I had been reading tales of erotica on the web for some time and decided to have a go at it. After all, my experiences and fantasies are just as good as someone else's, perhaps even better. However, conveying the feeling and emotion that goes with them, so that the reader understands, is not trivial.
My foray into authorship started with a simple fantasy that I had been using for years. I knew it inside and out, and decided that, with this familiarity of the material, I could focus on establishing the technique of putting it to the printed word.
It begins with a friend of my wife whose name is Kit. She is a good-looking, slender woman a couple years our younger. Being a professional, she is poised and dresses well. Her fashion sense is exquisite, wearing clothing that accents her body nicely. Many times, I had stolen a glance, or found occasion to chat, just to be near her.
During this fantasy, we are attending a particular social function where there is music, food and drink. As the night wears on, she has a drink or two and her dancing becomes more sensuous and enticing.
In reality, she won't dance with anyone but her husband, Brian. I tend to watch her as I dance with my wife, Laura, who is quite fuckable in her own right. Although I do my best to not upset my wife, or hurt her feelings, I am a typical man, and don't subscribe to the theory that you can only have/love/fuck one woman at a time.
The four of us converse now and then. Each time that I am near Kit, I take in her beauty and try to remember a look, a comment, or a smell that I can use later in a fantasy about her. I am resigned to the fact that this is as close as I'll get to a sexual relationship with her.
Of course, in my fantasy things are different. I somehow dismiss her husband and my wife, and we are left alone. A compliment or two gets her to blush a bit, then strike an alluring pose. My suit coat comes off, I invite her outside for some fresh air, and the next thing you know we are in the parking lot alone.
She stands close, laughing and chatting. After a heartwarming anecdote, she reaches over and hugs me, innocently at first. But she suddenly gets a serious look on her face, stares at me for a moment, then leans up and kisses me.
And so the fantasy continues, and I do my best to fashion the words of my story to describe the events: I hike up her dress, lean her over a fender and fuck her wildly. Each step through the story is a struggle to define my feelings. It is no simple task, given that I have an emotional history with this woman that cannot be readily expressed.
When I finished the story, it read more like a newspaper article than a hot adventure. To the outside reader, it would be nothing more than a run-of-the-mill fantasy that probably started in high school for most people. I decided to go with it anyway. I needed to learn the nuances of producing erotic literature, so I should start with something simple.
After working through all of the menial registration, submission and waiting for acceptance, my story finally appeared in the "New Stories" section of my favorite site. I had done it. I was officially an author of erotic literature. Well, the "erotic" part was debatable, but I intended to improve upon that.
A couple of weeks later, the story unceremoniously moved off the "new" list and into the main library. No interesting feedback, no accolades, and no indication whatsoever that anyone even read it. Not a problem. I still had enthusiasm to write, and I now had the resolve to do better. I was hooked.
Within a short time, we had occasion to gather with friends for a social event, and Kit was there. This time, however, I had the notion of having had her already, given that my "account" had been documented and published. An obscure smile occupied my face each time I encountered her.
As the evening progressed, I replayed the fantasy in my mind, thinking about how I could improve on my descriptions, change my perspective, or even enhance the storyline a bit. At one point, the four of us were standing together conversing. My mind was preoccupied within itself when suddenly my wife grabbed Brian by the arm, waved an exclamation toward someone across the room, and dragged him off briskly.
There I was, alone with Kit, and I found myself removing my jacket and inviting her outside for some fresh air. As we walked out into the parking lot, I was frantically trying to discern reality from fantasy. Had I lost my mind? It was almost like living in a dream. I had been too wrapped up in a fantasy world, and now it was as if I had stepped into it.
We eventually wandered over to where my truck was parked and stood behind it, talking and carrying on as if nothing was unordinary. On the inside, my mind was racing and my heart was beating rapidly. Outwardly, I was trying to remain calm and respectable. My attempt at keeping cool was deemed unsuccessful, however, when she abruptly stopped her conversing.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Other than feeling a bit out-of-sorts, I'm fine", I responded. "Why do you ask?"
She gestured toward my pants. When I looked down, I realized I had a raging hard-on that was making a tent of my pants.
"I... You... I..." I stammered.
She had a mischievous grin on her face as she stepped closer to me. All I could manage was a wanton stare. My emotions had moved from confused to embarrassed to lustful in a very short span of time. The look on her face indicated that her emotions were mirroring mine. Time ceased passing as we stared directly into each other's eyes.
