A Comma Worth Its Weight in Gold

As with many writers on this site, I keep people who know what I write very close to my chest. For fear that they will judge or look at me differently. Even though all my stories are entirely fantasy, some people would assume I've done at least some of these things. Or at least really wanted to.

This is a story of two strangers, whose initial connection is only that they both write erotic stories and help to edit each other's work. Neither had a clue to the other's identity or where they live.

A special thanks to RF-Fast for helping to proofread and ensuring the story is in good shape.

A comma worth its weight in gold.

When Zoe was put on the same project as me, I was pretty annoyed. She'd only been at the company for 3 months and there was no way she knew enough about our products to be of any help. But I suppose that was simply me being grumpy.

My mother had taken a sudden urge to know all about my social life and who I hung out with. Which, to be honest, was virtually no one. But I suspected with my 40th birthday less than 6 months away, she was planning a surprise party for me.

I think she'd be the one surprised when it would be just her, my dad, and me. OK, that's painting it a little bleaker than it actually was. But I preferred to spend time alone, it gave me the time for me to write. Not a grand prize-winning best-selling novel. At least not yet. But special interest stories about a basic human need. Or jerk off stories, if you prefer.

Why was my mother looking to organise a party and not my wife or girlfriend, you might ask? But it's simple, I was engaged to a woman for close to 10 years, but we drifted apart. She'd had issues in a former relationship and had dragged along a lot of baggage. I tried to agree to meet her needs, like not moving in together, because if we did, she felt trapped. And so on. But it was hard. When she finally admitted she was seeing another guy, it was kind of a relief. Our relationship had stagnated, and I'd not had the courage to confront her about it.

However, that left me running up to 40 alone, and with little desire to find a girlfriend, just to satisfy my libido.

Anyway, back to Zoe. She was 26, pretty, dark-haired and a little shy. Slim, with average breasts, but an amazing bum. I'd discovered that by chance when she wore skin-tight jeans to work on the last Friday of the month, our usual dress-down Friday for charity. Project teams were isolated from the rest of the company and crammed into whatever spare office space there was.

She had to squeeze past my desk to point out a problem on someone else's screen. In doing so, she bent over and pointed with a pencil. Leaving me staring at her arse. I don't know about the lead in her pencil, but the sight certainly put some into mine. Which came as a shock.

I never think that sort of thing about people I work with, and she was too young for me. Plus, she would have a boyfriend, if not a husband. I checked, and she wore no rings, but that wasn't a guarantee.

I tried to forget about that and treat her as just a colleague. But we ended up working side by side a lot. And I had to grudgingly admit she knew her stuff. She'd done similar things in her old job. The one thing that annoyed the hell out of me was she was always missing commas after the introductory phrase of a sentence.

Then a thought hit me, and I wondered. For close to a year, I'd been editing stories for "UrgeToShow" through the Literotica website. She did that constantly. Probably a coincidence, but I listened to her tone of phrase and became more and more convinced it was her. Should I say anything? If I did, I'd have to admit who I was. After all, "FickleMaster" would not be the way I'd usually introduce myself.

Then one afternoon, we were all stuck in a video presentation about anti money laundering, where we had to take a test afterward. A complete waste of time for us, but it was company policy, and I'd had to sit through the same video and test every two years. Everyone was bored and not paying attention. So, I took a post-it note and wrote.

"Are you UrgeToShow?" and slipped it towards Zoe.

She looked over and picked it up, and I knew right away, I was right. As her face paled and she looked scared. Oh, crap! As quickly as I could manage, I wrote another note.

"I am FickleMaster". And I pushed it towards her urgently.

Her jaw dropped as she looked at me, mouthing, 'Really?' and I nodded.

The woman running the session frowned at us and we had to continue to pretend to watch the cure for insomnia presentation.

That night, I emailed Zoe through her 'UrgeToShow' email account.

"Sorry for dropping that on you at work. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

The reply came back quickly.

"It's ok. It just came as a shock as nobody knows that I write naughty stories. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not. I'm in the same boat as you. Mutually assured destruction if either of us blabs. Look, talking via emails like this is tricky. How about we talk face to face?"

