Freddie (Frederich) von Ewald, who'd recently won an international competition for best erotic story, let it slip during a radio interview that he worked as a dress designer in a studio apartment above his mother's flower shop in Anaheim Street, Long Beach, California.
Soon he'd received almost 200 letters from women pleading with him to help them spice up their drooping sex life.
At night Freddie switched to writing porn.
During rest breaks he began reading those letters for possible inspiration. A few correspondents emoted skillfully enough to describe their need to inspire the dedicated porn writer to unzip.
One really sent him into jerking frenzy.
In tiny handwriting that woman (er presumably a woman) had penned on an over-size clean condom how her pulsating pussy had never been massaged by a fat ripping penis that could ring her bell.
He pulled his hair in frustration when finding she'd omitted contact details.
Many others bleating their woes wrote pathetic rubbish that mentally turned him into thinking like a disgruntled eunuch.
But then he struck gold.
He opened a plain white and unscented letter and a woman called Wynn asked him to help her to write her maiden porn story; her email address was supplied.
Wynn had enclosed a photograph.
Freddie turned it over and gaped.
"Fuck me!"
* * *
Attractive Wynn Peters, notable for her ivory pale facial skin and chestnut wavy hair that beautifully framed her green eyes, worked as a hair stylist as a top salon in Pasadena, California.
Two years ago the 31-year-old divorced her husband of nine months after the slime-ball revealed his true colors. He was jailed for severely beating up two prostitutes whom he told the Court, dribbling saliva, had failed to jointly provide him with sufficient sustained excitement to justify the $1500 the twins had demanded for their premium service.
The shock of that disgrace turned Wynn off men and she sought sexual satisfaction watching porn video and working through her well-stocked box of toys. Through such activity she acquired a deep and satisfying interest in porn that she now regarded as a pillar of modern society,
Wynn joined a leading website based in southern California and quickly located contributed stories really had sent her juices running and wished she could write like that.
Her favorite category was erotic couples.
Wynn decided bitterly she was incompetently literate and couldn't even scratch a meaningful submission on the wall of a public restroom.
But then she heard the radio interview with erotic contest winning writer Freddie von Ewald and noted his address. Long Beach was reasonable close to where she was in Pasadena.
Wynn found the full address and wrote asking Mr Ewald, whom she automatically imagined would be handsome and broad-shouldered because he designed dresses as well as wrote porn and only half expected him to contact her. But three days later his email arrived.
Mr Ewald said he normally didn't bother to reply to such requests but she lived in Pasadena where he'd once lived. He invited Wynn to send questions about how to write her first story to submit to an online erotic literature site.
Wynn emailed she'd like a brief spell of one-on-on tuition, hopefully when Mr Ewald was set to begin a new story.
He replied he'd noticed from the photo she was mouth-watering beautiful. However did she have keyboarding skills and a reasonable command of language with some strength in creativity and what was her attitude toward people who put it around a bit.
"Omigod," she said looking at that final comment. "He means sex and he wants to shaft me."
Her knees weakened and she fell back on her chair tweaking a nipple in hope.
Wynn thought since the author wrote porn well enough to win a major international competition he probably maintained an almost permanent erection. That gave him the credentials to be the guy to reintroduce her to full-on sex again.
She replied free love was beneficial for society; that guys had to get over believing that marrying a female gave them exclusive ownership of her pussy.
Further Wynn added she'd won a class essay competition when she was eleven. She falsely claimed creativity in story-telling when talking to other women came naturally for her and that she automatically applied embellishments.
Mr Ewald replied and invited her to call him Carl. He asked could she arrive on Monday week and stay for six nights to fully benefit from his expert tuition in writing and anything else she had in mind. His message concluded:
Thanks for photo Wynn. Christ I almost ejaculated on the spot.
Wynn bristled, thinking it was improper of Carl to be so outspoken to someone he hadn't even met but decided to say nothing as probably writing porn voluminously affected one's focus and brain.
She arranged a week off work with the salon manager and emailed Carl that she'd come on Monday week. She could have written 'arrive' but thought the word 'come' might ring his bell. She thoughtfully went out and bought sexy underwear.
Sadly Wynn's arrival at Carl's home left her well short of thinking lustily about sex.
Carl was about her height of 5 ft. 7 in. He was skinny, balding and his weak chin was pathetically hairy like a tethered goat that had survived horrific malnutrition.
Wynn almost turned and fled homewards.
"Come in darling," he said, kissing her juicily.
"My wife is in Paris, France. You may take her place in my bed or choose the guest room."
"Guest room please," Wynn said emphatically.
He threw her bag on the guestroom bed and muttered they were in for an unfulfilled week unless she'd change her preference about sleeping arrangements.
They went to the third bedroom set up as a writing studio.
A painting of three weeping 'saints' dominated the room and Freddie explained he drew his inspiration from that.
"All the best writers of erotica had their youth twisted by the sanctimonious upbringing from parents who were home-grown religious bigots."
Wynn thrilled him when she sighed and said that described her upbringing although mysteriously her parents never attended church. She recalled that after dinner her father would read a passage from the Bible and a family discussion would follow. His wife and Wynn and her sister had to cover their hair with pillow protectors.
Freddie rubbed his hands in glee upon hearing that, thinking the babe at least had that the required background to fire into porn writing to attack the religious bigots of the world.
He placed a visitor's chair beside his chair and they sat in front of the laptop and looked at the blank page in Microsoft Word.
Wynn was visibly startled when baldy Carl who looked forty to forty-two said, "May I stroke your hair?"
She'd expected him to ask how they should start writing.
"Yes," she said submissively.
He stroked gently and appeared delighted.
Wynn trembled and a thought suddenly dredged up a memory of her father reading a portion of
Job 22:5 "Is not your evil abundant? There is no end to your iniquities."
She was six at the time and her father looked at her and asked her to explain what that meant. She'd fainted in terror. Some years later she loaded that quotation into her memory.
Freddie crooned, "Your hair is as good as it looks. We'll leave your pubic hair till later. Now I suppose you have the impression that erotic writers, er the male ones, go about with a constant erection and thinking non-stop about porn?"
Wynn cleared her thoughts and anticipated he'd be disappointed with a simply yes or no.
"My thinking is they would be relaxed, with their dick flaccid, to allow the creative juices to flow unimpeded."
"Christ girl you stated in your email you didn't write."
"I don't but I have a... a creative mind."
"Well it appears so. The first thing any serious author needs when preparing to start a new submission is to have at least the vestiges of the proposed story in your mind. Do you know why that is so?"
Wynn had no idea and tugged down a wild thought and said, "Because that allows you to swoop into starting the story otherwise you'd sit goofily and the blank page would remain blank?"
"You've studies creative writing at college," Carl accused.
"I have not; I attending hair and beauty college."
"Oh golly," Carl said and almost breathlessly asked, "Then you know how to do a Brazilian wax?"
"I have no idea."
"Oh very droll," Carl smiled. "Perhaps I'll like you after all."
"Ditto."
Max lifted and eyebrow and said "You're a fucking tease."
