Donna Butler's Blog

He took me to a luau in Lahaina that featured a romantic, beachfront setting. He’d reserved the entire front row of tables to ensure privacy. Against a beautiful backdrop of the ocean and the setting sun, the dancers performed routines from Polynesia and other South Pacific islands. When it was dark, the fire dancers dazzled us with their speed and coordination. The food was delicious and the company was extraordinary. My Love gazed at me with soulful, loving eyes and kept an arm around me after the meal was over.

Afterwards, he donned a pair of dark glasses and took me to a funky little nightclub where a DJ played hip hop. While Dave and Tony scanned the crowd like they expected someone to charge our table with a flame thrower, Curtis turned to me and said “Feel like dancing?”

“I do,” I said. “But first I need to tell you who I ran into today.”

He nodded “Samantha. Dave told me while you were getting ready. He said she’s not pregnant. Why is that not a surprise?”

I turned to Dave. “Good Lord. You’re a motor mouth, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” he said in mock indignation. “I’m doing a job, here.”

“I assume Dave also told you I saw Bella,” I said to Curtis. “The makeup artist was trying to hide bruises on her shoulder.”

He grimaced. “That’s messed up. But it’s not your mess to clean up. You relayed the message from Spirit. Now your job is done.”

“I just hate the thought of him hurting her. That’s just a step away from killing her. How can I stand by and do nothing?”

“Look,” Curtis said. “I have a guy looking into his background. You’ll just have to wait and see what he finds out. Now come on.” He stood up and extended his hand. “I wanna see you shake that rump.”

He steered me through the crowded dance floor to the center where we’d be less noticeable. As we began to dance, I realized this was the first time he’d taken me dancing. I assumed he did most of his dancing with other celebrities at parties and after parties. His style that night was restrained, but still cool and sexy. I rolled my hips from time to time, but I didn’t twerk like most of the girls were doing. I’d only twerked alone. At home. In the privacy of my bedroom. As an experiment. Nothing more. That didn’t stop him from goading me. “Twerk, Rory, Rory. Twerk, Rory, Rory.”

“No.”

“Will you do it back at the house?”

“Oh, my God.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

We danced through four more songs, loosening up more and more with each song. Then one of his songs started, one that was suited for slow dancing. It had a 1960’s soul vibe that was silky, romantic and plaintive. Faster than I could blink, he pulled me into his arms and nuzzled his face against my cheek. I put my arms around his neck and swayed with him, listening to his magnified voice rap about love and loss in what was one of my all-time favorite songs, by any artist.

Hearing that song, in his arms, was a fantasy come true. I tilted back my head and he rewarded me with several luscious kisses that culminated in one slow, sensual dance of tongues. As we kissed, he discreetly reached down into the folds of my dress and began to massage my clit through the fabric. For one second, my eyes flew open as I froze with disbelief. I stole glances at the couples who surrounded us on the dark dance floor. They were ignoring us, lost in their own worlds and my Love’s music. “Just let go, baby,” he whispered in my ear. “Just go with it. I’ve got you,” he said as his massage increased in speed and pressure. I relaxed and pressed against his hand, rotating my hips in imperceptible circles. All of my senses were awake and crackling, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet sound of the music, the slippery taste of his lips on mine, the feel of his hard shoulders beneath my hands, the smell of his cologne and the caress of his fingers on my sex. Helpless and panting, I sagged against him, dropped my head onto his shoulder and moaned as an orgasm rolled through my body like waves of thunder. When I returned to earth, he had both arms tightly around me, helping me to sway to the final beats of the song. The feel of his erection pressing against me made me sigh with hunger. “Wanna get out of here?” he whispered when the song ended.

I smiled shyly. “Yes.”

There was a wet spot on the front of my dress that I hid with my evening bag as we gathered Dave and Tony and headed to the car.

Back at the house, he removed my dress and my bra, then he knelt before me and slid my panties down my legs. He pressed his nose into my sex and moaned. “I love the smell of you, Rory,” he said in a husky voice. “Especially after you’ve come.” Then it was my turn to moan as he parted the lips of my vulva and licked and kissed my clitoris. “You ever come on a dance floor before?”

I sighed as his lips and tongue drove me insane. “No. That’s a first,” I said.

“Good. I plan to make you come in a lot of crazy places.”

