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    Woman Unleashed
    Woman Unleashed
    Woman Unleashed
    Ebook136 pages2 hours

    Woman Unleashed

    By Q. Kelly

    3/5

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Sixty-year-old Melody Thomas has a perfect life—or does she? Melody runs a fairly successful chain of superstores, and she and her husband have two incredible children, a daughter and a son. Melody has long come to terms with the fact that her life, her marriage, her everything, will lack passion.

    Then her daughter comes out as gay and soon after becomes engaged to a photographer named Joy. Joy may be Melody’s undoing. From their first meeting, Joy consumes Melody’s mind, her body, her soul, her spirit. They embark on an affair, and Melody has never felt more alive. She thinks she and Joy fill each other’s emptiness, but she is wrong, quite wrong—and she is about to find out what exactly she is capable of.

    ** This novella is about 28,500 words.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherQ. Kelly
    Release dateAug 12, 2013
    ISBN9781301410385
    Woman Unleashed
    Author

    Q. Kelly

    I live in Washington state, where I am a writer and an editor. I also have a master's degree in deaf education. In my free time, I hike and savor frappuccinos.Fact One: I like corny jokes. If you have any good ones, send them my way!Fact Two: My favorite color is purple, but my writing is gray. Life is not black and white. I often write about issues and characters where there is no "right" answer.Fact Three: I'm weird. I like being weird.Email me at yllek_q@yahoo.com. I'd love to hear from you.Check out my blogs at qkelly.wordpress.com and qkelly.blogspot.com.

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    • 3/5
      I've always found Q. Kelly's unusual pairings to be intriguingly entertaining. So even if I didn't like the book summary too much, I wanted to see how far the author would push the moral boundaries. She's always skirted the edge without ever going over. So I'm expecting her to pull it off again.

      Everything went normally at first. I was even sold on the 'lust at first sight' bit. The two protagonists sizzle and burn and I actually found myself rooting for them. But about midway through the book, everything started going downhill. From that point on, it became a very dark tale. The sudden switch in gears was jarring. It almost started reading like a psychological thriller. Except that it wasn't thrilling but shocking.

      Most of the book is told from the point of view of Melody Thomas, the 60 year old protagonist. I get that the author tried to show her as being trapped in a loveless marriage. And for the first half of the book, I truly sympathized with her. But like I said, things happened. Lesbian love unleashed the woman ...and the woman unleashed was a psychopath!

      This isn't vintage Q. Kelly. She, of the impossible pairings and love against-all-odds. So fans used to her usual fare and expecting the same will be shocked. There is raw, hot sex but I can't equate it with romance. And while the pairings both live up to Kelly's reputation for the bizarre, the rest of the book just does not do it for me.

    Book preview

    Woman Unleashed - Q. Kelly

    WOMAN UNLEASHED

    Q. Kelly

    Copyright 2013 Q. Kelly

    Smashwords Edition

    Table of Contents

    Blurb for Woman Unleashed

    Epigraph

    Part One

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Part Two

    Chapter Six

    Part Three

    Chapter Seven

    Chapter Eight

    Chapter Nine

    Part Four

    Chapter Ten

    Part Five

    Chapter Eleven

    Chapter Twelve

    Acknowledgements

    Check out Q. Kelly’s Other Works

    Blurb for Woman Unleashed

    Sixty-year-old Melody Thomas has a perfect life—or does she? Melody runs a fairly successful chain of superstores, and she and her husband have two incredible children, a daughter and a son. Melody has long come to terms with the fact that her life, her marriage, her everything, will lack passion.

    Then her daughter comes out as gay and soon after becomes engaged to a photographer named Joy. Joy may be Melody’s undoing. From their first meeting, Joy consumes Melody’s mind, her body, her soul, her spirit. They embark on an affair, and Melody has never felt more alive. She thinks she and Joy fill each other’s emptiness, but she is wrong, quite wrong—and she is about to find out what exactly she is capable of.

    Epigraph

    To have a right to do a thing is not at all the same as to be right in doing it.

    — G. K. Chesterton

    Part One—Melody Prescott Thomas

    Chapter One

    Do not be fooled that this tale is one of romance, flowers and saccharine. You may think me a cold-blooded reptile with no conscience—or a pathetic, soulless old woman. You are, of course, free to think what you like. The truth is rather boring and realistic.

    I’m human, I was sixty years old, and I’d never been in love. Then all of a sudden, I broke free of the numbing bonds of heterosexual marriage. I had an affair with the woman my daughter planned to marry. I thought we felt and filled each other’s emptiness, her and me. I was wrong, quite wrong.

    **

    My husband used to be more beautiful and more feminine than I ever could be. We met and married long ago, so long ago I recollect the era as the once upon a time that prevails in fairy tales. It was a time when the lucky gays and lesbians didn’t know they were gay and lesbian. They passed their days wandering in a vague haze of dissatisfaction. They wondered what IT they missed.

    The unlucky gays and lesbians hid in their closets and quaked with the knowledge they were different. A bad kind of different.

    I was neither of these, or so I thought. I was secure in my sexuality. Ah, the power of delusion. I liked, and then loved, the man who would become my husband. My twin sister once remarked to me: George almost looks like a woman. But not quite.

