Even at the age of fifty, Emilia had the looks of a Playboy playmate, and indeed she was, Miss May 1966 to be exact, but beneath the superficial façade of her California blond hair and Ocean Pacific blue eyes, was a woman who had the uncanny gift to remember the minutest details in her life and the lives of other.

Since childhood, she’s wanted to follow in the steps of her father, who was the great Editor in Chief and owner of the New York Tribune, Francis Edmonds. But before I relate all her exploits and stories she’s broken over the years, that will sure to inspire women around the world to follow dreams and desires, I felt compelled that first I should show how she became the woman she is.

Her personality was intoxicating. Her smile was genuine and could melt even the most cynical of New Yorkers. I had known her for almost five years before this, but our relationship never went past exchanging pleasantries in the elevator or passing in the halls of our workplace with a smile. Secretly, though, I had an almost school boy crush on her.

I remember the first time I saw Emilia. It was in elementary school, eighty something and a classmate brought in one his father’s old Playboy magazine, the playmate of the year edition, and you guessed it, Emilia was the playmate of the year. My heart, then as it does now, stopped when I saw her.

Shortly after that episode, I began to almost methodically collect information on Miss Edmonds. When I found out that she was an editor and reporter, I made it my goal to attend the best journalistic school in the country and to learn and master the craft of writing, so that one day I could, maybe, work for this woman. That day came five years ago.

Although I have had very little contact with her, it was a pleasure to share the same air. It always amazed me how she could reach such heights in the world of publishing and business with such a wonderful personality. I cannot recall a moment when she raised her voice or had a foul word issue forth from her lips. Now, that’s no to say she didn’t have a mean streak, but I just never saw it. We mortals who walked amongst the lower floors were never privy to activities of the gods and goddesses of the upper levels.

I knew Emilia had an unbelievable life story, and as a writer I wanted to hear it and write it, but I could never work up the nerve to ask her to share it with me. I felt unworthy.

Then one day while on a tour for my novel I was asked by a radio host what is it that I wanted to write next? I thought for a moment and replied, “I want to tell the story of Emilia Edmonds.”

“Well who is Emilia Edmonds?” He asked.

When I related what I knew about her, he became intrigued, as did everyone else listening.

In a sly way I was telling Miss Edmonds what my intentions were and it worked.

A few days after my twenty-city book tour I was summoned to the office of Miss Emilia Edmonds located on the thirtieth floor of the magazines world headquarters building. As I walked through the, oak, door with nervous apprehension, I glanced across the room at her sitting behind her large desk. She removed her glasses from her face, stood and she smiled a smile that was brighter than the brightest billboard in Times Square. She gestured to a seat in front of her desk and when I sat she sat, leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.

“You know, you could’ve just approached me. You didn’t have to go on national radio to get my attention.”

“I know.” I said as I blushed. “I was, I don’t know, a little bashful.”

“Why? I see you everyday. I talk to you everyday. Am I that much of a bitch that I intimidate the most talented writer on my staff?” She leaned forward and rested her arms on the desk and looked me in the eyes and asked, “You want to know my story?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Come to my place tonight. Bring your notebook and recorder.” She rocked back and forth in her seat and said, “I must warn you. I am not bashful when it comes to revealing my past. What you will learn may change your perception of me forever.”

“That sounds very ominous.”

Her smile broadened as she raised her soft looking hand up to her chin. “You know?” She said, “I’ve been considering writing something about my past for years.”

“Why haven’t you done it?”

She flagged me with her left hand and sighed, “I guess I’ve always thought that nothing could be learned from the things I did.”

She stood up and stretched. As I caught an eyeful of her smooth legs, a shiver shot through up my spine. “God.” I though to myself, “this woman is just amazing looking.”

Despite the age difference between us, I felt a magnetic, sexual attraction to her. I doubt she felt the same.

I stood and held out my hand.

She shook it and nodded and said, “Do you know where I live?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“The Dakota. I’ll tell the doorman that you’ll be coming tonight.”

I turned and as I walked toward the door with an almost a hop in my step, I stopped and turned, “Oh, what time shall I be there?”

“How about six. The earlier the better.”

“You call it a night pretty early?”

“No not at all. I just have so much to tell you.”

