The Chocolate Edition Of Sex

By Susan Rogers

The Chocolate Edition of Sex is a story of one woman who has the world of BDSM opened up to her in her twenties by a rich and powerful man. She turns her back on this world and lives a 'normal' life until he contacts her again from the grave and she returns to the world where she really belongs. Definitely a book to be read one handed!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Apr 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781611607390

Book preview

Chapter 1

There are two things I love. One is chocolate and the other is sex. So this book, The Chocolate Edition, is my foray exploring the love of both.

I had this boyfriend who promised me he loved me in ways he had never loved anyone before. We had met over the summer holidays when I was on holidays in Belgium. I had gone there originally because I had been dating a cyclist and he was training for the Tour of France, but not the main tour, not the big tour; he was training so one day he could compete in the Tour. It was his whole life and he was on a sponsored team. His name was Brian and we had met in college.

I had followed him across oceans to be with him and worked in Belgium while he trained. It didn’t take me long to realise that he loved the bike more than he would ever love me and that riding the bike would always take preference.

He hadn’t always been like that. In the beginning he had been fun, always off to the beach with me, or the movies or doing things with our friends. He used to ride then, but just the odd weekend or a ride after college during the week. After college we both headed into jobs. I found a job as a junior clerk in a lawyer’s office. Brian found a job in a bike shop. I thought that was our lot in life and was pretty happy. But then things started to change. He became Brian the health-conscious who dedicated his life to his own physical well-being. He started to make snide remarks to me if we went to the movies and I got popcorn. He told me that there was no way that amount of saturated fat was passing his lips.

Then he started training most nights and, in a flurry of trying to keep things together, we moved in together. A little one bedroom unit on a block with three old couples. I thought it was going to be the beginning of something big. The only big thing seemed to be the bike that I was forever tripping over in our lounge room or I was at home on my own, annoyed because Brian had gone out for another ride.

Then when I turned twenty-one, I thought I would be getting an engagement ring. Not that Brian had said so, but my friends had been guessing that would be what he would buy me. Brian could be a bit predictable and methodical, and it was the next logical step. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when I walked out into the lounge room with Brian holding his hands over my face and I thinking it would be candle-lit breakfast with him on his knee holding out a ring. Instead I was faced with a bright pink and white racing bike, with matching helmet. I had burst into tears. Brian thought I was so overwhelmed by his gift that I had been reduced to tears. He was right about one thing; it was the gift that reduced me to tears.

It didn’t take either of us long to discover just how bad my balance was; I fell off in the driveway with old Mrs Sproule looking on at me, reminding me how lucky I was to have Brian. Her husband would have given her an iron, she told me.

I didn’t feel very lucky but tried to be upbeat. For the next eighteen months, I hardly saw Brian, he was training so hard. Then, after my twenty-second birthday, he had to leave for a few months. He had been offered a place in some bike team who were training in Australia. I should have known then. Apparently my father did. We didn’t break up or even agree to have a break for a while and see other people. He was just training and racing away leaving me at home to wait for him.

Off he went, riding around the country and winning races. I had no idea that Brian was that good on the bike. Then the offer came through; once in a life time, to travel to Belgium to train—properly train—for the Tour De France. I thought he would go on his own but he had begged me to go with him. Told me he couldn’t do it without me, he needed me by his side. So, even after listening to my father’s protests, I packed up our little unit, put everything into storage under my father’s house.

I took a bar course at the local TAFE college with my meagre savings. I came home with the booking details for the trip, feeling excited that we would be travelling overseas together and found out that it wasn’t just Brian and I, but also another man, older than us, Cameron, or Cam as he liked to be called.

We set off, an unlikely trio, to start a new life. We moved into a little village that seemed to be full of tour trainers or trainees. I found a job at the local café and earned enough money for us to live on, just.

Brian came and went, always Lycra clad, and wearing shoes he tiptoed around in. The first month or two were fun; I met new people, made friends in the café and with the wives and girlfriends of other bike riders. After two full months of living and working in Belgium the get-togethers with the other women soon felt like big bitch sessions; it seemed no one was happy.

Brian was so committed to his sport those three months into our trip that, the week of a major race, he told me he couldn’t waste his precious energy by engaging in any activities with me, prior to a race. I think that was the nail in the coffin. I had felt like I had given everything up to be with