Author Anonymous: A True Story

by E. K. Blair

  ALEC107: When was the last time you touched yourself?

  ANONYMOUS: OMG! NO! You can’t ask me that.

  ALEC107: I can, and I did. Fair is fair. You know it was just yesterday when I last had sex, and I’ll give you one more: it was this morning when I last jerked off.

  ANONYMOUS: You are more open with divulging that stuff than me.

  ALEC107: Why are you so shy? According to you, we aren’t even friends, only strangers. No need to hide. So tell me.

  ANONYMOUS: Why do you want to know?

  ALEC107: The same reason you wanted to know about me. Curiosity. Plus, I like making you squirm.

  ANONYMOUS: What makes you think I’m squirming?

  ALEC107: Because I’ve made you uncomfortable. Don’t lie. You’re squirming, aren’t you?

  I shake my head with a nervous giggle as I type my response.

  ANONYMOUS: Fine. Yes. Your question made me squirm.

  ALEC107: Do you use toys or your fingers?

  ANONYMOUS: Seriously?!

  ALEC107: You’re making me laugh.

  My hands hover over the keyboard, and I tell myself that he’s right. I’m just a stranger. He doesn’t know me, and what he does know isn’t even the whole truth. But I choose to give him an honest answer, because what does it matter anyway—I’m just having fun.

  ANONYMOUS: Last week.

  ALEC107: How?

  ANONYMOUS: I used my vibrator. There. I answered you. My turn. With these clubs you go to, are you worried about diseases? I mean, can anyone off the street go to these places?

  ALEC107: I always use protection, and no, you have to be a member to get into the clubs I go to. Of course there are clubs that anyone can go to, but who would want to?

  ANONYMOUS: Does it cost money?

  ALEC107: There’s a membership fee and required STD testing that you must abide by, along with club standards and rules. It’s a very clean and safe environment. You should come if you are interested. Members can bring a guest, but they aren’t allowed to participate with anyone aside from the member that brought them. It’s simply a way for someone new to see what it’s all about before joining.

  I can’t believe these places actually exist and that he talks so casually about them as if it’s no big deal. I know I shouldn’t be shocked, but I am.

  ANONYMOUS: I don’t even know who you are and you’re inviting me to join you at a sex club.

  ALEC107: I’m not inviting you so I can have sex with you. Only because I’d rather you go with someone who’s safe and won’t take advantage of the situation. But if you prefer, why don’t you meet me for coffee?

  ANONYMOUS: You say you’re safe, but I don’t know that.

  ALEC107: Okay, then. Why don’t you call me next time you want to talk? Is that slow enough for your liking? ;) 857-222-3535

  And, just like our last conversation, his status goes to “offline” before I can even respond. I sit back, thoroughly entertained by our chat as I stare at his phone number, curious about what this guy’s voice even sounds like.

  Closing my laptop, I set it on the nightstand and turn off the lamp before slinking down into the covers and lingering in the high that comes along when meeting someone new and intriguing. Someone so different, so straightforward, and yet, so much more mysterious than anyone I’ve ever met. I replay our conversation in my head as I drift and eventually fall asleep.

  Warmth cocoons me from behind. A heavy hand wraps around my shoulder and pulls me onto my back. I reach up my hand to run it along smooth, bare skin, never opening my eyes because there’s no need. His touch, his smell, it’s undeniable. I’m half-awake, half-asleep, as I maze around in my obscure state of mind. With my eyes still closed, I feel Landon’s hand slip under my shirt and graze along the swell of my breast, his palm brushing over my nipple, hardening it as I sway my body up to his.

  He’s entirely naked above me, and when he knees my legs open, he presses his hard cock against my hottest part that yearns for the animalistic pleasure Alec was telling me about earlier tonight. I need to get lost in a place where nothing exists but pure ecstasy.

