by Karina Halle
We burst out laughing again, tears running down my face.
I fumble for the handle. “Okay, I have to go to sleep.”
I step out of the car as he says, “Amanda.”
I stoop to look at him, leaning against the open door.
“Promise you’ll really consider it,” he says looking up at me, his voice gravelly. “I think it will be fun. I think it could change everything.”
I promise him I will, and when I’m lying in my bed later, drifting off to sleep, I wish I made him promise that everything will change.
10
Amanda
The next morning, before Ana even wakes up, I pad into the kitchen and make myself a giant vat of coffee and find a free corner of the table to bring out my computer and look through Blake’s proposal.
When I woke up, my first thought was to just dismiss last night as a drunken fun time and plan on never seeing Blake again. Writing erotica with him is a ridiculous move and totally the opposite of everything I stand for.
But slowly it’s growing on me. It has legs. It has movement. And the more I read of his business plan, the more I realize he knows exactly what he’s talking about. If we could pull it off, if we could somehow get readers and our foot in the door this way, this might open up a whole world for us. For me, if we’re successful enough, I might be able to snag an agent. Actually, the more I read up about the self-publishing success stories, the more I realize that agents go after them, not the other way around. That would be huge for me and my high fantasy career.
I imagine the look on my parents face when I tell them I have an agent. They don’t have to know about the pen names—in fact, I would make Blake swear to never ever tell anyone our secret because that’s exactly what it would be—our secret. But I could just say that my fantasy novel (that they so easily dismissed) garnered the right attention. I could even tell Sarah Price and hope the news gets to Alan and everyone else I went to high school with, the ones who thought I wouldn’t amount to anything besides a weirdo.
My only concern—other than selling out—is that I have zero experience in writing anything remotely erotic. I mean, I watch my little porn channel on the internet, I’m well-versed with my vibrators, and I know all of the kinky things I wanted to do with Alan even though he shied away from them for one reason or another. But I don’t know how to write it. I guess that’s Blake’s part, but I don’t know how to write romance and tender loving scenes either. My idea of romance is a guy who will take me to see an Avengers film and doesn’t mind dressing up like Loki afterward.
Fake it until you make it, I tell myself. Maybe this way I can indulge the sexual storyline of my novel without having to change the story. I wonder if Blake will mind if I name one of the characters Luthwen.
Feeling nervous as all hell, I send him a quick reply to his email.
I’m in. What next?
Kinkily yours, Amanda Hugandkiss
His response is almost immediate.
We get started. You should probably begin reading some of the stuff in the Top 20, at least the samples, just to get a feel for the flow and prose. If you end up jacking off over it, please let me know. With details.
Your place or mine?
Dick Buttkiss
I assume he means to work on the erotica together and not me jacking off. Speaking of, it’s funny how comfortable I am with him making remarks like that. I guess he’s slowly rubbing off on me, which is probably for the best considering what we’ll be embarking on.
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 asks, 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 bring you here. We can order in and I’ll make sure the Harbinger 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 any more. 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 number three 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 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 s
he 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 take part 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?
Her response: Uh, yeah. I have a waterproof Kobo. Why do you think I take so many baths?
Me: Because you’re a dirty girl. You walked right into that one.
Her: That’s true. But yeah, you should get up on that shit, even though book boyfriends might ruin you.
Me: You don’t need book boyfriends. Your whole life is one big erotic novel.
Her: That’s true. I could write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad.
Oh my god. Blake and I could totally write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad! I quickly write that down and hope Rio never finds out.
Back at home I’m compelled to read as many books as I can, but with Ana being home, I know I’ll have to postpone getting off until later. Which means when it’s almost time for Blake to come and get me, I’m wishing he’d really come and get me. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to read all this smut then write it with him? Him with his gorgeous eyes and devilish grin, and taut, muscled body, and those hands, those hands that could so easily pick me up by the waist and throw me on the bed before lavishing me all over with his tongue and…
“Sweet one, your man is here!” Ana yells, snapping me out of my torrid daydream.
Fuck.
It’s like he knew I was thinking about him.
Fuck.
That means Ana is talking to him!
I scamper out of the bedroom and see him walking into the living room, looking around.
“I’m so glad we finally met,” he’s telling Ana, who is grinning at him like he’s some kind of celebrity. I bet she thinks he’s Tom Hiddleston.
“No!” I yell, and then stop as they both turn to look at me.
“Amanda,” Ana says, pouting. “I’m being very good.”
“She is,” Blake says good-naturedly. “She only told me once in the last thirty seconds that you and I need to have the sex together.”
“I said sex, not the sex,” she says. “My English is better than that.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter. I quickly gather up my things, sliding them into my messenger bag. “Let’s go.” I grab his arm and lead him away.
“Nice meeting you!” Blake yells over his shoulder. “I promise I’ll stay longer next time.”
“You will not,” I tell him as I march toward his car.
“Anything to see you all hot and bothered,” he says. “Have you seen your face? You’ve got quite the glow going on.”
I don’t say anything and get in the car.
“Could this be the aftereffects of the big O?”
“No,” I tell him quickly as the car starts and The White Stripes “Rag and Bone” starts playing. “Love this song,” I tell him, turning it up and grooving in my seat.
He looks completely taken aback. “Since when?”
I keep grooving and raise my hand slightly. “Jack White fan here.”