Little did I know that what I thought would be a couple of hours of talking, and asking her to reminisce, would turn out to be a ten year project of listening and documenting some of her most intimate details.

That night I couldn’t wait. Once the six o’clock hour hit I was right there reciting my name to the doorman. I expected to be greeted by butler and a hostess who dressed in an evening gown toting a wine glass in her left hand and a cigarette in her right. I was wrong.

Miss Edmonds greeted me herself at the door and she wore nothing to the liking of an evening dress.

She wore her hair out. It was waist length and looked like it was made of gold silk. She smiled when the door was fully opened and the sight of her half naked frame made my body tremble. Barely covering her toned body was an oversized knit sweater that hung off of her right shoulder and exposed her smooth skin in a seductive way that would make any man’s heart stop. She was bare foot. My eyes discretely scanned her from head to toe. The sweater she wore stopped just at her hips and revealed everything. She exuded the sexuality of a woman who had experience and she projected the confidence of a woman whose beauty was her only asset. It was a turn on. I didn’t know any fifty year olds who had as much of sexual confidence as she did.

“Come in.” She said as she waved me in.

Her place was what I had expected. Immaculate like a team of housekeepers dusted every ten minutes. Like a curator was on her payroll. Of course she was a connoisseur of fine art, which showed on the walls. Renoir, Picasso, Gauguin and those were just artists I recognized. And that was just in the foyer. It was as if I walked into a mini Met. Greco Roman busts sat on ionic pillars. Silver tables with fine China on them sat just to the left of the gourmet kitchen. The windows, that framed the perfect view of Central park, were dressed in thick blue fabric that looked exported from the most exotic places in the world.

“Am I early?” I asked.

“Not at all. You’re on time. Why do you ask?”

She asked as she walked past me. A few paces ahead, within view, she raised her hands and ran them through her silk looking hair. The sweater inched up and exposed everything I had imagined. My heart felt like it skipped a beat.

She turned and looked me and grinned. It was a playful seductive grin. I imagine she has used that many times on men like me.

In the background soft trumpets sang an unidentifiable song that was not loud not soft, but just right, and like her, erotic.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you.”

She sat on her plush couch and crossed her legs like an Indian chief. For a woman at fifty, she was toned and flexible. My eyes caught a glimpse of everything frontal. As she settled the sweater drooped. Her left breast was exposed for a brief moment before she fixed the piece of clothing. I pretended not to look. I tried to maintain direct eye contact with her, but I couldn’t help my eyes from drifting.

She patted her right hand on the cushion next to her and said, “Sit sit.”

I hesitated.

“I don’t bit. What the fuck are you afraid of?”

As I sat, I thought, that was the first time I heard her use profanity. I turned my head and grinned.

She looked at me.

“You’re shocked.”

“About what?”

“You thought I was a demure socialite widow who drank brandy, withering away in my apartment, reminiscing of days of old.”

“You’re not?”

“Fuck no. I travel. I love men.” She leaned over and whispered, “Men love me. As a matter of fact my little boy toy just left.”

My heart sank. She was in a relationship. “How long have you been seeing this guy?”

She leaned back and held her left hand over her chest as she laughed. “Seeing would denote that I am in some kind of relationship.” When she leaned over again, her light vanillaish perfume rushed up my nostrils and tickled my senses. She said, “I’m not in a relationship. I just like being fucked by a young hung studs.” She ran her hand over her face and moaned, “I just love sperm on my face. It keeps me young looking.”

I was taken aback. The image of my idol was tarnished. My heart was broken. It must have shown on my face because she tapped me on the shoulder and laughed, “I’m just fucking with you. It’s Thursday. My boy toys don’t come over until the weekend.”

“Do you like younger men?”

She looked at me and ran her soft hand across my face and moved within inches of my lips. I tasted her minty breath as she asked, “Do you like older women?”

“I like you.

She smiled and leaned back. “Mmm. I’m so glade I still have sex appeal. You just made me a happy woman.”

“Do you ever think about getting re-married?”

She tilted her head to the right and smirked. As she nodded her head slightly up and down, she said, “I doubt it, but you never know. I’m fifty. I ain’t dead.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I still have feelings and desires. I still like being made love to and being in love.”

