He was invisible. He was used to that. His own children were grown up now, but when they were teenagers, and had friends around, they treated him as if he had accidentally slipped off into another dimension. He was just 'the dad'. Completely uninteresting. What would he know? Old, a bit overweight, thinning hair. Boring.
He had been invited to dinner at John and Sally's place. Old friends he had known for ages from work. He was introduced to their 20-year old daughter Emma. 'Hi,' she said in a flat voice, her eyes immediately moving away from his face to something that actually existed in her world. He kept his smile painted on his face, and joined his friends in the kitchen as they prepared dinner. They had invited him over, feeling sorry for him now that his wife had left him. A cousin, they had lined him up with Sally's cousin.
He sighed. At least he would get some adult conversation, and maybe the cousin would look OK, not be too dumb, at least help the evening to pass. Anything to help stop him thinking about his loneliness, now that his wife had left him for another woman. Once again he ground his teeth together. Another
woman
!
They moved into the comfy chairs, drinking beer and sipping wine. He relaxed a bit into the chair and glanced around at the room, letting the conversation wash over him a bit, like the surf at the beach. It would come his way, and then burble away. His hosts pointed out a new print they had got for their wall. He swiveled around quickly to see it, was surprised to see Emma looking at him from behind. Huh? How long had she been there?
The look was a bit strange, appraising, analytical even. It was if she was measuring him in some way, for some purpose. But what? As their eyes met she looked away, quickly left the room, flushing slightly. She had been caught doing something, something embarrassing. His eyes followed her shapely bottom as she left, his brain briefly switching into 'sex mode'. Enough of that, this was hopeless. Time to get a proper girlfriend, get some action back into his sex life. Before he wore out his hand.
The phone rang, Sally answered, looked disappointed. 'Meredith can't make it,' she said. 'Oh well, now we have you all to our own,' she smiled brightly.
'Damn,' he thought. Not even a chance of gazing at, maybe, a good-looking woman tonight. Well there was Sally, but he couldn't afford to stare at her in front of her husband. His thoughts wandered back to his new hobby, writing. Maybe he could turn the evening into a plot, somehow. Damned if he could think how though.
Sally got up to finish the dinner preparation, calling her husband to help her serve up. His eyes followed them both. Now that he had been writing he started seeing people in a different light. Plot fodder. He wondered if their marriage was OK. How often they fucked. In what positions. He tried to undress her with his eyes. This was safe because they had their backs to him. He wondered idly who wore the pants in the relationship.
Suddenly a twinge of recognition! Appraising them for plots, wondering about their sex life, undressing them mentally. It's almost as if that was what Emma had being doing when she watched him, earlier. Ridiculous, though. What would a young woman be doing, writing erotica? Heck, he knew absolutely no-one else that did it.
While they carved up the roast, and finished preparing the vegetables, his mind wandered back to the day he had found Literotica ...
----------------
How long ago was it? Five years? He was still married then, but their love life was practically non-existent. He had found solace in porn, spending evenings browsing site after site. Link after link, pushing him further into sub-categories he didn't even know existed.
The porn was OK, but after a while it had all seemed the same. Then out of boredom, and following another obscure link, he had stumbled across Literotica. Huh? Just text? Forget it. No-one ever 'came' from reading a story. Men needed pictures, images, tits, movement. Not reading. That was for women. Middle-aged women at that.
Still, he had read one story. It was better than he had expected. He had felt slightly aroused. Maybe try another one. Better again. Then he had found a fairly lengthy one, involving a son trying to seduce his mother, where they were not actually fucking by the second paragraph. He had started getting interested. The story was a tease, he had started to wonder if they would ever do it. Or would the son's father notice? Or join in?
He recalled that his cock had started tingling. He had dropped his free hand onto his pants and gently massaged the bulge. As the story progressed his hand had moved inside his pants, onto the top of his jocks. More story. The story had become more intense. He had moved his hand onto his cock, had felt its warmth, pulsing. His hand couldn't stop moving.
He remembered that suddenly it had all became too much. He had whipped his cock out and vigorously jerked it. Damn and blast! The sticky cum had shot straight out over the keyboard, and onto the screen. Fuck, fuck, fuck! That had never happened before! Guiltily he had cleaned himself up, stuffed his cock back into his pants, and cleaned up the keyboard and monitor.
He had resolved not to underestimate the erotic power of the written word again, and had started revisiting the site more often.
----------------
'Dinner's ready,' Sally said. 'Can you go tell Emma please?'
With an effort he jerked himself back into the present. Glanced down to check his recollection hadn't started up anything obvious in his pants, and wandered down the house looking for Emma's room. The door was open, he knocked quietly and went in.
She was sitting at her desk using her laptop. As she saw him entering she suddenly gave a guilty look and quickly closed the lid. As it was closing he glanced at it. Surely she hadn't been looking at Literotica! The distinctive blue border and 'Erotic Stories' text down the side looked familiar. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
'Dinner's ready, I'm to tell you,' he said, looking slightly dazed.
