"I'm writing a novel set during the Victorian era," Vanessa explained as I dried off my face and hair with the towel that she had handed me. "Wearing the right clothes helps me to imagine my way into the story."
"So it's a fairly sexy sort of story, is it?" I surmised. "Not exactly your Oliver Twist, or David Copperfield, style of Victorian saga."
"Well, it's what we in the business term a bodice-ripper," Vanessa explained.
"Hence the bodice," I replied.
"Exactly, hence the bodice. But I must admit," she confided, "I have to exercise a certain amount of self-censorship when I write. My delicate lady readers prefer for me to gloss over the details somewhat. But when I'm writing a love scene I like to write my own version first, before modifying it for my public."
"Really?" I asked, showing a fellow artist's interest in the creative process. "Could you give me an example?"
Vanessa blushed. "I never let anyone see my raunchy versions. But....oh, what the hell, I'll read you a very small comparison. But this is in the strictest confidence. I don't want you blurting it around that Vanessa de Couteau writes porn in her spare time."
"Blurt it around?" I asked, in disbelief. "Who am I going to tell? The seagulls?"
"All right," she said, leaving the room for a moment and coming back with a pile of papers.
"Vanessa de Couteau. That's not your real name is it?" I asked, as she sat down at the table across from me.
"The Vanessa part is real," she replied. "But the rest is marketing."
She shuffled through her papers for a moment. "Ah, here's a good example. In the original I wrote, 'She licked her lips at the sight of his massive, purple-veined cock, standing stiffly erect, with the candle-light glistening off the trail of pre-cum that ran down its shaft and dripped onto her naked belly.'"
I couldn't believe that I was listening to her soft sexy voice speak these words or that her imagination had created them. Her manner was very proper as she read, like that of a student presenting her essay to the class, and this made it almost unbearably sexy when I watched her soft red lips form the word "cock".
My head was spinning and I was so turned on that I couldn't restrain myself from blurting out, "If you like looking at stiff cocks, you might like to see the one you've just given me."
"But, David," she said with a sweet smile. "You seem to be forgetting...I've already seen your stiff cock."
"Then you won't mind if I relieve the discomfort," I sighed, standing up and unzipping my jeans so that my painfully cramped prick could comfortably poke his head out of my underpants.
"Oh, dear," cried Vanessa, covering her eyes in mock modesty. "Still, it's my fault for teasing you, isn't it. Now I'll read you the public version of that passage. No, wait a moment, I'd better read the first one again first, so you can compare them directly, one after the other."
So she picked up the paper and read the passage again, but this time when she got to the word "cock" she looked pointedly at my own stiff prick, and licked her lips, and then with a wink went on reading the passage.
