room was right opposite the elevator. Thank goodness, because my skirt was still hitched up. When the elevator stopped and I tried to pull it down, Jürgen just shook his head and held my hands.

As they were, they immediately landed on the bed in Jürgen's room. He only took off his jacket. He threw it carelessly on the floor. Karin began to unbutton his shirt ... Shh, he whispered quietly. Not yet. Now stroke yourself for the first time. Well, it wasn't as if she hadn't done it before. But until now she had only ever done it alone. Masturbating in front of a man was a different challenge. But she didn't care at that moment. She was so eroticized - I would probably have jumped out of the window if he had wanted me to, she says and laughs. Well, at least from the second floor.

She did it. It was arousing to feel so shameless. She wished he would touch her breasts. But he didn't. But then, just before her climax, he slipped a finger into her vagina. And that was ... unbelievable. Stunning, shocking, upsetting. An explosion. She still can't find the words for it today. She had never had such a strong orgasm before. Her whole body shook, her hair stood on end and she felt as if she was sinking into deep waves.

Only very slowly did she return to the surface. That was beautiful, she told him. And then they both laughed.

We were suddenly acting completely childish. We were fooling around, hitting each other with the pillows, Jürgen fell out of bed onto the floor, and we thought that was hilarious too. We laughed even more.

The story about laughter eases the tension at the table. The girls audibly catch their breath. And then?, asks one of them. Have you slept together at all?