She blushed. 'Be there in a minute.' She joined them shortly after.
Over dinner his hosts asked him what he did for a hobby these days. 'Oh, a bit of writing,' he responded.
'What sort? Detective stories?'
'Nah, just action, adventure, that sort of thing,' he replied. 'I've not published anything though,' he lied. Apart from to Literotica he thought to himself. And 'adventure' wasn't too far off describing what he was writing now.
He remembered how he had progressed from reading stories to wondering what it would be like to write one. He would probably be hopeless, he knew. But maybe worth trying. He had penned one of his fantasies, nothing that had actually happened, but something that would have been fun, if it had. Spent a week revising, tweaking, checking. He had submitted it. It didn't get a fabulously big score, but it didn't 'bomb' either. Encouraged, he had submitted more stories. Also found the community on the Literotica forum a friendly, interesting bunch, somewhat to his surprise.
So, he was writer. A writer of erotica. None of his friends or family knew that. A couple of them, he had told he wrote 'short stories'. To be on the safe side he had quickly written a pretty bad pure adventure yarn, in case someone wanted to read one. It was a bit of a lonely life. No wife, and his hobby a guilty secret.
He looked across at Emma, eyebrows very slightly raised. She had been glancing back at him.
'Surely,' Emma was thinking, 'he couldn't have recognized that site! My parents would never understand. No-one understands.' Strangely, she had gone through a similar epiphany herself a couple of years ago. Discovering Literotica. Reading it. Getting sexual release from it. And starting to write her own stuff. She was very cautious, not disclosing her gender, using a public email address solely for that purpose, and keeping her stories securely on a USB stick hidden away in her handbag.
John said proudly, 'Emma writes too.'
She glared at him, 'Dad!'
'Sure she does,' John continued. 'Adventure stuff too, I believe. Always tapping away on her laptop.'
Emma had made up a story of being an 'adventure writer' to explain the lengthy amount of time she was sitting at her PC, typing. She also had written a non-erotic 'cover story' in case they wanted to see what she had been doing.
The writer looked at Emma, smiling. 'You write adventures too? Maybe we both write the same sort? Can I take a look at your work after dinner?'
Before Emma could say 'certainly not', her mother jumped in with 'I'm sure Emma would love to, wouldn't you dear?' Emma nodded her had a fraction. Trapped! At least she had the cover story.
----------------
After dinner he joined Emma in her bedroom. The door was still open, of course.
'You know, Emma, maybe we are interested in the same thing,' he started to explain. 'Let me tell you a bit about myself for a minute. I write stories, but most people don't know about them because they are, well, a little unusual. I respect your privacy, you don't have to tell me anything at all. But let me tell you something else. I get lonely not being able to talk to another human being about my writing. My friends, my brothers and sisters, they wouldn't approve. I can chat on the forum on the site I write for, but that isn't quite the same thing as talking to a real person, face to face.
'I feel amongst friends on the site I publish on. They don't condemn me, and I feel accepted there. It's strange though, the site has a rather distinctive web site layout that looks very similar to the one I thought you were looking at when I came into your room before. If you need a friend to chat about writing to, I would love to talk. I need someone to chat about my ideas with too. If not, that's fine. I'll understand. You are much younger than me, and probably feel embarrassed at what I am saying.'
He sat back and waited calmly for her to digest what he had said. Half a minute passed, she seemed to be wrestling with some inner turmoil. He smiled, 'the absence of a denial from you is coming across as confirmation, you know.' He leaned forward slightly, 'I'll be candid with you, maybe that will help. I write erotic stories, they are published on Literotica. I'm not some sex-crazed dirty old man, I just enjoy doing it.'
He folded his arms, 'you can tell me to get out, if that makes you more comfortable. I feel more relaxed with myself now than I did when I was 20, so I probably understand some of what you are feeling. But perhaps you aren't ready to talk about it right now.'
He moved towards the door.
'Wait,' she said in a small voice. 'You are right, I do write erotic stories. But you are the first person I have told to their face. Stay and chat, please? How did you guess?'
'Well, I thought you were checking me out for use as a character in one of your stories, before.' She nodded. 'I saw the web page, briefly. And your dad let slip you are a writer. What got
you
started?' he asked.
'I've always been interested in sex,' she explained, turning to face him. 'Both physically and emotionally. But I've had very little actual experience. I am nervous, for one thing, around boys, and I don't want to be thought of as easy. So instead I have been reading other writers' stories to help me get to sleep, and started writing my own, to live out some of my fantasies through my stories.' She looked down shyly.
She went on quietly, 'I'm afraid my stories aren't very good. I imagine romantic stuff, but the sexy details I'm a bit unsure about. I'm sure I've made a bit of a fool of myself a few times.'
'You'll improve,' he encouraged her. 'You just need more writing experience, and more -- er -- erotic experience as well.' He went a bit red. 'I better go back, your parents will be wondering about what we are up to.'