“That’s what you have the boy toys for.”

She shook her head and laughed lightly. “I was joking about that. If you’re going to be my biographer, you’re going to have to pick up on my sarcasm.”

She stood and walked over to the fireplace and picked up a picture of her husband. Her tone turned serious as she ran her hand over the image. She said, “I truly loved that man. Sometimes, I used to think that he was the only person who knew me.” She looked at me over her shoulder and asked, “What about you? Do you believe in true love?”

I stared at her and wanted to tell her that the reason why I started working at the magazine was because of true love, for her. I wanted to tell her that I’ve been in love with since I was a teen.

“Yes, I do believe in true love.”

“Are you married?”


“Got a girlfriend?”


She walked back over to the couch and propped both legs up on the cushion. She rested her head in her left hand and with her right she caressed my face. She asked, “Are you gay?”


“Are you a priest?’


A puzzled look came across her face, “Are you a virgin?”


“Wow. I’d never thought I meet a man in the city who’s successful, handsome and somewhat normal.” She leaned back, smiled and asked, “You are normal?”


God I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her as she stared me down with those unnatural blue eyes. My heart raced. My blood boiled.

“Well it’s gong to interesting getting to know you.” She took a deep breath and said, “Well, where do you want to start?”

I reached over for my notepad and took and sighed, “From the beginning.”

“The beginning?” She shook her head and said, “No that’s too far back.”

“Nothing interesting there?”

“No, it stuff there but it’s un-publishable.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was a bit wild in my youth.” She held her hand up to her chin and hummed. “I was wild as an adult too. I don’t know maybe this is a bad idea. You know-airing my dirt.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Without hesitation she said, “Oh yes it is, but I think I can clean it up a bit though.”

“What makes it bad?”

“My past?”

I nodded my head.

She grinned. It was a grin that made me think that she conjured up some naughty memories.

She said, “A lot of sex. I’ve pretty much only had one vice.”

“And that is what?”

“Sex.” She lowered her head and cut her eyes at me and flashed a devilish smile, “Hot, nasty sex. That’s the reason I waited so long to get married. I enjoyed the company of a lot of men, and they enjoyed me.” She stood and walked over to the bar and poured two catavinos glasses half full of Sherry. With both glasses in hand she walked back over to the couch and handed me one.

“Here you go.”

“I’m not really a drinker.”

She took a sip and smiled at me, “You will be after hearing my story.” She sat closer to me and ran her hand up and down my leg and said, “Shoot away kid.”

“Okay.” I grabbed my pen and cracked open my first notebook and looked at her. “So how about we start with your first big story. The story that put you on the map.”

“That’s a good Idea.”

She nodded her head and closed her eyes for a brief moment and then said, “Well that was back in 1972. I had just graduated from Stanford.”

She paused and frowned.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

“No I was just thinking…” She raised her hands and did a flagging motion. “Oh what the fuck. So my last week at Stanford was very erotic. All the guys I knew I would never see again in my life I,” she sighed and shook her head, “I had sex with.”

“Well you don’t have to incorporate those details in the story.” I said.

“No, I feel that my weaknesses have made me a stronger woman. I believe that my story would not be complete without incorporating those details.”

I shrug my shoulders and said, “Okay.”

“How can I say this? I explored my sexuality to the fullest when I was younger. Sex empowered me. To do what? Who the fuck knows. Anyway the guy that I remember the most was Tommy. My god, he was toned, hung like a horse and had the stamina of thorough bred in the Triple Crown. The day that my parents arrived, he and I,”

She lowered her head and ran her hands through her hair.

“I haven’t conjured up these fucking thoughts in years.”

She laughed and then took a deep breath, “Well, I was supposed to just say bye to good ole Tommy from Savanna, but a short goodbye turned into four hours of hot sex.

“I remembered the windows in his small dorm were steamed up from our panting. The room wrecked of sweat and sex. I’ve made passionate love many times since then, but thinking back now this was by far the hottest love making session I had. It could’ve been that we were both young and horny. I really don’t know.

