Jody sighed when she noticed the return email address, but clicked on it anyway.
She was bad that way. Well, bad in a lot of ways, but especially bad that way. Always doing things she knew she shouldn't be doing, and sometimes even having fun doing them. Somehow she knew this wasn't going to be one of those times.
But she clicked on it anyway.
"Fuck you, bitch, I TOLD you not to review any more of my stories! I don't fucking CARE what an official, vibrator-toting, clit-sucking, tit-licking lezbo thinks about what constitutes "real" lesbian fiction, I just write it 'cause it gets me off! And it gets a lot of other women off too, judging by all my email, so FUCK OFF!
"PS: Attached is my latest. I dare you to read it and then tell me I don't know what the fuck I'm writing about!
"Lesbodomme"
Jody rolled her eyes and sighed once again. She had to admit this "Lesbodomme" wrote some pretty hot stuff, but she always had this niggling feeling in the back of her head (among other places) that "she" was a "he" and a part of her resented the fact that a guy could write stuff that made her get all tied up in knots.
She stared at her computer screen and noted the attachment. Part of her wondered if it was real or maybe a nasty virus sent by the putz. She wouldn't put it past him. For months now, she'd been writing reviews online about lesbian fiction on websites and, while several writers took offense at the way the reviews were written, only this Lesbodomme seemed to hate the fact that she reviewed lesbian fiction in the first place. Katy told her over and over that she was just plain being silly worrying about it, but she couldn't help it.
She was just one of those people who worried about the sky being blue.
She reached out a finger for the "enter" button. Then drew it back. She looked down in the corner of the screen to make sure the Anti-virus icon was there.
She reached for the "enter" button again. Then drew back. When was the last time she updated the database? Yeah, yesterday morning. No, this guy might have been one hell of a fiction writer, but she doubted he was a crack computer hacker.
She reached for the button again. Then drew back. What if it really WAS good? Should she review it anyway? Maybe it was better not to read it at all if she was going to be tempted to review it against his wishes?
She stared at the screen for another moment, then got up to get a drink.
She passed Katy's bowling ball next to the front door on the way to the fridge and sighed once again. It was the only thing that kept her sane, knowing that Katy could never use a house ball on Wednesday nights. Here it was, Tuesday morning and it really helped to know that she'd be back. She could leave behind her clothes, her make-up, her favorite videos - but she had to come back, if only to get the ball.
She opened the fridge and grabbed the leftover bottle of Kendall-Jackson. She reached up into the cabinet for a glass, then noticed the ball out of the corner of her eye. Closing the cabinet, she popped the cork and sat down on the sofa. She took a swig and stared at the computer screen from across the room.
Five minutes later, she grabbed the remote and started surfing.
Ten minutes later, she turned off the television and dropped the empty bottle onto the coffee table in front of the sofa.
Then she stared at the computer screen from across the room again, the email screen being long ago replaced by the screensaver.
Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath.
And jumped off the sofa to the computer table.
And clicked on the attachment.
Slowly, lines of text started to fill her screen, but they didn't make much sense. Her first thought was a virus that her program didn't catch, but the characters continued to display for only a moment or so, then up came an error message asking her what program she'd like to use to display the file. Reacting quickly, she went to close the file and breathed a sigh of relief when it seemed to close without any problems.
But just to be safe, she ran her Anti-virus program anyway. More disappointed than anything else, she turned back toward the sofa...
...and let out a tiny gasp.
"What? Is that all you've got?"
Jody took two steps backward, away from the...thing...sitting on her sofa.
Red.
With horns.
And a tail.
And boobs waaaaay out to here.
It seemed a bit disappointed when her next instinct was to check under the coffee table to see if it had hooves. "Fucking writers," It muttered. "Not even a scream."
It lifted a bare foot (complete with toes) up and plopped it up on top of the table and sighed. "Happy?" Not waiting for an answer, it stood up and looked up through the roof. "Why do I get stuck with all the ones with fucking imaginations? Used to be all I'd have to do is pop in, say a few words in Old English or Latin and they'd keel over from heart attacks. Now they want to see ID cards or check for wires and smoke machines. Fucking Hollywood."
It jumped up on the table and stared down at Jody. "Okay, where do you want to poke first?"
Jody's cocked her head and her eyes instinctively and naturally gravitated towards exactly where you would expect them to.
"Let me guess," it sighed as it opened its legs showing her its womanly folds. "Porn, right?"
Again, not waiting for an answer, it waved its hand and a cherry red Palm Pilot appeared in its hand and it started reading. "Jody Tarant, 25 years old, lesbian-leaning bisexual, schooled by nuns, her issues have issues, likes to be tied up and dipped in..." it raised an eyebrow... "chocolate sauce, and then licked clean?"
Jody meekly raised a hand. "Uh, it's really about the licking part..."
"Oh, bother," it snapped its fingers and the small personal business instrument vanished as quickly as it came. "don't expect ME to do any creative culinary stuff, girlfriend, this personal demon doesn't DO Emeril, period!"
"No, really, it's the licking part..."
It looked at the back of one hand as its fingernails started growing inch by inch... "Really, you must've pissed off someone, darling, because we don't come cheap. I'll have you know I used to be the top flight, best-dressed, ready to torment at a moment's notice, personal demon back in the day..."
"It was only a review..."