What follows is a tale about authors of erotica. It has been created by the same team that brought you
Traffic
and
Traffic 2
.
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This is a true story. The events depicted below happened in the Mid Atlantic in 2024. At the request of those involved, the names have been changed. Out of respect for our readers, the rest has been told exactly how it occurred.
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Steven was frustrated. Not angry, not even grumpy, just low-level frustrated. It was a number of things. His job had been more of a chore than normal. His wife had been busy, both with her work, and with a new group she had just got involved in, something to do with charity, Steven thought. It was cool; feeling she was contributing made her happy. That made Steven happy. And -- when she was around -- the sex had been amazing recently. They still had it as a couple.
Steven and his wife were both grown-ups. They understood about sexual needs, and had come to what many would consider a non-traditional agreement early on in their relationship. Both had spent time being intimate with other people. Separately, most times. Which was fine, good even. It was sexy to talk about it together afterwards. If anything, these occasional wanderings bound them closer together. It wasn't as if they loved each other any less.
But, meeting the right person wasn't so easy. It took time and effort. Often, it felt like too much work for maybe only a fleeting benefit. And unlike many men in his position, Steven preferred to at least get to know his extracurricular partners a little first.
And so he took a different approach. He poured himself into writing. And it was erotica that he wrote. That was a great outlet. Steven's words turned him on, and -- to judge by the feedback he got -- they turned a lot of other people on as well, both male and female. He was good at it. It was a source of pride.
But writing had been a struggle recently. It happened to everyone, but that knowledge didn't make writers' block any easier to deal with, especially when it was such an important activity to him.
Today, Steven had the house to himself. His wife was at an event with her group, giving him the perfect opportunity to write. Or it ought to be. He stared at his phone screen. Words and ideas used to come so easily. What was wrong with him, had he lost it?
With a sigh, Steven sought a distraction. One of the nice things about writing was you met some cool people. Other authors, regular readers. Like in any walk of life, there were some not so great people too, but most on the site he frequented were lovely.
And there was one person in particular, a woman author. She was younger, but the age difference never seemed to be much of an obstacle to communication. She and Steven had hit it off almost immediately. He'd liked her writing, and told her so. Then she'd checked out his stories, and had felt the same. They found they had a shared sense of humor, and -- despite the age gap -- quite a few interests in common.
In one of those amusing coincidences that life sometimes throws at you, they even shared a name, or sort of. Steven often joked that Stephanie could be his female alter-ego.
An unlikely friendship blossomed. And of course they had a shared hobby. Steven talked to her most days. About writing, about the weather -- they lived in the same geographic area -- about life in general. Stephanie was also happily married, so there were always boundaries, but that was fine. Of course discussing erotic stories, and helping each other to write them, were inherently sensual activities, but how Steven and Stephanie viewed each other was essentially just as writing buddies.
Steven checked whether Stephanie had messaged him. Sure enough he had some replies. A new passage from her work in progress story. A photo of something funny she had seen at a store. And one just saying 'hi' and asking how his day was.
Steven typed a reply to the last one. They had few secrets from each other. He explained his mood. Said his wife was not around. Stephanie always provided a sympathetic ear. Steven checked out a few messages from other people and then saw that she had replied.
Hi, I get it. I feel bad for you. 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂 But think, the sex has been great of late. She's a total cutie. And people get busy. I know it sucks, but you can always talk to me 😬.
How like her, Steven thought; ever the optimist. Maybe with someone else, it would have been odd to share details about his sex life, but with Stephanie it felt natural.
Steven wrote a reply:
Yeah, I know. It's all good. It's just, well, a guy can get horny sometimes, right?
Her response was quick:
Of course 🤭. Me too, my husband is away as well. I'm kinda bored. But, maybe I can do something about that. Listen, I'm gonna go offline for a bit. But I'll do something to cheer you up. You'll like it, I promise ❤️❤️❤️.
The hearts were sweet. Steven got what they meant. This wasn't a romantic relationship, but he did feel close to his friend. He was fond of her.
Sure, looking forward to it. Gonna find something to keep me busy, talk later.
Steven had a good idea what Stephanie had in mind. On a few previous occasions, when he had been sick, or a bit down, she'd written something, a private story, just for him. That had always made Steven feel better, feel a little special, cared for maybe. She'd later published some of these works, but with names and appearances changed to protect the guilty.
Steven smiled to himself and thought it was nice to have a friend who shared at least some of his kinks. He had some stuff to do around the house, and needed to get a couple of things at the store. Ninety minutes later, he was back home. Maybe he'd give writing a go. When he pulled out his phone, Steven saw that he had a new message from his friend. Stephanie could write quickly, but he'd not expected to hear from her until the evening.
Curious as to what she had to say, Steven opened the conversation:
Hi, I've been out here for twenty minutes 😡. Thought you'd never come back. And it's kinda cold with what I'm wearing 🥶.
Steven's world started spinning. He must have misread the message. But no, she'd said what she'd said. He went to the window. Across the street was a silver SUV. He'd noticed it when pulling into the drive, but had not paid much attention to it. Why would he?
Steven knew it was the same make and color as Stephanie's car. It couldn't be, could it?
Looking closer, the windshield reflection made it hard to see clearly. Was that some one inside, waving at him? Maybe a hint of blonde hair? No, Steph was clearly pranking him, she did shit like that. And Steven's overactive imagination was simply filling in the blanks. Stephanie was just playing him. Steven chuckled, and relaxed.
And then the driver's door opened and she stepped out. Even from across the road, Steven had no doubt it was her. Petite, skinny, with a mop of unruly, dirty blonde hair, showing signs of lightening at the tips. Even before she looked up at him and waved, Steven knew it would be her face that he saw. Stephanie's face.
Steven's heart seemed to have stopped, and his breathing too. Stephanie looked both ways, and skipped across the street, her high heels clip-clopping, her short raincoat flapping. Flapping in a way that briefly gave a glimpse of black thigh highs. Steven could feel himself trembling, though whether with disbelief or excitement was hard to tell. When the buzzer sounded, he couldn't move for a few seconds, and then rushed to the door.
And there she was, smiling her crooked smile.
Steven was speechless, but Stephanie just giggled and teasingly said, "hi, honey, I'm home."
