The Spice of Life (The Transformation #1) Read online

  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.

  Please direct media inquiries and event booking requests to

  [email protected]

  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. D
efinitely 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.

  When they arrived home, she went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and came back to find Paul passed out on the bed, wearing just his underwear and socks. Her heart sank, but still, she tried to rouse him. She even ran her hand over the soft bulge in his briefs, hoping beyond hope for some response. Nothing. He was dead to the world. So the night ended with Kelli sitting alone in the dark living room, wearing her sexy dress and gazing out the window at the streetlights. She sipped her water and tried not to cry, but the familiar tears came in the end, nonetheless.

  What a way to bring in the New Year. Worse, it had set the tone for the next twelve months. Kelli winced and tried to count up the number of times that she and her husband had been intimate since then. After the New Year’s party, there had been one time in mid-January, in part because Paul felt guilty, she suspected. Then the day after her birthday in April -- Paul had been too drunk on her actual birthday -- twice while on a three-week vacation in Mexico in July, and one random night in November, when she had to practically beg him.

  What a joke, she thought for the thousandth time. I spend every day at work trying to help my clients have satisfying sex lives, and here I am, stuck with Paul. The sexless sex therapist. Great!

  The phone rang, startling Kelli out of her reverie. The connection was faint and crackly, as Simone’s voice came from the other end. “Just wanted to call and say Merry Christmas to you and Dad,” she shouted. “I’m about to go out for lunch on the Champs Elysees.” She sounded bright and distant, and cut the conversation short after just a few minutes.

  “Call again soon, hon!” Kelli told her, but Simone had already hung up the phone. She pictured her beautiful, blonde, 19 year old daughter and felt a strong pang of missing her. She then thought of Kaitlyn -- tall, strong Kaitlyn, and her current boyfriend, Greg. They would still be fast asleep in California; no doubt they would call later in the day.

  When Paul stumbled downstairs a few minutes later, he was angry with her for not waking him. “My youngest daughter calls from France, on Christmas Day, and you don’t get me out of bed to wish her a happy holiday?” he grumbled.

  Kelli shrugged. “You were still sleeping; I figured you needed it.” She held back from adding that if she had tried to wake him, her efforts would have been met with intense resistance.

  “Well, what about Kaitlyn?”

  “Haven’t heard from her yet. I’m sure that she and Greg are still asleep. You know how it is. We’ll try them in a while.”

  There was a pause. She gazed at her stocky, barrel-chested, brown-eyed husband, and mustered up her courage. “Paul, there is something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Jesus, Kelli! I just woke up five minutes ago, and its Christmas morning! Can you give me a break? Does it have to be right now?”

  She felt irritation rise from where it lurked beneath the surface these days, always threatening to come out and sabotage her interactions with Paul. She drew in a deep, calming breath and tried to keep her tone neutral. “I just wanted to ask you something. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Can we talk about it now, before we get distracted? It’s really important to me.”

  He groaned and rolled his eyes. It still amazed her sometimes, how childish he really was. “Fine. What is it?”

  She sat down across from him at the breakfas
t bar and paused for a moment, gathering her courage and her thoughts. “So, you know how we’re going to the Howells’ party again, on New Years’ Eve?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “Well, I just wanted to say that, uh, well, do you remember what happened last year?”

  Paul’s eyebrows shot up, and he ran his hand nervously through his thinning brown hair. “I remember that we had a moderately good time and came home. Was there something I missed?”

  “Maybe. Do you remember how...how I told you last year at the party that I wanted to make love when we got home?”

  Mild surprise changed to complete bewilderment on Paul’s face. “How you came on to me at the party, before we left? Yeah, I kinda remember. I was pretty wasted. But what does that have to do with anything?”

  Kelli felt her composure slipping a little, and her words came out in a rush. “Paul, the thing is...it was really important to me to have us bring in the New Year with intimacy. Maybe it’s partly my fault; I should have expressed it more clearly at the time, instead of just trying to seduce you like that. But what I’m trying to say is, I really needed you that night, and it, uh, it didn’t happen. So I wanted to talk to you this year because I just really don’t want a repeat of last year. I want to have sex on New Year’s Eve when we get home. I need us to make love, as husband and wife. OK? Can we do that? Can we please just do that?”