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About the author:
What inspired you to write your book?
I like hot books with good plot.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Crossing her legs, she leans deep into the chair across from my desk, relief evident on her face that it’s over. Her long, slim legs tapping and running like a motor. I watch mesmerized as the heel of her black stiletto bobs up and down. With my elbow on the arm of my chair, I bring my fingers toward my face, resting my thumb on my jaw so she can’t pick up on the twitch I get when I’m watching her skirt inch up with each tap of her foot. “Jenny, I’d like you to tell me how you think that went.”
She huffs. “It was awful. I didn’t have command of the material, I wasn’t animated enough. Awful. I’m sorry.”
I nod my agreement. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I’m on again tomorrow?” I again nod, running my middle finger over my lips.
She exhales audibly and through her teeth. “Well, shit. I mean…um…I’d like to watch some anchor tapes. Mr. Nash I—”
“You may call me Kento.”
“Kento.” My name from her lips is something I like very much. Are you Japanese?”
“Japanese-American. Or just American.”
“Oh, of course. Kento, I was thinking if I could be given a field assignment, it might be easier and allow me to get my feet wet.”
No. Absolutely not. I have to have her in the studio. I feel a strong desire to be near her. “The thing is Jenny, the contract we signed with your university reads that we’d give you every opportunity to learn the ins and outs of the studio. You can’t really get a good hands-on experience in the field.” I don’t know if the contract reads that way or not. Right now I’m just bullshitting, but the odds that she’s going to go read the contract and then correct me in the event I’m wrong are slim.
“In your own words, not that of an instructor, I want you to tell me how you feel. What happens when the lights come on? What are you thinking? What’s going through your mind?”
She clears her throat. “Mostly I’m trying to remember how I practiced my story. And then the more I focus on remembering, the more I stare into the lights and it’s like their taunting me—like they want me to forget. It seems like they get more intense and I try to blot them out and focus on the material when I’m literally frightened to death.”
“Have you ever been enrolled in therapy?”
Her jaw drops and she gasps. “You think I need a therapist?”
“No, but I think you might benefit from speaking to a professional. I’m no doctor, but it sounds like anxiety or a panic attack.”
“Oh…well, I do get those. I’m prescribed Xanax, but I only take it when I have an attack. Do you think I should take one before I go on?”
“Does it not affect your nervous system? Slow you down a bit?”
“Well, it does do that.”
“It’s probably not a good idea then.” I sit forward. “Let me ask you something, Jenny, are you willing to do whatever it takes?”
“Do I have your permission to speak candidly here?”
Her heels tap faster, “Please.”
“Something you might try is learning to open yourself, make yourself vulnerable to your audience. Then you’ll forget the cameras are there all together.”
“How do I do that?”
This is the tricky part. I’ve walked the thin gray line before and almost been issued with a court order, sexual harassment being what it is and all. My argument is that everything, whether pure or impure, can be traced back to sex. “Tell me how you open yourself when you’re alone and masturbating or how you open your mouth and your pussy when you are preparing to take a man’s cock. How does it feel to be that exposed, that tainted, that vulnerable to a need you cannot control? You need to bring that to the table…that emotional vulnerability. There’s a lot of sensation to pull from and harness if you just let yourself feel the next time you fuck someone. Recognize and catalog what you feel when you climax. Let everything else burn away and focus on what’s in here.” I push a fist into my chest.
Her foot stills, her eyes grow wide and her cheeks pinken. She fidgets, picking at her nails. Her eyes close and the foot starts its motor again. She shakes her head. “This is an extremely unconventional way of teaching.”
I shrug. “Maybe so, but the traditional textbook lessons you’ve received don’t seem to have worked.” Her lips purse. “Just answer the question and let yourself relax. All of the things we speak about in this office are confidential.”
Her eyes search the room and are careful to avoid mine. I’m not certain, but I think this response may be from lack of experience with what I’ve introduced. “You have done those things I mentioned, haven’t you?”
She absolutely refuses to meet my eyes. “To be perfectly honest…no, I haven’t done any of that.”