"I'm not sure..."

"I meant a Zoom meeting." I sent her a link to a meeting and waited for her to reject it or join. She joined.

"I'm not sure if I'm embarrassed as all hell or relieved that somebody finally knows. It's been killing me not to tell someone."

"I know. I've told a few people, but not given them enough information to find my stories."

"You know, when I first read your stuff and offered to edit your stories, I was sure you were a woman."

"Why?"

"About 1/3rd of your stories are set from a female perspective. So, I just sort of assumed."

"And when you edit stories from the guys' side?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'd stopped thinking about it. Oh fuck!" she gasped, and her eyes went wide. Then she jumped up. "You've seen me naked!" She squealed, and then ran about in the background, swearing.

I frowned and then realised what she meant.

She only had a few stories to date, and they all followed the same themes. A klutzy girl growing up and accidentally exposing her bra or panties to others around her. Then her 'friends' would arrange situations where she'd be shown off more. There was no sex, just the varying degrees of exposure. But in the last 2 she'd included photos that illustrated part of the story.

Rather poor-quality selfies. One was her in a lift. In the story, she'd rushed into the lift and fallen. But her skirt had caught on the handrail and torn off. Leaving her in a glass sided lift as it descended to the ground floor and lots of people milling about. The photo showed her holding a skirt in one hand and her panties and naked legs. It was inside a regular lift, but not a glass one.

The other photos were of her character Abigail Adams at a Christmas party. Everyone was pretty drunk, and the hostess challenged all the girls to remove their bras. The first to put it on the coffee table won a bottle of champagne. Some rushed from the room, but a couple did it without removing their tops or showing anything.

The next challenge was for their panties. One girl just stood, hiked her skirt up, and pulled her panties off. Not caring that everyone could see her bum and pussy. The hostess challenged the men, but the others shouted her down. Not wanting to see all the crusty underpants the guys wore.

Abigail was just in a white blouse and cream skirt when the hostess walked in with a large jug of mulled wine. Hot wine with spices and fruit, along with brandy. But she tripped over one of the discarded bras and poured half of it over Abigail. Luckily, the liquid wasn't too hot to burn, but it hurt as she dashed to the bathroom.

The photo showed the woman's blouse plastered to her skin with wine soaking through it. A nice alcoholic wet t-shirt shot. After she washed the wine stains out as well as she could from her clothing, the hostess called through the door that she'd put the clothes in the dryer. The next shot was of Abigail from behind, standing behind the door, passing the clothing out to the hostess.

After a while the hostess returned to say Abigail couldn't stay in the bathroom as other guests needed to use it. She should come downstairs and retrieve her underwear. Which would be no different to her in a bikini in front of the other guests. The Abigail character was both drunk and naïve, and followed the hostess downstairs. Expecting the woman to get her underwear for her.

The hostess said she'd no idea which was hers and wasn't about to rummage through other girls' underwear. Then pushed Abigail into the room. The next selfie was of her trying to cover her boobs with one arm and failing. Abigail realised she'd not be able to pick up her underwear, so the next shot showed her topless, but with her free hand covering most of her pussy.

The hostess declared everyone should kiss Abigail under the mistletoe, and she was manhandled into the centre of the room. Where everyone stood close and took turns kissing her. The women as well as the men. Nearly everyone groped her on their turn, and after 20 minutes. Abigail finally got her underwear on, grabbed her coat, and got a taxi home. Feeling very turned on.

"It's not that big a deal, Zoe." I said into the camera, and she stopped pacing and glared at me.

"What I mean is you're very attractive and brave for taking those photos. But I've not seen more than I might have seen had I met you on a topless beach."

"Really?" she said, sitting. I nodded. "You realise you're the first guy to see photos of me like that?"

"I'm honoured. But I'm not the last. That Christmas story has been read a lot." She flushed, but grinned.

"What do we do now?" I asked. "At work, everything is normal. No comments or hints about this. But do you want to find a new editor? Or can we get past this?"

"I don't know. I need time to think."

"Fine, whatever you decide I will abide by." I reached for the button to kill the call.

"Wait! Just a second. It's embarrassing, but I have to know. Did I look alright in the photos?"

