"The Opposite Of Love" by T.A. Pace is a contemporary romance novel.
When 37-year-old Melanie is challenged to find a mate by her overbearing mother, she finds herself in a relationship that pushes her sexual boundaries, and in a place like Sin City, that can be a precarious ride. An homage to Erica Jong’s Any Woman’s Blues, The Opposite of Love is a psychological/sexual ride through Las Vegas and its local sex scene as experienced by two lovers who will test each other’s ability to accept them as they are, as well as their own ability to accept themselves.
- In my twenties I discovered Erica Jong's FEAR of FLYING and many years later, I am a fan of her books ; How old were you when her books entered your life and influenced your thinking?
I was about twelve when I discovered Fanny: Being the True Adventures of FannyHackabout Jones. My mother's bookshelves were ours to explore at will, and Fanny was probably my first "dirty" book. It exposed me to a world that was human and mysterious and fascinating. Sex was being talked about fluidly and nonchalantly, and was being had the same way. As a young girl, my only exposure to sex was "the talk," and to read about sex--casual, messy, funny, hot, or otherwise--was interesting to me. Once you get past the stigma of the "first time," sex is so human, so peculiar and adventurous, so different from person to person. And the way Ms. Jong writes about it encompasses all of that.
- Tell our guests your Top Ten favorite things about Las Vegas.
Friday afternoon pool parties.
Cost of living.
We have three freeways. That's it.
Hiking at Red Rock Canyon.
A dip in the pool on a hot day.
If you're bored here it's your own fault.
- Are there any other favorite books or authors for which you would consider writing an homage books ?
That's a tough one. I don't know if anyone else has struck a chord with me the way Ms. Jong has, although I do love Toni Morrison's older works.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
When 37-year-old Melanie is challenged to find a mate by her overbearing mother, she finds herself in a relationship that pushes her sexual boundaries, and in a place like Sin City, that can be a precarious ride.
An homage to Erica Jong’s Any Woman’s Blues, The Opposite of Love is a psychological/sexual ride through Las Vegas and its local sex scene as experienced by two lovers who will test each other’s ability to accept them as they are, as well as their own ability to accept themselves.
James arrived at Melanie's door promptly at seven-thirty wearing a suit and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Melanie opened the door in a burgundy chiffon gown that draped modestly in front and dramatically in back, with a slit up to her mid-thigh on one side. She spun in a circle, modeling for him, and he let out a low growl in sincere approval. Without a single strap holding it in place, it seemed like the dress could just slide right off of her shoulders. The thought made his dick pulse.
"That is some dress, babe."
"Glad you like it," she said. Then, nodding at the flowers, "For me?"
"Who else?" He handed them over with a kiss on the cheek.
He’d had his truck washed and waxed and when he opened the door she climbed in gracefully, her leg sliding out of the open slit in her dress, then sliding back in before he closed the door. That visual image reminded him of what he’d be doing to her later.
James didn’t always bring a date to the policemen’s ball. The last time he had was three years before and his date had worn a short, silver sequined dress with porn-star cleavage and platform heels that looked like they’d just fallen off a pole dancer. She’d had too much to drink and giggled at everything anyone said. Did she make his dick hard? Sure. But she looked like she was paid for, and that didn’t help his image with the higher-ups. Melanie was the kind of woman who could be sexy without being trashy and manage interesting conversation and drinking without being silly or embarrassing him. She was the kind of date who could help him get promoted.
It was August and monsoon season was at its worst. Almost daily, black storm clouds materialized over the valley, looming like dark ghosts, dropping an inch of rain and hundreds of lightning strikes in the matter of an hour, downing trees and power lines and causing flash floods before moving on and leaving the residents feeling vaguely assaulted. But worse, the air had become the one thing locals couldn’t tolerate: sticky. Even humidity of thirty percent was likely to have a Las Vegan mopping his forehead and complaining of swampy weather.
They valet parked, and once inside the casino, they were safe. No matter the weather outside, the air-conditioned wombs of the casinos were always mild and dry. As they crossed the casino floor heading toward the banquet hall, men playing blackjack and craps twisted their heads around and leaned back from their tables to get a look at Melanie. With her high heels she was still about two inches shorter than James, but the way she held herself made her appear statuesque. She didn't have bombshell curves, but her femininity was palpable and what curves she had were classy. She held her head high and kept her arm threaded through his as they walked. James tried to remember ever feeling so proud to have a woman on his arm, and couldn't. The thought made him a little nervous, but more than anything, he felt like the man. His colleagues would be insane with jealousy and insatiable with questions.