He liked her stories. She had a nice clean style, moved the story along, had a nice feel for the language. Her writing said smart. Her women had passion. He liked smart. He loved women. He was moved by passion.
His lifestyle had been admired by many. His resume was long and varied. He had acted and modeled for jeans (good ass). He had been an entertainment producer/director, and had done almost everything in the business; events, sports, commercials, live television, music videos, films, documentaries, etc. He was a published writer under pen names. He had traveled extensively. He'd had a lot of fun.
He was 50, single, had done very well, and now only worked on what he found interesting. For the last few years his projects had become more and more sensual.
His agent Lana from the Left Coast had called, saying, "Remember 'Red Shoe Diaries? We want to do a similar show. Money is good. Hell, it's great. Very soft core porn for cable. It's got to be very expensive looking. We want the money to show on screen. You're their first choice."
"How is the production budget? Erotic is tough to do well, and I don't work cheap."
"Baby, I know. You do this, you write the budget. Spend what you want. The money is Saudi; they looked at that film you shot last year and came in their Armani's. Hell, that is the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I have a copy at home, and I watch it and fuck myself every night. Speaking of which, when are you coming out to see me? I miss you. When are you going to stop hiding in Texas and come back to work?"
"I'll come when I can. Send me the numbers, and I'll see."
The numbers were very good; the project looked interesting. Once he said yes, the deal was easy to get done. Thirteen episodes, roughly thirty minutes each including bumpers, credits, etc. Original content, original music, big budget for talent and production, all options and residuals in his favor. Lana could cut a very good deal, especially dealing with men. They took one look at her, and were dying to sign that dotted line.
Doing this series meant producing 13 short movies. He liked the challenge. He liked working with young unspoiled talent, where he didn't have to deal with agents and other pains in the neck.
He especially liked working with women.
First, he needed writers. Thirteen original screenplays were too much for him to do alone. All thirteen would have his imprint and style, but be written by someone else while he advised and approved.
Which brings us back to her stories...
***
My stories? They started as a dare and if you had told me two years ago I would be writing erotic fiction, I would have laughed in your face. I always thought of myself as slightly naive, a small town girl living in a big city. Don't get me wrong... when I say naive I don't mean innocent. There had been men in my life but I liked making love not having sex so my lovers invariably meant something to me. I tripped through life; merrily stumbling on; oblivious to how easily I could get hurt. You see I lead with my heart and not my head and sooner or later it was bound to happen.
I fell in love... I really fell in love. For months I ignored the warning signs and when he asked me to marry him of course I said yes. I was still dreaming orange blossoms, white picket fences, and babies. He was finding out how many women he could screw on the side without me getting wise to him. It was the old story, I was the last to know. There was the initial shock, the intense hurt that I wasn't woman enough for him. That turned quickly to anger and the showdown when it came was quick and fast, culminating with me hitting him so hard he fell back against the wall. By the way, did I tell you I have a temper?
Slowly my heart started to harden, I had been betrayed. Man was the enemy and I wanted to punish. I came upon the adult chat site through some quirk of fate. I teetered back and forth, after all I was a good girl... wasn't I? I finally got up my courage, made up some ridiculous name and went into chat. As my confidence returned I began to flirt... a new girl was fresh meat and there were men all over. I thought this was great, sex without consequences. Oh sure it wasn't real but I didn't want real, I wanted to heal. In my bitterness I used men, tossing them aside like discarded Kleenex. I said "sex without consequences" didn't I? Hell, in life everything you do has a consequence. I slowly changed, I became the girl I used to be. That brought a few bittersweet online love affairs but it also brought new friends.
I also was introduced to a side of me I never knew. A dormant side of me emerged, I felt erotic, sensuous, beautiful. That's where the stories came in. Like I said, a friend in chat dared me to write a story. In two days I whipped up a sappy little story that wound up with the mandatory sex scene. I submitted it and to my astonishment they took it. It became addictive and being the perfectionist I am, I wanted to improve. Each story I learned more, I tried new things and I think I grew. Where I go from here, I have no idea but I intend to have fun finding out.
***
Her stories were good. They had a sense of romance and underlying passion.
Finding writers was tough. Not many could write well enough to maintain interest, create decent dialogue, and hardest of all, write with some heat. You needed a lot more than dick, dick, oh baby, dick. Or it's lesbian equivalent.
