By Lisa Maliga
Here’s a new excerpt from the eBook The Narcissist Chronicles: The WHOLE Story. Read about Arlen Stevenson’s first meeting with a woman he met online. A woman who sent him naked pictures of herself and is a fan of his zombie books. Mavis Preston, a lonely divorcée who enjoys trash talking with Arlen via IM and email. How will their planned weekend rendezvous turn out?
“Hello? Is this Arlen?” asked a breathy high voice.
“The one and only. I’m at this address here, numbered 6656 Bel…”
“Arlen, you’re here! Now!?” the phone clicked.
I looked up to see a stout woman with graying tightly permed curls and a pair of oversized glasses popular during the Reagan era, rushing toward me, her powder blue tracksuit emphasizing her undulating bulges and ripples. I pocketed my phone and embraced her, as I knew that was expected of me. I hid my disappointment beneath my pasted on smile—she looked absolutely nothing like those pictures she had sent…
Once I was inside her recently built home, I was impressed enough with the two story living room sporting a marble fireplace and walls containing built-in bookshelves. There was a large deck outside and a brand new gas grill that looked like it would cook lotsa steaks, burgers, hot dogs, and a few lobsters. The biggest turn on was the master bedroom with the elaborate king sized bed below a mirrored ceiling, plush beige carpeting which I wanted to test out when I got to some of my advanced sexual techniques, and the whirlpool tub in the adjacent bathroom made her look a whole lot better. Maybe ole Mavis was as good as she’d wrote.
When we went into her writing room, I saw that her computer was a laptop off in a corner next to a sewing machine and for some reason that disturbed me. Other than her bedroom, the suburban home seemed so normal and unsensual. Maybe it was the presence of a teenager; a door that was decorated on the outside with a poster of Hannah Montana, and remained closed because I doubted the woman wanted me to see evidence of her offspring. “Jeffrey, my only son! He’ll be spending the weekend with his father, like I told you earlier,” she assured me. The 4,000 square foot home was all ours from Friday through Sunday afternoon.
“I want you to autograph some books,” Mavis declared, leading me back downstairs into the living room. She immediately went over to a section and pulled out all three of my hardcovers, and I reasoned she didn’t break the bank to buy ‘em. Naturally, I always preferred it when they bought the more expensive and longer lasting version, and she happily handed them over.
“Why sure, Mavis, I’d love to…” hell, I just loved the fact that people actually bought my books and then wanted me to scribble in ‘em! I obliged her, thinking I was glad I’d left my overnight bag in the truck.
After the impromptu autograph signing, I pulled out my keys. “Mavis, I haven’t had a lot to eat today. Let’s say you and me go pick something up…”
“Nonsense, I won’t hear of it, Arlen. Why don’t I fix you a sub? I can make it to your liking…” she smiled suggestively.
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