    I sighed dreamily. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

    Once upon a time, delicate black ringlets framed George’s face. His skin was soft, the kind that makes growing facial hair difficult. His hands stretched over mine. Deep gold flecked his eyes, and calligraphy wrote his eyelashes. His body was pale and slight. Pleasing.

    We met at a college ice cream social when I was nineteen. He was twenty-five, an official, graduated adult. He directed social activities for the college. I was a good girl, a virgin. The way he looked at me made plain that he knew this. I let him and his green eyes seduce me from across the room. When I went to the bathroom, he followed. We kissed and groped in a stall. Never before had I allowed a man to press against me so aggressively. Men would try to take advantage of me and my twin sister, said Mother. We couldn’t allow them such liberties. We might get pregnant, and then our lives would be over.

    You wait, Mother said. Wait until you’re married, like I did.

    Once, I asked my sister if she felt the same way as I: pretty on the outside, but on the inside, a jumble of puzzle pieces squashed together. Blocky, mismatched, not fitting.

    Lily gave me a peculiar look. No, she said. Not at all.

    George Thomas was different from other men, with his innate confidence, quiet swagger and smaller build. Our coupling at his apartment after the ice cream social was painful, although he took care to make it less so. He put a condom on, and his penis prodded me slowly, hesitantly.

    I told him to quit it. Enter me quickly, George, so we can be done with it.

    Surprise rounded his eyes, made dim by the lack of light. Okay, he whispered, and did as I ordered.

    I cried out. Pain curled my toes, and I thanked God that George was a small man. What a larger man might have done...

    I enjoyed kissing George. The smoothness of his baby face, his skill at biting my upper lip. I loved the feel of his body, like silk, like fine carpeting under bare feet. His lack of chest and facial hair fascinated me. I could not help but compare George to Father. Father was always properly dressed, fastidious. Sometimes, however, unruly hairs thrust and jabbed their way out of Father’s shirts. Scruff covered his face by evening and made him a cruel-looking man.

    The morning after my coupling with George, he brought me eggs and pancakes in bed. I couldn’t remember Father doing this for Mother. George took pride and enjoyment in chores I found tedious, chores that Father proclaimed were the domain of women. Laundry. Mopping. Dusting. Cooking, George’s favorite.

    Five months after George penetrated me the first time, he got down on his knee and asked me to marry him. I said yes. I thought I was in love, and George was so different from Father.

    Now I realize a little voice deep down in my heart told me that George was as good a man I was likely to get. As close to a woman I could get without being with a woman.

    He loved me. He kissed me all the time. One night, he lowered his mouth between my legs and introduced me to the pleasures of orgasm.

    **

    George and I married one month after I graduated from college. Four years later, in 1977, our elder child, Jonathan Louis, arrived. When Johnny was eight, his sister, Patricia Rose, completed the family. I remember holding both my children soon after they were born. They were beautiful and feminine, like their father. Black hair, light-colored eyes. I loved my children right away, but it was the same love I felt toward George. I thought this was normal. Isn’t the love a woman feels for her husband and children similar to the love that fills her when she enters a museum and gazes at beautiful, unique paintings? After all, a woman might stare at the paintings for hours, going back and forth between parts and the whole. The woman would wonder how in the world these marvelous canvas creatures came to be. She would know she sits in the presence of something amazing. Something she must respect. Something she must not bring her fingers to, in fear of causing damage.

    Unbeknownst to me at the time, the love should not be the same. Not even close.

    On my fortieth birthday, I looked at my children, then fifteen years old and seven years old, and at my husband. Immeasurable pride flooded my heart. My family was as lovely and as gorgeous as Monet’s watercolors.

    I was content. My husband adored me. My children were good and quiet. They did not rebel. I had only to spend five minutes listening to my sister to reinforce the extent of my fortune. Lily did not marry well. In fact, she committed the act our mother so feared: she got pregnant out of wedlock. She did marry the father, Leo Tompkins, but the wedding was family only. Had to be, because my sister’s belly put a watermelon to shame. Leo drank all the time. He hated being home. Reeking of beer and of other females, he arrived in Lily’s bed late at night.

    My poor sister. I clucked with her the best I could, listened to her the best I could, had my husband talk to Leo the best he could: Now look here, Leo, be a man and support your wife and son. They need you. You wanna screw around, fine, but keep it discreet. There are ways.

    Yes, my poor sister, and lucky me. I had wandered into a glorious, serene painting. Lily had wandered into a museum with, alas, no paintings.

    These were my thoughts as I turned forty. That night, however, I awoke at two a.m. Moonlight cloaked the bedroom, and I gazed at my husband, at his calligraphy eyelashes. A first tickle of unease hit me. Was it possible to be too content, too bland?

    I was bored, I realized. George and I made the same kind of love at least once a week (he performed cunninlingus then penetrated me). He still brought me breakfast in bed. For all of Leo’s faults, he ensured my sister did not lead a boring life. Maybe that was why she stayed with him. You cannot have good without bad. Leo and Lily possessed plenty

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