Walking Marina and it’s everything that only an insider could share about modeling—male modeling. It’s raw and it’s racy and you can thank me later. (Surprise me.)
So I suppose it would be rude to not give you at least a glimpse of it. You have, after all, invited me over. And I was raised to come bearing gifts.
In the hopes of whetting your appetites without ruining your panties I decided I’d go easy on you and take it from the top:
It was midnight in late spring in a condominium on Central Park. A middle-aged woman with an appetite for extremes straddled wide over her bed and a boy. She planted her knees at his waist. She paused in control. Then she lowered herself, hard, to entirety. The boy closed his eyes. The woman breathed deep. She arched her back. She moaned. The bed began to rock. She moved slowly and evenly in effortless aches until her thighs flexed tighter, her panting came quicker, and she stared glazed with a smirk in the mirror. Her breasts and buttocks bobbed wildly with enhancements as her hair slapped across her face, splashing sweat and saliva at the man filming everything beside them.
The night continued until the sheets were soaked and the woman was satisfied. Without a word, she strolled naked from the bed through the condo. She set an envelope by the door, fixed her favorite martini, then took her time in the bathroom as the man fell asleep and the boy dressed in silence. The following morning, each returned to society. The man ordered scotch aboard a flight to Los Angeles. The woman walked comfortably through Central Park. And the boy, red-eyed, unkempt, clutching a brand new portfolio, sat quietly in the corner of a casting—waiting, watching, thinking about things few would ever imagine, before bringing his envelope to the bank.
Thanks so much for having me, ladies! Please don’t hesitate to share with your friends. You can find Walking Marina online in paperback and e-book, and you can find me at: www.drhildebrand.com