  I lift my hips when Landon slips his fingers under the hem of my panties. I can feel how wet I am as he pulls them down my legs. Quickly, I peel off my shirt, grab the shaft of him, and guide him inside me. I’m eager and selfish and horny as I urge him to move fast and hard. His mouth runs along my neck, kissing me between his heavy breaths and moans.

  Keeping my eyes closed, Landon is no longer my husband, he’s an obscurity as I lose myself in a rhapsody of hedonism I imagine Alec’s world to be. I roll on top of the fictive stranger, reach my arms over to the headboard, and hold on as I thrust my hips back and forth. I break our routine of choreographed sex and selfishly take control.

  “Damn, Tori. You’re so wet,” the man below me groans as I rise and fall over his cock.

  Sweat beads at the nape of my neck while I drive my body higher and higher. I throw my head back when I feel the swelling of his cock inside of me, and I grind down harder. My movements grow more rigid as I reach my peak, and when he cums, I slip off the cliff’s edge and explode in mid-air as I fall wildly out of control. Sparks of fire shoot through me, leaving a sizzle in their wake as I ride out my orgasm.

  Never opening my eyes, I drop my head down to his chest, and with a deep breath, I take in the scent of my husband—a stranger no more.

  He wraps his arms around me, both our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. “That was unexpected,” he murmurs on staggered breaths. “What came over you?”

  Through my pants and heavily beating heart, I finally open my eyes and look into his sated ones. “I don’t know. It’s been a while for us . . . I guess I needed that more than I thought.”

  Landon rolls us over onto our sides and kisses my damp forehead. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted lately.”

  “Don’t be. I understand.”

  “I love you most and more,” he tells me when he tucks my head under his chin.

  Nuzzling into his chest, I breathe in his scent once more. “I love you too.”

  Four days ago, I called Alec for the first time. I thought it would be weird, but just like our private message conversations, it felt effortless. So much so, that we wound up talking on the phone that first day for nearly five hours straight. Needless to say, I haven’t been getting much writing done because we’ve been talking on the phone every day since.

  I’ve found myself opening up to him more quickly than I do most people when striking up friendships. But we only communicate through text and phone calls, so all we have are words to fill our time. It’s inevitable that we would learn about each other faster than if we were spending time together in person. Not that he hasn’t asked, but I always decline, mostly because I’ve created myself as a lie. Not entirely though. I guess the only real lies are that I’m single with no kids. Everything else I’ve told him has been factual. But those two details aren’t minor—they’re the monumental threads that weave soul to flesh and make me who I am. It’s not like I lied about something trivial and meaningless, and for that fact, I just don’t feel like there is any point in taking this any further than our texts and phone calls.

  In the past week, I’ve learned about his family and upbringing. He’s shared stories of growing up the youngest among three brothers who are now all married with children, all of which still live nearby. The adoration he has for his nieces and nephews is apparent in the way he speaks of them, and I don’t doubt that he wishes to have children of his own. He also shared with me how the death of his father a few years back forever changed the dynamics of his family.

  I too opened up to him about my family. The divorce of my parents when I was only three years old, my older brother marrying and starting a new life with his wife, and the isolation I’ve always felt. He knows my family is distant, that aside from holidays and birthdays, there’s no real communication between us. To my surprise, I even found myself telling him something I never talk to anyo
ne about. I got swept away in the ease of our conversation and told him about the day my mother died. I couldn’t remember the last time I had talked about her to anyone, but for some reason I told Alec.

  “She died in the morning and no one even bothered to tell me,” I weep.

  “No one told you?”

  “No. It was evening, and I had dropped by the house to visit her. The street was lined with cars. Everyone knew . . . everyone but me.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty-two,” I respond. “I was her only daughter and no one gave a shit about me to tell me when they had told everyone else. I’ll never forgive my family for that.”

  “You shouldn’t. They don’t deserve your forgiveness. What they did was fucked up and you have every right to hate them,” he insists fervently.