The next morning, Curtis literally dragged me out of bed and rushed me through several thousand of the ten thousand square feet of his house and into his music studio. I’d seen the studio on a previous visit. Just a brief tour. This morning, he explained that all the racks against the wall contained equalizers, limiters, harmonizers, samplers, compressors and so on. On a table was a huge soundboard with what I assumed was a microphone sticking out of it. The walls were covered in a light gray fabric that matched the silver tones of the equipment. There were four or five soft gray chairs scattered around the room. He took a seat at a long, curved desk behind a desktop computer with two large, flat screen monitors and motioned for me to take the chair beside him. He grabbed the mouse on the computer and soon the room filled with music.

Now, I’m a huge Curtis Love fan. I own every CD. I understood his humor, moods, tastes and outlook on life long before I met him. I can detect his hand in the production of songs by other artists and I am deeply convinced of his musical genius. In spite of all that, I am never prepared to like his work simply because I’ve loved other songs. His style changes with his mood and interests. And sometimes, artists just fall short.

This song began with a trumpet riff that cut off in the middle and repeated itself in smaller and smaller bites until it was eventually swallowed up by an edgy hip hop beat that maintained just enough of the trumpet riff to keep it your head. Both of us immediately started bobbing our heads. He had done some rapping over the track, but it wasn’t complete. After two minutes, he turned off the song.

“So? What do you think?”

I grinned. “It’s Vegas, baby. Rat Pack meets Tupac.” We both laughed. “Seriously, I don’t know how you did that. How the hell did you do that?”

“I was up all night listening to the Quincy Jones arrangement of Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” and trying to figure out how to capture that swing, that mood, you know?”

I nodded. “I know the swing. You worked a freaking miracle, man.” My cheeks were hurting. I was smiling so hard and feeling so excited for him. He’d never done anything like this. I didn’t think anyone could.

He raised his hand for a high five. “I want to know what my grandmother thinks of it so far.”

Some of my excitement whirled down the drain. I was here to do a job, after all.

“Do you need a minute?” he asked, immediately sensing my distress.

“Um, yes. I do,” I admitted. “I was a little caught up, I guess.”

He went over to a secluded section of the studio that contained a small kitchen. He returned with a cup of coffee for me. “How’s this? I still remember how you like it. And I’m sorry for dragging you out of bed, making you listen to music and then expecting you to just perform on demand. I get a little intense when I don’t sleep.”

“It’s okay,” I said, taking a sip of the coffee. I wanted to smile at his apology, but didn’t dare to since he was so serious. Secretly, I thought it was cute how excited he was over the creative process. And it was deeply moving that he wanted his grandmother’s input. I drank the coffee and closed my eyes and tried to ease myself back into that just-woke-up mode when it’s nearly effortless for me to contact spirits. I hoped his grandmother was in a receptive mood. And I hoped his grandfather would keep a polite distance. His criticism of Samantha had come out of nowhere. Part of me wondered if his visit had been a dream. Like a wild, rollercoaster twist and turn from the previous nightmare.

Once I felt relaxed, I directed my thoughts to Ethel. By now, I knew the feel of her presence and demeanor. She was soft, sweet and straightforward, like pound cake. “Hey, you,” I beckoned with my thoughts. I knew her well enough to be playfully affectionate, and she often responded in kind. “Okay Curtis. Grandma says hello,” I said with a smile.

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Rory’s Love (Aurora, Psychic to the Stars Book 1) (Kindle Edition)

By (author): Donna Butler

I stood barefoot at the prow of the ship and stared at the glittering shore. The harbor was so beautiful with the lights from the buildings that lined the coast, casting a gold reflection onto the water and the boats docked there. Every now and then the image would blur whenever tears formed in my eyes. Curtis was furious. He’d never been mad at me before. When we left the party, he’d pulled me to the car without a word. We’d been on the boat half an hour and still he hadn’t spoken to me. I’d come straight to the deck and kicked off my shoes, waiting for him to find me and say something, but he’d stayed below deck. There was a gentle, nighttime breeze that caused goosebumps to form on my bare arms. I should have gone to my stateroom for a shawl, but I was afraid I might run into Curtis. Instead, I kept my eyes trained on the beauty of Saint Tropez and wondered if I’d ever return. I was wiping more tears from my eyes when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Reluctantly I turned around to face him. He was still in his tuxedo, but he’d loosened his tie. He was holding a glass of what appeared to be either vodka or water. He took a sip, then put the glass on the deck. Then he removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he said.

I nodded. The jacket smelled of his cologne. Instinctively, I rubbed my cheek against the lapel.

“And you’re crying,” he added. “I’m sorry. My bad. I don’t know what to do with you, Aurora.”

I sniffed. “I don’t understand why you’re mad. I was minding my own business, looking at the paintings in his dining room. Then he came in there out of nowhere and kissed me.”

