With complete confidence, I the writer, knowing my wit and charm had always gotten me what I wanted in the past, entered the room.
There she sat - on the top of my desk - this cool black beauty, ignoring me completely.
My mission - to get the scoop.
They called her, ‘The Iron lady’; not my type, but that didn’t scare me in the least.
The easy touch. Yes! It always worked. All I needed was a few nights alone with her.
The first night, I began by gently pushing her buttons, over and over again, caressing every part of her from A to Z, bringing her to the edge and back again.
In the morning, completely spent, having learned very little about her, I kicked the crumpled sheets lying on the floor, aside, and left the room vowing never to return.
The next night, I discovered she liked a firm touch. After that, there was no stopping us. She kept me up night after night - into the wee small hours.
How many sleepless nights can a guy endure? Well! Patience is a virtue.
I returned to the Iron Lady night after night, after night, until the truth was told.
In the end....the story she spilled for me, became a National best seller.
She was my type after all.