Suddenly, we were embraced and kissing passionately. Her lips were softer and more luscious than I had even imagined. She reached down and started to pull up her skirt, then turned around and leaned onto the bumper of the truck.
"Hurry" she said. "We shouldn't be out here much longer. Fuck me now."
I eagerly pulled my dick out through my fly, peeled down the back of her pantyhose and nudged myself into the crack of her ass. My hand reached around to the front, and between her legs. As gently as I could under the circumstances, I worked my finger between her pussy lips to spread the quickly forming lubrication. The head of my dick eased into the area and soon was adding to the mix.
Before long, I had started to penetrate. As I worked my way in farther and farther, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse and unfastened her bra. I reached in and cupped her breast in my hand. In the state of euphoria where I was at that moment, it seemed like the perfect breast.
I continued to drive into her from behind and massage her tits. Her breathing became rapid.
"I'm going to cum", she said. "Hold your hand over my mouth so nobody hears."
Wow, now there was something I hadn't thought of for my story. I did as she requested. Her body started to tremble and I could feel pressure on my hand as her screams were stifled. It didn't take long for me to climax as well, filling her with my jism.
We cleaned ourselves up as best we could and headed back to the party. Just before we entered the building, she stopped me and gave me a confused "we need to talk" look. She started to ramble on, almost incoherently. I caught bits like "I'm so sorry", "I don't know what came over me", "We shouldn't have", and "Please don't".
"Hold it, right there, Kit", I said to her. "I'm not going to leave my wife for you, and you're not going to leave your husband for me. We had a fling, nothing more. Take some time, think about it, and we can talk again later, if you would like. If not, I won't bring it up again, or say anything to anyone. It's up to you. I, however, would like more."
With that, I hugged her gently, placed a small kiss on her forehead and went inside. My head was reeling. I needed a drink. After four or five, I realized that drinking does not help one to get a grip on reality.
The next few days were strange. I spent a lot of time thinking about what had happened. It was surreal, and difficult to comprehend. The story I had written actually occurred, but afterward. In addition, the story now seemed wrong, incomplete, and unjust. Should I fix it? No, that wasn't possible. It was already published; it would make no sense to submit the same basic story just because I was compelled to change it.
I started to doubt that it even took place. Maybe this would end up like one of those cheesy television shows that explains away previous episodes by having someone wake up and realize it was all a dream. No, that couldn't be it. She was real. Our encounter was very real.
Now I was obsessing. The story and the events associated with it were haunting me. I hadn't spoken to my partner-in-crime since that night. She didn't show up on messenger, and we hadn't the opportunity to see each other. My promise not to bring it up unless she did needed to be kept, but I wanted resolution.
I eventually pulled myself together. After all, this was just a simple fantasy gone wild. I had others, and an interesting life that was more fulfilling than just a fling in a parking lot. It was time to move on.
So I started a new story. Fueled by my now-intense lust for this woman, I developed a storyline that continued with her. Perhaps it would help to cure me and satisfy my desire to have her again. It would also give me a chance to ease the slight guilt I harbored toward my wife.
The fantasy began by suggesting to my wife that we invite Kit and Brian over for a cookout. Of course, the way I wrote it up, she thought it was a wonderful idea, and we followed through with plans. I conveniently wrote the kids out of the way by sending them to friends for the weekend and such.
They accepted the invitation, and on a warm summer afternoon, showed up at our place in the country. Kit and Laura were each wearing a sundress, without bras, of course. Sexy white panties could just be seen through the thin material in the bright sunshine. Hey, it was my fantasy; I dressed them the way I wanted.
Eventually I manipulated the situation so that Kit and I were alone in the horse barn. As she was petting a horse, I walked up behind her. I placed a hand on each of her hips, leaned in, and kissed her on the back of her neck. She responded by moaning, tipping her head to the side, and reaching for my hands, which she placed on her breasts.
Before you knew it, we were butt-naked on a blanket in the straw, screwing like a couple of horny teenagers. The sex was hot and quick, so that we could get back before we were missed. We finished, cleaned up, and returned as if nothing had happened.
I fleshed out the story with subtly erotic descriptions and rounded it off with idle banter and innuendo. No awards for this one, but I considered it a good next step for a rookie writer.
It did not, however, relieve any feeling of wrongdoing. Oh well, it wasn't meant to be a confession to the padre. As before, the story ran its course through the machinations of digital publication.
