Carl, a seasoned editor for a large publishing house, sat behind his desk wearing a white shirt with a navy blue tie, horned rimmed glasses that balanced low on his nose, wisps of hair that was not combed in place and had begun to grey, and an intense look on his face as he read Arlene's manuscript. Sitting across from him was a young slimly built woman with deep set blue eyes and long brown hair that was pinned up on most occasions. Arlene gave the air of being confident and aloof, a character trait which was not conducive to writing an erotic romance novel which she hoped to have published. On the other hand as she watched Carl draw lines through her manuscript and write notes on the side margins, she felt it was Carl who did not fit the portrait of an experienced man in the art of romance and therefore could not possibly edit her work in a proper fashion. After almost an hour of scrutinizing Arlene's work, Carl looked up to give his opinion.
"Well Arlene, there is a lot of work to do here if you want this thing to go," Carl said taking a deep disappointed breath.
"What do you mean?" Arlene said in a defensive tone. "It has all the makings of a great novel."
"I mean the work has no feeling to it, no sensuality, and no passion. Yes, it's sexual, but it lays flat," added Carl.
"Like you would know," Arlene sarcastically shot back.
Carl removed his glasses and laid them on top of the manuscript and leaned back in his chair. For an older man he was still fit and showed the outline of a toned body.
"There are ways in art of sex that you must learn before you can write about it effectively in your novel," he explained.
Arlene, offended by anyone who thought her work was less than perfect, was indignant, but bit her tongue and said nothing.
"Listen," Carl began. "You're young. You're pretty and I'm sure you've had enough men in bed to know what I'm talking about."
Arlene squirmed in her chair. She hadn't that many men nor did she know exactly what Carl was talking about. Her experience came from reading other romance novels and the occasional late Saturday night indulgence on Cinemax. The rest was imagination of how she thought it would be.
"I suppose I could revise it," she began slowly.
It was then that Carl realized that she had no idea of what he was talking about and the woman across from him although not naïve, was not as experienced as she would lead others to believe. At first, he felt sorry for her, but she was a bright and intelligent woman and that sense of pity soon turned into something else.
"How about if I show you what I mean?" Carl asked.
"Show me how to write with sensuality and passion?" Arlene said surprised.
"I could do that or I could show you what I mean," Carl said with a slow easy smile on his face.
Arlene thought for a moment. At first the idea sounded ludicrous, an indignant indulgence of an older man trying to prove he was still the virile sexually powerful man he once was, but as she looked at him, she saw nothing of that in his demeanor and began to consider the idea with serious intent.
"I can see the idea sounds appealing to you," Carl said.
"It is interesting, but I'm not sure you could show me anything I don't already know," Arlene said bolstering her confidence.
Carl loosened his tie and slipped it off his white shirt collar. He then unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. Arlene, sitting across from him in her pink blouse and navy blue pencil skirt watched him and swallowed hard trying not to notice Carl who was suddenly beginning to look much younger than his actual years.
"And how would you begin?" Arlene asked with a strained voice.
