The Iron Lady

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. Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada