💋 Mills & Swoon Daily #3 Tara the Time Tourist by Sarnia de la Maré #romance #flashfiction

A brand new series now featured here at Mills and Swoon.

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💋 Mills & Swoon is a Tale Teller Club production. Evergreen stories of love, wit, and human alchemy.

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Mills and Swoon is a romantic fiction series created by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA under Tale Teller Club Press, featuring droll, risqué short stories for modern women.

This episode includes AI-generated content.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Tara the Time Tourist introduce a new Mills and Swoon series,
blending wit, spice, escapism, and podcast storytelling, perfect for fans
of short form romantic fiction. Tara the Time Tourist a
futuristic Mills and Swoon short by Sarnia de la Mare.
In twenty one twenty five, dating had become a clinically
miserable experience, involving algorithms, psych screening, and compatibility contracts so

(00:25):
invasive they made old fashioned marriage vows look casual. Tara
Summers was sick of it, so she booked the only
holiday left that required zero algorithmic compatibility data harvesting. Sort
of look, they don't send you if you are likely
cause trouble. But on the surface this looked like something
that might be right up her futuristic highway time tourism.

(00:48):
Escape the fake, find the real. This was an undeniably
tempting promise. She didn't care which error they sent her to.
She just wanted two days without predictive emotional analytics shadowing
her every sigh. She wanted privacy, mystery, maybe even sex
without a contract and with real skin, as in not
an android. The operator grinned as she sealed the cronocapsule.

(01:10):
You're headed to eighteen twelve, Miss Summrs Regency period, very romantic. Romantic,
Tara scoffed. They didn't even have plumbing. But I am
keeping an open mind, as I am forever hopeful and
in my prime. Trust me, the operator said, people found
ways to entertain themselves. The capsule flashed and made a

(01:30):
ping pong noise, whirled a bit, and spat her into
a world of rickety transport carriages missed, and air that
smelled like horse poop. Her landing spot was unfortunate or fortunate,
depending on one's take on such matters, directly into a
man's arms. He caught her easily, with his grip firm,
his chest solid beneath a breached shirt, and his expression

(01:52):
equally confused and intrigued. Her buttocks were a perfect fit
in his elbow as he looked at her and raised
an eyebrow. What in God's name? He murmured, you fell
from the hedgerow? Tara blinked up at him. He looked
carved from the sort of genetics that would in twenty
one twenty five cost a fortune to replicate wide shoulders,
dark hair, a mouth, made for trouble. You know those plump,

(02:15):
soft yet manly lips. We all know what I am
talking about here. I'm on holiday, she blurted. He stared
at her attire, a futuristic jumpsuit that shimmered faintly from
where far away. She offered a hand Tara. He gently
released his manly grip and placed her on the ground.
He shook her hand politely, James Ashbury, and you are

(02:38):
not from Hampshire, she laughed, not even close. The next thing,
Tara knew she was in an elegant eighteen twelve mansion
where candle light played beautifully across his jawline. He fetched
her warm clothes, fed her a recuperating drink named cider,
and insisted she rest by the fire. Tara tried, but
James kept looking at her in that way men in
her century no longer did, as though she were astonishing

(03:01):
simply for existing. You're very bold for a lady, he said,
watching her examine the fire poker with curiosity. Where I'm from,
she replied, Women can own property, run companies, and delete
men with a swipe. Delete not permanently, she said, with
a grin, just from our lives. His laugh was rich
and slow, vibrating through her in a way no compatibility

(03:24):
app had ever managed. This was even better than the
pleasure Pulse machine her best friend had brought her for Christmas.
I am grateful, he said, stepping closer, that you haven't
deleted me yet. The air hummed. Was that a choir,
she wondered. She felt his breath before she felt his mouth.
The kiss was expertly delivered, exploratory, reverent, but with a

(03:46):
hungry undercurrent that threatened the structural integrity of her self control.
James kissed like a man on the brink of something divine.
Her hands slipped into his hair, His palms traveled the
curve of her waist, Gentle but firm. If regency etiquette
frowned upon such intimacy, James was wholeheartedly ignoring it. Tara,

(04:09):
he whispered, lips grazing her throat. Tell me you want this.
I'm on holiday, she breathed, I want everything. They spent
the evening discovering exactly how compatible two people from opposite
centuries could be. Tara, accustomed to a world of digital intimacy,
found the rawness of him intoxicating. No haptics, no neural filters,

(04:30):
just touch, breath, skin and need, and James dear, earnest, devastating.
James explored her with the quiet awe of a man
unwrapping the future. When dawn crept across the room, Tara
realized her cronocapsule would recall her in minutes. James dressed slowly,
watching her with a softness that made her chest ache.
You came from a world I cannot imagine, he said,

(04:51):
But I hope perhaps your return. If this is a dream,
I hope to dream of you again, For I fear
I have fallen under your spell, Darling Tara, I want
only to never of dream of others, only you. Tara
stepped close, traced his lower lip with her thumb, remembering
his savage, delectable ravishing throughout the night time. Travel isn't

(05:12):
supposed to form attachments, So you will forget me. She
kissed him, deep, lingering the kind of kiss people traveled
centuries for. No, he whispered, I'll remember you in every century.
The capsule shimmered into existence. Humming impatiently, James caught her
hand as she stepped inside. Then I shall wait however long,

(05:34):
he said. Tara smiled, knowing the sad truth about the
fantasy they were both invested in. In the capsule. En
route home, Tara filled in the questionnaire, giving her trip
a full ten ten James, a top recommend, and a
big yes she would definitely visit this fantasy again. Strenty
twenty five Sarnia de la Maree, published by Tale Teller

(05:54):
Club