  He sat there on the phone with me while I cried. You’d think it would be awkward to cry on the phone to some stranger, but I the obscurity between us made it easier. We have this barrier between us that grants a protective shield, just like when I write. Hiding behind a keyboard makes me brave. I can say anything, be anything.

  “You’re up early,” Landon says when he walks out of the bedroom.

  Settled on the couch with my cup of coffee and laptop, I’m still in my running gear. “I decided to wake up early and get my run out of the way.”

  Landon rummages around the kitchen as I check my email. I see I have a private message waiting on me, which surprises me since Alec and I haven’t been using FetLife to communicate now that we have each other’s cell phone numbers. I click on the link, which directs me to the site’s login screen.

  “What on earth are you looking at?” Landon questions as he looks over my shoulder from behind the couch and sees a woman tied up and bound to a St. Andrew’s Cross.

  “Research, dear,” I tease.

  “What the hell is this new book about?”

  I laugh and lean my head back to look up at him. “Do you really want to know?”

  He kisses my forehead and then flirts his words, suggesting, “Instead of telling, maybe you can show me later tonight. I’ll be more than happy to help you research.”

  “You? I’ve been with you for over thirteen years, Landon.”

  “And?”

  “And you are nothing like this.”

  “I could be,” he says as he walks back into the kitchen, and I brush off his words with a giggle.

  ALEC107: Dropped my phone in the parking garage after work, and the fucker no longer works. Wanted to let you know in case you call or text and get no answer from me. Should have a new phone this afternoon.

  ANONYMOUS: I assumed a man like you wouldn’t have clumsy hands. I feel sorry for all your conquests. LOL!

  After I send my response, I close the lid to the laptop and join Landon in the kitchen.

  “Today is the big day,” I say. “Are you nervous?”

  He sets his coffee mug down, and when he turns to me, I wrap my arms around his waist.

  “Very. I tossed and turned all night.”

  “So, you’re saying I wasn’t able to satisfy you,” I murmur seductively with a grin.

  “Oh, you definitely satisfied me.” He then leans down and nuzzles his kisses into the crook of my neck. “You are more than welcome to do that to me every night.”

  “That’s so romantic,” I joke. “Sure, you just lie there while I do all the work.”

  His laugh is loud as he pulls away and slaps my ass playfully. “That’s right, babe!”

  I pick up my coffee, take a seat at the bar top, and watch as Landon resumes his normal morning routine of fixing the girls a hot breakfast. He pulls out ingredients from the pantry and fridge.

  “How is Damon feeling about today?”

  “About the same as I am. When it comes to the Times it only takes one review to make or break you. It can go either way,” he says with his back to me as he cracks open an egg. “We’ve worked so hard getting this restaurant up and running.”

  “And you’ve been successful every step of the way. The two of you know what you’re doing and you’re great at it.” When Landon turns to wash his hands in the sink in front of me, I look him in the eyes and affirm, “You’ve got this, babe. You’re an amazing chef.”

  Wiping his hands dry, he smiles at me. “I don’t know what I would do without you. All the late nights and endless weekends I put in at the restaurant and you’re always there to support me and take care of the girls. I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate all that you do.”

  “We’re a team,” I tell him, feeling guilty for complaining about him to Brooke last night. I should try harder not to dwell on how mundane life has become and focus more on all the good things I have. After all, Brooke is right. I, along with most of the women who read my books, have conditioned my mind to what love should be but isn’t. This is real life, and it’s not perfectly passionate and spontaneous and without flaws. I’m the first to admit that there have been times that I wished Landon acted and behaved in a certain way that reflects the men I read and write about. But when that’s the world I spend my days in, it’s easy to lose sight.

  Once the girls wake up, the morning moves at lightning speed, as it always does. By the time I drop them off at school and get back home, Landon is already gone. I shoot him a quick text to wish him luck before my phone rings with an incoming call from my editor.

  “I read the chapters you sent me, and I love the direction you’re moving in. An email is being sent with the deadlines. You need to look over it, insert your electronic signature, and send it back by the end of today.”

