My place has an inappropriate Estonian woman and your place has something from my nightmares. You pick and I’ll be there. And if I end up masturbating because of poorly written porn, I’ll save it for our book and describe it in full detail. Sound good?
Yours sexually,
Fannie Pounder
I’m grinning stupidly at the computer, waiting for his reply, when Ana comes in all bleary-eyed.
“What are you so happy about?” she says and when she gets to the coffee maker she pauses.
Wait for it.
Her eyes light up.
“Your date!” she says excitedly.
“It wasn’t a date,” I remind her. “Get your coffee and I’ll tell you about it.”
She’s going to get a real kick out of my new situation. But as she’s clearing her crap from the table, I get the reply from Blake.
I have to work at the store this morning but I’ll come get you at five. As much as I love inappropriate women, it’s probably best we handle our secret project in secret, so I’ll take you here. We can order in and I’ll make sure the Harbringer of Doom doesn’t bother us.
Jack Goff.
Right.
Secret.
“So what happened?” Ana says, her eyes probing mine for any information, preferably of the dirty kind. If she only knew.
And now, she can’t.
“Uh,” I stammer, backpedaling. “We went to the pub and it was fun.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
Her eyes narrow and she leans in close, her sun-damaged boobs mashed against the makeup on the table as she scrutinizes me. “I don’t believe you. You know, in Soviet Russia, they taught you how to break your enemy and learn the truth. Very. Easily.”
“Yeah and you’re from Estonia, which was free from Soviet Russia after 1991. Were you recruited to the KGB as a teenager?”
She purses her puffy lips. “I know things,” she says finally, leaning back and slurping from her coffee.
“Well it’s the truth. We had drinks and a good time and that’s that.”
“And it wasn’t a date?” she asks suspiciously.
“Not a date. Just…it’s good to discuss things with a fellow writer.” And I shut my mouth before I say anymore. I can’t talk about this shit with anyone, I just can’t risk it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Blake made me sign a confidentiality agreement.
“You’re a bit of a cockweasel,” she says bluntly.
“A cockweasel?”
“You made me think something more had happened.”
“I think you mean cocktease.”
“Cock something. Cocks right in your face and you’re just throwing them away.” She demonstrates though it looks like she’s being attacked by flying dicks coming from all directions.
“Technically, Blake only has one cock.”
“How would you know? You haven’t seen it.”
“And I don’t plan on it,” I remind her.
I have some homework to do before Blake shows up so I grab my Kindle Paperwhite and notepad and head to Willows Beach down the road to do some light reading and note-taking. I lie down on the grass under an arbutus tree and decide to read the most popular book on Amazon, sitting at #3 on the charts, called Seduced by My Virgin Stepmother, which is described as a “light and fun read that no one should take seriously.” Well, at least they’re upfront about it and judging by all the five star reviews, it seems a lot of people want exactly that.
It’s hard to read it though without rolling my eyes every sentence. It’s not badly-written, per se, and if anything it’s entertaining. It’s just not my cup of tea. But I’m trying really hard not to judge. I read to learn and think and to be challenged, but I also want to be entertained. I guess some readers just want a quick escape from their lives. I can’t pretend that I don’t find myself sometimes glued to those awful soap operas Ana is always watching.
And then I hit the first sex scene (which happens at the beginning of the second chapter).
And holy shit.
Now I think I get it.
Granted the dialogue is unrealistic and cringe-worthy and the dude is a crude alpha with a cock the size of a Subway sandwich, but hey, no one wants to read about pencil dicks either. The hero, Chet Texas knows his stepmother, Paris Monroe, wants him bad (and through her POV we get a lot of “clenching” and “drenched panties” and “my sex was swollen with need,” so we know she’s equally as smitten) and after she spies on him in the shower, he corners her and…well, I hate to admit it but I was feeling a bit swollen with need myself by the time he was done pounding her against the wall, using pumice against her nipples and a bar of soap between her legs. Her clit must have been sparkling clean.
By the time I’m done with the book, I’m looking around the park red-faced and slightly sweaty, totally convinced that everyone knows exactly what I’ve been reading. Thank god for e-readers, you can read the filthiest shit and pretend you’re engrossed in War and Peace. The only problem is I’m turned on as hell and I’m not about to embark in public masturbation.
That said, maybe a character in a book would do just that. I scribble that down in my notebook, along with everything else I thought was either hot or important.
A text from Rio comes in: I just paid my weed guy with a check. I think I’ve got the hang of this adulting thing.
I text her back: Hey, random question but have you ever read erotica?