Curtis startled me by grabbing my shoulders. Suddenly we were nose to nose. “I don’t want another man kissing you. I want to be the only man kissing you. Do you understand that?” Like an animal marking his territory, he covered my face with dozens of kisses. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, the tip of nose, my forehead, temples and eyelids. He pushed me against the yacht’s railing and explored my mouth with his tongue. He cupped my ass in his hands and pressed his groin into mine.

How is this happening?, I wondered frantically. And what exactly is happening? Was he just drunk or being territorial? Or was there something more?

Abruptly he stopped kissing me and pulled me by the hand, down the side of the boat to the aft deck where there were several long, plush, tan sofas in a U shaped arrangement. He pulled me onto the nearest sofa and held me in his arms. I was dazed and breathless, but somehow I managed to find my voice before he started kissing me again. “Wait Curtis, please. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” He kissed the tip of my nose. “We’ve both been dodging this. But I can’t let you keep living your life like you don’t have a man who cares about you.”

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Rory’s Love (Aurora, Psychic to the Stars Book 1) (Kindle Edition)

By (author): Donna Butler

 

http://www.amazon.com/Rorys-Love-Auro...

When we got home, he steered me towards the family room, telling me there was a song he wanted me to hear. An old jazz song he was thinking of sampling, he said as he popped his Ipod into the dock that sat on a wall unit. “You’ve Gotta See Your Mama Every Night or You Can’t See Mama at All.” There was an unearthly quality to the Kay Starr version that he liked.

That’s cool,” I said, as the song pumped through state of the art speakers. “But how on earth can you blend that into something modern?”

He laughed. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” He playfully nudged me with his elbow. “You’ll see. That’s what I’ll be working on in Paris. Speaking of which, I need to head to my office and make some calls to get this trip organized. Will you be alright?”

I nodded.

“You won’t be scared watching TV all by yourself? You don’t think you’ll have nightmares all night?”

I gave him a look. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? I’m serious, now. You had a crazy day.”

“I’m okay.”

“Come here. Give me a hug.”

I didn’t hesitate for an instant. I hurried into his arms. The scent of his cologne and the feel of his body pressed against mine made me lose my mind. I raised my face to his. I don’t know who leaned in first. I just know that at some point we were kissing. The soft, fullness of his lips was incredibly delicious and sensual. I was soon carried away by the silky wetness of the kiss. The hunger I felt was intense enough to make my knees weak. He seemed to know I was about to lose my balance because he cupped my ass in his hands and pulled me in tight, crotch to crotch. I couldn’t help but moan with desire. When he slipped his tongue in my mouth and started to suckle my lips, I felt even more light headed. My knees buckled dramatically and the spell was broken.

For what seemed like an eternity we stared at one another, speechless and panting with desire.

A tiny smile formed on his face and slowly spread into a grin. “Damn, girl,” he said, still out of breath. “You need to get attacked by ghosts more often. What’s Lupita’s phone number?” While his tone was playful, his eyes were filled with compassion and surprise.

“Wait a minute,” I stammered, feeling my face burn red. “You grabbed my ass.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess I did. We both got caught up, okay? After the day you had, you needed a good kiss. Let’s just leave it at that. Alright?”

I wanted to apologize, make excuses, assure him of my professionalism, but none of that would have fit with the playful tone he was taking. He was a famous rapper, after all. He had to be used to women throwing themselves at him constantly. I didn’t want him to think that of me. But I found myself muttering “Alright.”

 

It was too late back East for me to call Mimi. Instead I did some yoga and meditation to try to quiet the wild, three ring circus that was my brain. But as I showered, I imagined that the hands running over my body belonged to Curtis. I stroked my breasts and rubbed myself down below until I had a lovely, intense orgasm. This is a bad idea, I told myself afterwards, as I dried myself with a warm, fluffy, towel. I shouldn’t be encouraging these feelings, I thought. It was wrong. As delicious as it was, as delicious as his kisses were, it was wrong.

I climbed into bed, gave myself another guilty orgasm and drifted off to sleep.

He took me to a luau in Lahaina that featured a romantic, beachfront setting. He’d reserved the entire front row of tables to ensure privacy. Against a beautiful backdrop of the ocean and the setting sun, the dancers performed routines from Polynesia and other South Pacific islands. When it was dark, the fire dancers dazzled us with their speed and coordination. The food was delicious and the company was extraordinary. My Love gazed at me with soulful, loving eyes and kept an arm around me after the meal was over.

Afterwards, he donned a pair of dark glasses and took me to a funky little nightclub where a DJ played hip hop. While Dave and Tony scanned the crowd like they expected someone to charge our table with a flame thrower, Curtis turned to me and said “Feel like dancing?”

