"This is bad," Ed Wilson said. He clicked his mouse and shook his head. "Bad, bad, bad" he said as he clicked away the articles on his computer monitor. "Why do these doorknobs think they can write?" Ed Wilson, Associate Editor of Sexerotica, an online amateur erotica site, pushed himself away from the terminal in disgust and popped his head into the cubicle next door. "Eh?" he said to the young woman sitting next to him. He stood up to stretch his six-foot frame and straighten out the wrinkles in his suit pants. It was almost time to go home. The office was empty and it was already getting early-December dark out. Ed saw his reflection in the window and smoothed back his brown hair.
Sheila McGrane hunched over a swamp of papers that littered the desktop under her oversized computer monitor like leaves under a tree. She was Editor in Chief for Sexerotica, and had shared this space in a dingy Queens office building with Wilson since she took the job six months ago. They spent most of their days reading erotic stories from amateur authors, searching for a gem amongst the rubbish, for a story that might actually be worthy of the website's weekly prize.
She ignored Wilson's complaint about the quality of the stories before her. It was the same rant she'd heard many times before. The fact is, you can only read so much crap before it finally starts to get to you.
"If you want great literature, go read Dos Passos," she finally said, not looking up. "It's a paycheck." Sheila came from a good background: education in a private Illinois college and masters from Northwestern. But English majors weren't in much demand when she graduated, not even good looking blonde ones with nice smiles and long legs. The offers she got were all for executive assistant positions and clerical jobs except for this one. Her position at Sexerotica paid the bills and gave her time to write, even if she had to spend most of her time waist deep in somebody else's wet dreams.
Ed said dryly, "I found one where the guy actually writes more than a paragraph before his main character is whipping out his dick and sticking it up his sister's ass. Other than that, they're pretty much just bodily fluids from paragraph two on."
Sheila winced knowingly." Ed liked to try to gross her out. She pretended not to be bothered. She pictured herself the un-flappable editor, capable of handling anything.
"Yep," Sheila agreed, "just one cum-fest after another." She leaned back from the desk and rubbed her eyes.
Standing over her in her cubicle, Wilson couldn't help casually glancing down her blouse which, as usual, revealed a nice cleavage but nothing further. Sometimes he thought she knew exactly how much she was showing, like the time at corporate when she leaned over the boardroom table and her tits nearly rolled out onto the business plan. It was like she did it on purpose.
And of course she did.
"What I don't get," Sheila said, trying not to sound whiny," is how boring these people must be. I mean, it's the same shit over and over. Different categories, maybe. Different places, positions, relationships. But it's all just the same cock, rammed into your choice of three different holes. And do guys really always cum like that? What the hell's up there anyway? It's like each guy has Lake Superior for a prostate!"
Ed looked out the window into the black. He saw her reflection as she glanced up at him briefly, as if she thought he wasn't watching.
"I had one today," Ed recalled. "Sex between total strangers who never said a word to each other."
"Train car?" Sheila guessed.
"Ferris wheel," Ed corrected.