He reaches over and turns down the volume button. “Wait, are you trying to change the subject?”
“There is no subject to change. I didn’t masturbate. End of story.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. But I bet you were turned on.”
“Maybe,” I say, turning the volume up again as we take off down the street while I continue to do my silly seat dance.
Soon we’re settled on his patio, our computers and kindles and notes crowding the table along with a growler of fresh home brew from Spinnakers. Sun fills the space, the breeze coming up from the harbor smelling of salt and the faint whiff of diesel fuel. I’m nervous because of what we’re about to embark on but also completely at ease.
“All right, so we still need a pen name,” he says. “And I have just the one.”
He’s trying so hard not to smile.
“What?” I ask cautiously.
“Amanda Lovecox!”
I roll my eyes.
“Unless you don’t love cocks.”
“I’m not going to answer that,” I tell him. Then it hits me. “Blake Lovecox.”
He shakes his head austerely. “I only love my own.”
“Blake is a girl’s name too.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“So why not? I think it’s perfect.”
“Oliver Klozoff,” he says, snapping his fingers.
“Do you want to get sued by Matt Groening?” I say. “Come on. This is just classy enough that people will believe it and it won’t get caught by the Amazon censors. Believe me, I’ve been doing my research and that’s an issue.”
“Okay fine. Blake Lovecox. She’ll make you love cocks too.”
“Well, the best part is that Blake could go either way, so it keeps the mystery of who we are.” I hold out my hand. “Deal?”
He shakes it, holding it for a second longer than he should. “Deal. I’m Blake and you love cocks.”
“I can live with that. What’s next?”
“We need a plot and then a title.”
I frown. “Nah, I think we need a title and then a plot. Otherwise we’ll never decide.”
“Okay,” he says, adjusting himself in his chair. He flips through his phone and pushes it toward me. “I’ve written down all the classic tropes and the elements the book needs.”
I glance it over and read aloud. “Dirty talking alpha male. Extremely large penis. Built like The Rock. A millionaire is good, but a billionaire is better. Make sure he donates to Africa or does some charity work, even though he’s an asshole with a damaged past. Must possess pillowy lips and intense eyes that gaze into your soul.” I shoot him a furtive glance. “Sure you aren’t talking about yourself here?”
He smirks. “Wait till you get to the heroine.”
I continue. “Heroine is gorgeous but she doesn’t know it. Perfect body even though she complains about having such a small waist and big boobs. Has a cunt that tastes like honey.” I do a double take on that one.
“To be fair,” Blake says, “I’ve had some tasty cunts in my day, but none of them have tasted like honey. Still delicious though.”
I stare at him incredulously for dropping that but he just shrugs. “What? You better get used to this talk, darling, because you’re going to be writing it. There’s nothing but honey cunts and pre-cum and rim jobs from here on out.”
I take a moment to digest all that before I read on. I clear my throat. “Must be a doormat and void of personality or any interesting characteristics so that the reader can interject their own selves. A virgin is preferred, but she must be able to get off on command. Condoms aren’t necessary, but ropes and whips are. She must refer to her vagina as ‘her sex’ and be clenching constantly.” I nod at that. “I noticed the clenching too.”
“Also,” he says, taking back his phone, “the hero should be in a position of power over her and take charge from the start.”
“So degrading.”
“But it’s fantasy, so who fucking cares? You of all people should know what you can get away with in a fantasy.”
“Yeah, but I make up worlds with orcs and bird people, not football coaches getting bl
owjobs from cheerleaders.”
“Different strokes for different folks. And when I say strokes, I mean of the cock-handling variety.”
“Yeah I get that, thank you.” I sigh and take a sip of my beer, watching a seaplane take off in the distance. “You know, if we could actually make a career out of this, this wouldn’t be half bad.”
He grins at me. “Now you’re talking. So we have those tropes. We just keep the books the same every single time. Change the character names around, and by the way, I have a list of those names as well. The books will all follow the same formula—sex within in the first couple of chapters. Then more sex. Then they fall in love. Then they break up. Then they get back together. Happily-ever-after epilogue with a massive sex scene.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I muse.
“It will be. Now we just need the title and the plot and we’re good to go.”
We put our heads together, and as the sun slowly dips down over the Pacific Ocean, we narrow our list down to a few with the most potential.
Falling for the Secret Male Stripper – Ford Titan is a nerdy high school teacher by day, a male stripper at night. When his eighteen-year-old barely legal student Shasta Black discovers this and threatens to tell the school, the two of them make a deal…a sexual one.
Riding Hard: a bad boy crime boss MC ménage forbidden second chance romance standalone – Outlaw Jones is one bad-ass biker dude, covered everywhere from his neck to his cock in tattoos. There’s only one place where his body is bare—his heart—and he’s saving that space for Angel LaRue, his best friend and the girl next door he last saw when he was a damaged teenager. But first, he has to rescue her from Dick Pounder, the equally sexy boss of the rival gang. Things get…sexual.
Spread Open: A Gynecological Love Story – Nelson Dunsmuir was one of the world’s best Navy Seals. But when a mission goes wrong and he loses his best mate, he quits the Seals and decides to go back to his first career—gynecology. The moment Pender Galiano walks into his office needing a pap smear, Nelson knows he has to have the gorgeous virgin. But when old enemies rise up, Nelson has to protect Pender at all costs, even though loving her may cost him his life.