By Gloria Vanderbilt
The marriages of hope . . .
From the multitalented and flexible Gloria Vanderbilt comes a passionate, sensual, witty, and difficult story of erotic obsession, attractiveness, and revenge, informed in tandem through ladies passionate about a similar man—and, finally, with each one other.
Talbot Bingham is a popular architectural genius who, along with his bold spouse, Priscilla, creates an architectural neighborhood. whilst he dies all at once in the midst of their 10th marriage ceremony anniversary social gathering, the devastated Priscilla is left keeper of the flame of Talbot's genius. dealing with her husband's documents, she comes by surprise upon a pile of well tied letters, and the surprising mystery of her husband's intimate life—a discovery that shatters the basis of her soul and spirit.
Obsession explores the mysteries of the human middle and the character of sexuality and obsession, scary questions about whom we decide to like, and why. The reader is left to determine if the opposite girl represents one other side of Priscilla, or if Priscilla her-self has invented the opposite lady who accomplished the area her husband so lately inhabited?
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Extra info for Obsession: An Erotic Tale
While I stand to work out the way it appears to be like within the mirror—I see it isn't me yet Bee, totally recovered, status within the doorway. yet is it particularly? we glance so alike, may well it in simple terms be a mirrored image of myself in a replicate? principles like pellets of quicksilver pound my mind into migraine as i attempt to loose one into motion, yet they simply make me loopy. subsequent morning I wake, totally remembering each one scrumptious second. What a chic dream! I write it down immediately in order to not overlook it. This one has to be to hand, to learn many times. I CAN’T STAND IT a second longer. i must see the place Priscilla lives. A foray to big apple is installed movement, even supposing a little not on time by means of indecision as to what to put on. Hours are spent making an attempt on one gown after one other as Rowena sits silent apart from nods of approval—yes, or shakes of head—no. i'm tough positioned to determine, as there isn't one gown or swimsuit in my cloth wardrobe now not chosen via Talbot, each one in ideal style yet attractive. certainly. Rowena ultimately loses persistence, and, sensing i'm wasting my viewers of 1, I rapidly throw no matter what is handy into my suitcase and stale I jet to manhattan to be met through limousine and chauffeured to Sutton position. I ring the doorbell and am proven into the lounge by way of Phoebe, Priscilla’s housekeeper, startled via her spectacular eyes, opalescent as eco-friendly grapes, which glance me over as she pleasantly tells me, “Mrs. Bingham has been awaiting you. ” It’s an extended wait as I take a seat on a settee until eventually eventually I pay attention heels clickety-click down the staircase. abruptly there she is—in person—the hated Priscilla—who sits herself down on an analogous couch contrary me. it truly is as though I take a seat on a settee taking a look at myself in a replicate. we're either wearing exact jackets of chartreuse jersey wool, army skirts, army hose, and spiky-heeled sneakers. We also have the same-patterned Hermès shawl artfully put round our necks. Priscilla asks if i want tea. “What I’d fairly like is to work out the home. ” “Of course—come! ” Priscilla graciously minces up the steps curving to an extended corridor. not able to comprise myself I say, “The bed room first should you don’t brain. ” “Of course—that’s the place we’re headed—I knew you’d be interested—” She leads me right into a room searching over the East River. the very first thing I spot is the chair. it's precisely like one in our inner most sitting room at Akeru, person who Talbot designed, lined in a cinnamon cloth with a development of magenta squares, abundant, huge, with rounded padded hands, the upholstery smooth as marshmallows. A chair i like to sink into, analyzing, and infrequently Talbot had attempted to distract me, taking the publication from me, lifting my skirt, skimming over my mons, carrying on with till it honey-creamed to his delight, then kneeling down, spreading my legs, and, with nice deliberation, circling my clit together with his finger, and because it rose I begged for extra, figuring out in time he may contact it together with his tongue—and oh god—what larger manner of whiling away a day. Priscilla sees me taking a look at the chair and reviews, “Talbot designed that chair, the cloth too—I frequently sit down there interpreting.