"You looked great. The photos, not so much."

"I know. The camera on my phone is shit and I'm crap at selfies, anyway."

"Now if you needed a proper camera man, I believe I know someone who would be interested?" I offered jokingly.

"And you have a good camera and know what to do with it?" The last words sounded a little flirty and hinting at innuendo.

"I do. I'll email some photos to you." Ending the call.

I pulled up some of my best shots. Usually scenery, or animals. I'd a Canon EOS 1ds with a 21mp sensor. A giant beast of a camera, but still better than good. If you don't mind the back ache of carrying it around. I sent Zoe 6 via 6 emails because of the file sizes. She didn't reply, and I left it alone. I wasn't serious about helping her take photos for her stories.

Although I had a few naughty thoughts about it.

At work, it was like nothing had happened, which was good. At least for the first week. In the second week, she asked a little too casually if I wanted to grab a sandwich and eat it in the park with her.

Watching out for hungry pigeons or gulls, we sat in silence and ate.

"It's still rather awkward to talk about this, Chris." She said,

"I know. But if you don't want to..."

"No, I need to talk. At least to someone. Why not the woman who turned out to be a man?"

"I still don't understand why..." She cut me off.

"A couple of the stories resonate in me. Summed up my feelings, and I figured only another woman would have managed that."

"Thanks, I think. I try to dig deep into a character. I take it the stories you write are mostly about you?"

"Me, and not me. Things I would have liked to have done. But never had the courage. What about you?"

I chuckled. "Given about a third are from a woman's perspective, some are third party and the rest have male characters from 18 to 65. So no, they are entirely fiction. When you said you'd like to have done things. What do you mean?"

"The Christmas party was true, up to a point. The bra challenge was a thing, but one girl said she wasn't wearing one and she did the panty thing. The mulled wine was true. But as it was my flat, I could change into other clothes. Only later did I turn it into a fantasy."

"And one that is very popular. Made more so with the photos."

"Even if they were crap quality." She said. I shrugged and refused to comment. "Chris, would it be weird if I asked you for help?"

"Of course not. I've helped improve your stories, right?"

"Yeah, but this is different. For a start, you're a real person now. And..."

"What?"

"If we did some photos, we'd have to be professional about it. No thinking that my exposure is an invitation for you to do more."

"Of course not. Anyway, I'm too old for you and you are bound to have a pack of guys sniffing around you as it is."

She chuckled. "I wish." Then she paused and glanced sideways at me.

"Have you ever taken photos like this before?" She asked.

"Some." I was sure she didn't mean the naughty snaps of girlfriends. "When I was at university, a wannabe model talked me into taking photos of her."

Zoe gave me a knowing look, and I shook my head at her implication.

"It wasn't like that. She was a lesbian and brought her girlfriend as a chaperone, who glared at me the entire time. But we had some tasteful implied nudes and topless shots. So, I know how to behave." I didn't add that the moment the girls left, I wanked myself silly.

Zoe seemed to consider that, but we returned to the office without more being said.

A few days passed, and I assumed she'd given up on the idea. I'd thought about it a few times and was torn between wanting to and not wanting to. I looked at her pictures in her stories and couldn't deny I found her attractive. The last time I'd taken photos like this, not only was there a scary chaperone, but I was also going out with an insatiable girl. She expected sex at least 3 times a day, and every day.

While I was older and in control now. But it had been years since I'd seen a woman naked in the flesh, or even semi naked. I knew I'd not do anything, but I was sure I'd want to. It gave me second thoughts about offering and wondered if I should withdraw the offer.

But how could I do that? "Hey Zoe, I decided I can't take your photos. Why? Because if I see a bit too much flesh, I'm gonna want to fuck you." Damn! That's not a good approach.

But I forgot about the appeal of publishing stories and waiting for the views, votes, and comments. It can be quite addictive, and Zoe was still relatively new to it. Her last story was highly rated and the desire for more was something I knew well.

Then she requested me to meet her for lunch again. I agreed, and we casually shared the lift together. But she hit the basement button, and I frowned. It was the car park for directors and senior managers. As we stepped from the lift, the motion sensitive lights came on and she turned to look at me.