This project needed a writer with a feel for romance. It would be thirteen stories of seduction
One of the reason he liked doing it this way was the chance to be Opportunity Knocking. For somebody, he was going to be the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes. But blindly handling opportunity is very tricky.
He found some web sites. He went through a bunch of stories. Tried the web site hot lists, scanned stories, etc. Most of the stories, charitably, smelled. Several seemed to be written by people in serious need of psychiatric care.
He found five authors whose work was very promising. He corresponded and complimented them on their work, and waited to see the response. Of course, none of them knew there was potential $$$.
He needed to quickly decide if they shared a rapport with him. If there wasn’t there was any point in continuing. They couldn’t work together.
This part was tricky. He couldn’t say, "Here’s $50,000. Write me a script." Who knew who was on the other end? This was part of what he found interesting.
Could be a 16- year old kid with bad acne who lived on their PC, a mental case, a bed wetter, a convict. Could be a new Faulkner. Who knew?
He had to start a dialogue, see how well they corresponded, and try to gauge their ability, competence, reliability, maturity, level of interest, experience, and sanity. Most of all, how much did they like doing this kind of writing? Could they handle the job?
#One was too cold in response.
#Two never replied.
# Three replied very aggressively, was very smart, a good writer, great passion on the page, easy to communicate with; she almost immediately surprised him with a picture of her very voluptuous breasts. Certainly a very nice ice breaker.
That moved the conversation along nicely. It quickly became an erotic flirtation. She had his full interest. Every morning he woke up to receive an erotic message from her. She could really write hot. Every morning it was about her and him entangled in a wild scene.
This went on for a couple of weeks, when she abruptly said she had told her fianceé about her long distance involvement with him. He had become a fixation with her; but her fianceé was a violent man and insanely jealous; and she had to break it off with him.
Difficult to mix fantasy with reality.
#Four was Close, but No Cigar.
Which brings us to # Five;
Her...
***
My writing became a learning experience, a chance to find out what I had. I wrote... story after story. I read all I could about writing and writing well. I poured over books looking for dialogue and how it was used. I soon realized there were as many opinions on how to write as there were styles. My stories invariably were erotic couplings(the romantic in me) but I tried voyeurism and non- consent too.
Slowly I built a small following, a group who actually looked for my stories. Oh sure some were friends but with each story I seemed to pick up more readers. And I got feedback, the best part of writing. It was an assorted mix... a few picked my stories apart with a fine tooth comb. Every perceived error was brought to my attention but it was done in such a way that I listened... and I learned. There was the guy who gave me backhanded compliments. The guy who described his dick in vivid detail. The guys who told me they were hard or that they came as they read my stories. The guys who wanted my phone number, my picture, my messenger. Surprisingly I got very few slams but there was "anonymous" who said my latest story was a piece of crap. I answered everyone that left their e-mail, I appreciated that they took the time to read my story out of the hundreds on the site.
Then his feedback started showing up. The first few were nice, simple, and straight to the point. "I liked your story, very hot, etc." I replied, thanking him and saying I hoped he'd return. Return he did, he read a few more, his feedback was charming and clever. He started adding little comments after every feedback, invariably about heels. I watched and waited for his feedback, a kind of a fix if you know what I mean. Some feedback just makes your day and his made me smile.
Now I'm thinking how to keep his interest? Heels of course! I thought up scenarios... heels in the tub? Heels on a motorcycle? Heels on a safari? Okay I was being ridiculous, but you get my drift. The ball was in my court and I intended to run with it... but would he follow?
She was intriguing. She was smart. There was a nice touch to her writing. She could take her time with a story, so she had confidence. She could write heat. He looked at her stories chronologically. Her writing was getting better.
As her writing improved, her women got bolder. They were more aggressive. They knew what they wanted. They dressed sexier. Hell, they were sexier. They enjoyed it more. They were better drawn characters. You could start to feel them.
She was using more of the little touches he enjoyed in his real life, like women dressing in a thong, thigh high stockings, and heels. He’d always been a high heel man. All men were; most just wouldn’t admit it. He was long past hiding his desires.
He checked her site, and for a picture she had used a lighthouse, a beacon. In another location she had used a Vargas girl, and a line from a Nat King Cole song. It was surprising that she even knew who the great Nat was, much less know his music. It showed a certain Style...
She described herself as mid 20’s, 5’7", blonde.