  “Thanks, Tabitha. I’ll go check my email now.”

  I give the dates a quick lookover, and although the deadlines are hard and fast, I shouldn’t have any problems meeting the requirements. I sign the form and email it back. I then take a chunk of time to talk to Brooke before opening up my manuscript and getting to work.

  Finding my groove comes easily today. Three hours have passed, and I’ve already hit twenty-five hundred words, which for me is above my average word count for an entire day. I’m in the pocket, actuality has dissolved into a faraway shadow, and I’m immersed in a story so rich and fleshed out that it becomes my reality. I laugh and cry as my fingers skitter across the keys, experiencing every emotion my characters do. But as deep in as I am, I can easily be yanked out with the slightest distraction, and right now, that’s coming from the chime on my cell phone from an incoming text.

  I force out another paragraph before grabbing my phone.

  Alec: Thinking about you.

  His flirtatious words cause something inside me to stir—a warmth I’m not used to feeling, but it intoxicates. I can’t remember the last time anyone has flirted with me. I’m smiling as I quickly save the progress on my manuscript. I close the top and slide it off my lap, returning to my phone with a slight enthusiasm.

  Me: Did you get a new phone?

  Alec: I did. But it’s missing one important thing.

  Me: And what’s that?

  Alec: A photo of you. We’ve been talking for a week now, and I still have no clue what you look like. With the amount of information we’ve shared with each other, I wouldn’t assume us strangers anymore.

  Me: I went for a run this morning and have yet to take a shower. I look like shit.

  Alec: So you’re concerned about what I might think about you?

  His words imply that I want to look good for him, and when I think about it for a moment, he’s right. Why do I care? I shouldn’t, and I shouldn’t lead him to believe that I do. I open the camera on my phone, hold out my arm, and snap a shot of me smiling. I don’t feel as awkward about sending him my photo as I did earlier this week. Even though we’ve only been talking for a short time, some of our conversations have run deep. When I text him the photo, I can’t help but scrutinize it—my messy bun, my every flaw free from the camouflage of makeup.

  Alec: Who’s catfishing who now?

  Me: Please.
If I wanted to catfish you, I wouldn’t have sent you that messy picture.

  Alec: Messy wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe you.

  Me: What word would you use then?

  Alec: Beautiful.

  His single word elicits a smile, and I respond teasingly.

  Me: I think your old age is impairing your vision, but thank you anyway.

  Being nearly ten years older than me when Landon is only two years older is noticeable. Alec wears his age in a way I find extremely attractive. It’s not only etched in his face and the gray in his hair, it’s also in the way he talks and his life experiences he’s shared with me. With Landon, we’re equals, discovering life together, teaching each other. But when I think of Alec, the dynamics are different. He doesn’t feel like my peer, like my equal. There’s a divide: I’m young and less ripe, and he’s the opposite. He’s the teacher and I’m the student. This imbalance appeals to me and has a way of making me feel little next to him. As if I could stand still and know he would lead the way because he’s more experienced—seemingly paternal in a way.

  Alec: Have you ever dated someone my age?

  Me: No. Only guys around my age.

  I don’t bother to ask him the question in return. He’s told me his lifestyle, I’m well-aware he’s been with all ages.

  Alec: Does it bother you?

  Me: No.

  My phone suddenly vibrates in my hand with Alec’s incoming call.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I scold in jest when I answer.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” His voice is low with the right amount of masculine rasp and no hint of a Boston accent. It’s a voice that matches his photo. “I took the rest of the day off. I’m at home.”

  “I know you live in Boston proper, but what part is it that you call home?”

  “Back Bay area. I live in a studio loft next to Charles River.”

  “Right across from Cambridge,” I note. “My assistant lives there.” There’s a noisy rustling in the phone. “What are you doing?”

  “Lying down. What are you doing?”

  “In the middle of the day? Must be nice.”