“I do,” I said. “But first I need to tell you who I ran into today.”

He nodded “Samantha. Dave told me while you were getting ready. He said she’s not pregnant. Why is that not a surprise?”

I turned to Dave. “Good Lord. You’re a motor mouth, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” he said in mock indignation. “I’m doing a job, here.”

“I assume Dave also told you I saw Bella,” I said to Curtis. “The makeup artist was trying to hide bruises on her shoulder.”

He grimaced. “That’s messed up. But it’s not your mess to clean up. You relayed the message from Spirit. Now your job is done.”

“I just hate the thought of him hurting her. That’s just a step away from killing her. How can I stand by and do nothing?”

“Look,” Curtis said. “I have a guy looking into his background. You’ll just have to wait and see what he finds out. Now come on.” He stood up and extended his hand. “I wanna see you shake that rump.”

He steered me through the crowded dance floor to the center where we’d be less noticeable. As we began to dance, I realized this was the first time he’d taken me dancing. I assumed he did most of his dancing with other celebrities at parties and after parties. His style that night was restrained, but still cool and sexy. I rolled my hips from time to time, but I didn’t twerk like most of the girls were doing. I’d only twerked alone. At home. In the privacy of my bedroom. As an experiment. Nothing more. That didn’t stop him from goading me. “Twerk, Rory, Rory. Twerk, Rory, Rory.”

“No.”

“Will you do it back at the house?”

“Oh, my God.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

We danced through four more songs, loosening up more and more with each song. Then one of his songs started, one that was suited for slow dancing. It had a 1960’s soul vibe that was silky, romantic and plaintive. Faster than I could blink, he pulled me into his arms and nuzzled his face against my cheek. I put my arms around his neck and swayed with him, listening to his magnified voice rap about love and loss in what was one of my all-time favorite songs, by any artist.

Hearing that song, in his arms, was a fantasy come true. I tilted back my head and he rewarded me with several luscious kisses that culminated in one slow, sensual dance of tongues. As we kissed, he discreetly reached down into the folds of my dress and began to massage my clit through the fabric. For one second, my eyes flew open as I froze with disbelief. I stole glances at the couples who surrounded us on the dark dance floor. They were ignoring us, lost in their own worlds and my Love’s music. “Just let go, baby,” he whispered in my ear. “Just go with it. I’ve got you,” he said as his massage increased in speed and pressure. I relaxed and pressed against his hand, rotating my hips in imperceptible circles. All of my senses were awake and crackling, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet sound of the music, the slippery taste of his lips on mine, the feel of his hard shoulders beneath my hands, the smell of his cologne and the caress of his fingers on my sex. Helpless and panting, I sagged against him, dropped my head onto his shoulder and moaned as an orgasm rolled through my body like waves of thunder. When I returned to earth, he had both arms tightly around me, helping me to sway to the final beats of the song. The feel of his erection pressing against me made me sigh with hunger. “Wanna get out of here?” he whispered when the song ended.

I smiled shyly. “Yes.”

There was a wet spot on the front of my dress that I hid with my evening bag as we gathered Dave and Tony and headed to the car.

Back at the house, he removed my dress and my bra, then he knelt before me and slid my panties down my legs. He pressed his nose into my sex and moaned. “I love the smell of you, Rory,” he said in a husky voice. “Especially after you’ve come.” Then it was my turn to moan as he parted the lips of my vulva and licked and kissed my clitoris. “You ever come on a dance floor before?”

I sighed as his lips and tongue drove me insane. “No. That’s a first,” I said.

“Good. I plan to make you come in a lot of crazy places.”

Buy the ebook at : http://www.amazon.com/Rorys-Love-Aurora-Psychic-Stars-ebook/dp/B00PUDMXMA

 

 

 

 

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Thin Doors- An Open Dialogue with the Other Side by Ron Donoho

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Thin Doors is a memoir about one spiritual medium's fascinating life experiences. The author, Ron, received his gifts at a young age, and as a child, assumed others shared the ability to see or sense people who weren't physically there. The books describes the huge impact his gift has had upon his own life and the lives of others with whom he's shared information from the other side. In a story told with great humor and compassion, Ron explains what it means to communicate with those who have passed on. He shares the visual, auditory and physical sensations that occur when he knows a "visitor" is present. This uplifting tale gives us hope about our own fate and priceless reassurance about the state of those loved ones we've lost. Through his numerous, firsthand encounters, he assures us that those who have died are indeed okay and in many cases, able to communicate with those of us who are willing and receptive to their message.



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