“I was bent over a folding chair, legs spread, while he fucked me in ass. I loved anal sex back then. Even after he exploded in me, he just kept going. When he pulled out of me, I could feel cum oozing down my inner thighs and as I turned, weak and drained, physically exhausted from the intense pleasure, he grabbed my hair and pulled me closer to him. Our lips locked and our tongues played together. He pushed me to the ground and ran his hands through my wet hair. I reached for his cock and shoved it in my mouth and began sucking. Apparently I wasn’t moving fast enough because he began rocking my head over his cock. I looked up at him and saw his face twisted in pleasure. I loved seeing a man in the midst of pleasure. I think it was an ego thing. Knowing that I was the one giving him pleasure.

“Well anyway, he moaned, “Emmy make me cum.”

I grabbed his ass cheeks and pushed myself deep into his thighs. A few moments later, my mouth was filled with his warm sperm. I stood and opened my mouth as he looked at me he wrapped his hand around my throat. He looked down at me and as his grip tightened around my neck, I reached up and grabbed his head and pulled him down to my face and kissed him with a mouth full of sperm. Warm sperm and saliva covered our faces each time I opened my mouth. When we stopped kissing, I swallowed and looked down at my tits. They glistened in sweat and cum.

“When I looked at the clock on he wall, I realized I had an hour before my parents flight landed, so I began rushing to get cleaned up. I walked into the bathroom feeling cum dripping out my ass and cunt with every step. I leaned over the sink to splash water on my face, and Tommy slid behind me and slipped his cock into my pussy and began fucking me. I tried to lean up, but he pushed my face into the sink while pumping his cock in and out of me. He leaned over and bit my neck and ran his hand down my chest and pinched my nipples. He stepped back and pulled out of my pussy only to quickly enter my other hole. He pulled on my hair while ramming his cock between my cheeks. I glanced into the mirror above my face and saw how intense he looked. His grip loosened on my mane and with his right hand he grabbed my left tit. His left hand moved between my thighs. With three fingers he entered me and twisted and turned inside, in sync with his thrusting. It was rough, but I enjoyed it. A few seconds later of finger fucking me, my knees buckled. Between the anal and rubbing on my clit an orgasm struck me.

I lowered my head and grabbed hold of both sides of the sink as I reached a climax. Tears rolled my face as I came.

“I…” I started to say, but every time I opened my mouth, grunts and moans spewed out. He wrapped one arm around my neck and the other around my chest and pulled me straight. As he came he leaned over and bit me on the neck. It was painful, but the pleasure of feeling him inside me was much stronger.

“I gotta go.” I said to him.

His bit me harder.

He turned me around and grabbed a handful of hair, pulled my head back and kissed me on the neck. He then pushed me onto the toilet and spread my legs. He kneeled between them and ate me. I sighed because as much as I knew that I had to pick up my parents, his eating me out was much more enjoyable.

“I gotta go.” I said.

He slurped and stood.

I was face to face with his dripping cock. I grabbed it and looked at it all the while thinking how much I enjoyed it for the last year. I wanted to suck it and enjoy being sprayed with hot cum, but I really needed to go.

I stood and walked into the other room, naked and wet. I reached over for my dress and blouse.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asked.

I looked at him as I stepped into the skirt and after I pulled the blouse over my body, I sighed, “I seriously doubt.” As I walked towards the door, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and looked back at him and said, “But I will never forget you.”"

She paused and flashed a grin as she looked at the floor. She then turned to me and asked, “So, do you want to hear more?”

I was turned on. What man wouldn’t be after hearing that story? I must admit though, I was confused and a little dismayed. This woman was a hero of mine and I was truly interested in writing her biography, that I thought would be inspiring, but here she is telling me erotic stories. This is not exactly the stuff people tend to buy in the bookstores. It didn’t make sense.

“Is there a point why you’re telling me this?” I said.

“This is how I became me. This is my evolution.” She leaned over and tapped me on the cheek and said, “I trust that you will use your editorial skills in the long run.”

She looked down at my not pad and noticed it was filled with writing and scribbled ideas. She said, “You write fast,” before she stood and walked over to the bar to pour another glass of sherry.

“So,” she said as she sipped on her drink, “When I picked up my parents at the airport, my mother, who I think I get my attention to details from, immediately sensed what my extracurricular activities were. After a hug and kiss she looked at me through those piercing eyes of hers and said, “You better not be pregnant.”

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July 2018
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