"What?" I asked, seeing the nervous expression on her face.

"This..." she said and shocked me by pulling up her blouse to expose a skimpy and rather see through bra.

"Why?" I asked, trying to keep my face calm.

"Because I needed to see if I could do it in front of you."

"You are very attractive, and I know for a fact that whatever photos you publish will have lots of people desiring you."

"And you?" She said and lowered her blouse.

Damn, I'd hoped to avoid a question like that.

"I cannot deny it. But you are too young for me, and we said if I were to take your photos, we'd keep it professional. I assume you still want to do the photos?" I asked, trying to divert the attention from me.

She nodded and then walked up the stairs to the ground floor. I followed and swore silently at myself that my eyes were drawn to her bum. Which in the tailored trousers looked way too good. We slipped into the lobby and then got sandwiches and headed to the park again.

"I've an idea for a story that's set in a specific location. And it only works with photos included. I'm just worried that my face will be in the photos."

"We can get you a wig. Go to a charity shop and buy some old glasses that disguise you. I can take the lenses out. Then I've seen before and after pictures of porn stars..."

"I'm not a porn star!" She objected and laughed.

"You're naked on the internet? What's your definition? Anyway, the point I was trying to make was there are ways to do your makeup that would make you unrecognisable. What's the story?"

"Do you know Carlton's Leap?" I shook my head. "It's a local landmark near where I grew up. There is a small national park with a river valley and woodlands. But part way down the valley was a choke point of hard rock. Over millennia, the river chewed away to create a deep, narrow gorge. The narrowest point is called Carlton's leap.

"It's about 30 metres across [treat yards for metres as it's close enough], and about the same deep. Although the base is narrower, it causes the river to run fast through the gorge. The whole area is full of footpaths and picnic areas. A set of steps were built from the leap down the side of the valley to a bridge over the river. That's like, over 100 metres from the leap."

"So, what's the story? Another Abigail Adams nee Zoe story?" I asked with a smile.

"This one is a little closer to reality, but only a little. But you need to see the location in person to understand."

We finished our lunch, and she looked about to ensure nobody was close, then handed me her phone. She had the gallery app open, and it showed a selfie of her naked on her bed.

"Why?" I asked, but couldn't help zooming in.

She seemed to tremble, and I was concerned. I went to pass the phone back, but she shook her head and blurted out.

"I'm trying to wrap my head around the idea that you are gonna see me naked."

"If you're going to post the photos on the internet, more than just me will see you."

"True, but it's different from seeing a photo. One that has been carefully selected. Instead of seeing all this..." She gestured to her body. "I needed you to see a photo before the real thing."

"If it's too much, we can..."

"No!" she blurted, and then sniggered at her own reaction. "OK, this is confusing. I want to do this, but it's terrifying and exciting at the same time."

"If you don't trust me..."

"Not you." She interrupted, then paused. "I'm less sure about myself."

I frowned and waited for her to explain.

"A couple of times I've gone for walks in the country and exposed myself. Not with anyone else about to see me, but the buzz of excitement that I might be caught..." She shivered and flushed slightly.

Then she jumped up and headed back to the office. She'd not really explained, but I'd not push, so I hung back before following her back to work.

We visited the location the next Saturday, and it took 2 hours to drive and another to hike up to Carlton's Leap. I had my camera gear in a backpack to recce out the place and was sweaty from the hike.

"Someone is out of shape." Zoe said, although she was looking a little warm herself.

"You're not carrying this pack." I held it out to her.

After hefting it, she blurted out, "Jesus, is that thing full of rocks?"

I chuckled and pulled out the camera. The body of the camera without a lens was close to 3 lbs.

"So, what's the legend that named this place?" I asked, putting a nice range telephoto lens on the camera body.

"There are many versions, but the basic one is around the 17th century. The local lord accused a miller of not paying his taxes, when he had, of course. He was beaten and then the Lord raped and then murdered his daughter. She was the local blacksmith's fiancée, and he stormed up to the lord's hall and the lord drew his sword. The blacksmith was faster and stronger and, with one blow of his forge hammer to the head, killed the Lord.