It was early morning and Andrea sat by the dining table in her ordinary suburban home. But what was on her mind was anything but ordinary.
Her phone was on the table after speaking with her agent and the cup of coffee next to her was starting to cool down. She was in such deep thought that she barely acknowledged the fact that her son had come down the stairs for breakfast.
After he grabbed his breakfast cereal and sat down to eat, Andrea was finally able to say something to him.
"I spoke with my agent a few minutes ago," she said, still in her train of thought. "We had an interesting conversation."
"What about?" he asked, taking a bite of his cereal.
"She suggested that I try writing erotica. As in, erotic stories. Can you believe it?"
For the first time that morning, Andrea was able to crack a small smile. She was thoroughly amused at the sight of her son nearly spitting out his cereal. She knew he'd be shocked, and she tried to make a serious (yet playful) face to show that she really meant it.
"What was your response?" he asked.
"I told her I'd consider it. It might be refreshing to write something different for a change. The market is changing and I have to change with it."
The day before, she sadly had to explain to him that the book sales for her last two novels were in a slump compared to her earlier stories. There was an awkwardness as she broke the news to him that she may have to try a different path.
"So this means you're actually going to do it?" Ben asked weirdly.
Naturally, it was unusual for a mother to be talking about anything sex related, even with a college-aged son.
She squinted her eyes playfully. "You're looking at me like I'm crazy. What's the matter? You don't think I can do it?"
"Of course you can."
"Then are you embarrassed that I would write about sex? Or maybe it would be awkward for
you
?"
"No. It's not that."
"Then what is it?" she asked.
"It's just that... you're
you
. I mean, really? No offense, but you don't seem like the type."
"Then who is? Look at all of the erotic authors out there. They're not exactly Hollywood sex symbols. They're writers. Plain old average writers. My point is, anyone can do it."
"That makes sense," Ben acknowledged.
"Does this mean I have your permission to become an erotic author?"
Andrea's voice trailed off at the end, which suggested that she was leading him on with this question.
"You're asking
me
for permission?"
"Kind of," she replied. "I'm trying to be mindful of my family and friends. I especially don't want to embarrass you in any way."
"It wouldn't embarrass me at all. And it's not like anyone at college knows that my mother is a famous author."
"And if they did?"
He blushed, "If people knew, then I guess I'd be embarrassed."
"Since no one knows, are you okay with it?" she asked with a faint sense of enthusiasm.
"You don't need my permission, mom. Write about whatever you want."
"Thank you. I'm
not
saying that I'm actually going to do it. It's just an option I'm considering. It might be nice to write about something different. Something new. I don't know, maybe my work was starting to become stale."
"I think you're a great writer."
She smiled, "Your opinion is all that matters."
"My opinion doesn't pay the bills though," he joked.
She gave a playful motherly expression, but deep down, she took this as a challenge. She loved writing challenges. It reminded her of her college days when she prided herself in her creative writing classes on being able to make anything.
But at the same time, she wondered how Ben would react reading her erotic work, if she decided to actually do it. Ben always read her work. And if she decided to go all in, then all her private thoughts and fantasies would be known to the world.
***
For the next few days, Andrea wrestled with her decision. Her latest sales figures were okay, but nothing like her debut novel, which was lucky enough to have been placed on shelves in Target and other major retailers.
She compared that the market analysis she got from her publisher, which showed that erotica novels were on a rise. Soccer moms especially were eating it up. And women are the primary purchasers of all books.
Once she made up her mind, she was unstoppable.
Days passed. Then weeks. Andrea was in full work mode. Normally, when her son came home from his college classes, she'd be eager to show him her latest plot points or scenes. She loved his positive feedback (whether he actually meant it or not) and she appreciated the advice he was sometimes able to give.
This time, her work was in full lockdown. Aside from her agent and a few key people at the publishing office, no one knew anything. She also kept her more than 850,000 twitter followers in the dark about her latest novel, and she was someone who always enjoyed having a causal connection with her readers.
One afternoon, while standing in the kitchen, she gazed through the backyard window holding a cup of coffee. It was something she did when she needed a break or was struggling with certain plot points.
"This is harder than I expected," she said, still facing the window when she had heard her son coming down the stairs towards her direction.
Ben opened the refrigerator for some juice. "What do you mean?"
"Writing great sex scenes," she said, turning towards his direction. "I'm about to hit my first one. Gosh it's hard."
Andrea was mildly amused watching Ben slowly close the refrigerator door, forgetting about his juice. Apparently he wasn't thirsty anymore.
"It can't be that hard," he said. "Just do what you normally do. It's all about imagination, right?"
"Yeah, but I like to put myself in the shoes of the character. That's when I do my best writing. It's more realistic and riveting that way. With erotica, gosh, I'm not that kind of person."
He shrugged. "Well I guess it's not for everyone to write."
"Are you saying I should quit?"
Andrea sharpened her gaze. Her competitive side was coming out and she dared her son to challenge her.
"That's not what I'm saying," he replied smoothly. "I meant that some topics are harder to write than others."
She nodded. "Which is true. I guess my point is that I have a mental barrier at the thought of everyone being able to read my... you know... inner thoughts. Thoughts which no one should know, frankly."
"I'd be embarrassed as hell if I had to write anything like that. Are you actually going to continue this?"
"The publishers think it's a great step for my career and they've already placed a release date for this story."
"Anything I could do to help?" he asked passively.
She couldn't help but give her son a strange look. A light bulb switched on in her head. It may not have been the best of ideas, but it was an idea nonetheless. Maybe, it was even a brilliant idea.
"Are you actually interested in helping?" Andrea asked lovingly. "I don't want to bother you. I know you're busy with college and everything. But I promise it'll be super quick."
With her excitement, there was no way for Ben to refuse.
"Mom, of course I'll help you. What kind of person do you think I am?"
She smiled, "Great! I may have to accept your offer. But not yet. I'll think of something though."
Oddly, it was the most excited she felt about her new book since she first began writing it. Now that her son was involved, she'd have plenty of inspiration for all the sexy parts she needed to write.
***
Saturday morning. Andrea felt like a hunter setting a trap for her prey, the way she was waiting for her son. She heard his footsteps coming down the stairs and she was ready to put him to work.
"Right on time," she said happily. "Everything is freshly prepared."
"What's the occasion?" he asked, still a bit sleepy.
She pretended to be offended. "Can't I do anything nice for you without there being a condition?"
"Sorry. This looks great."
"Have a seat. I'll serve you."
They sat down and ate together. Andrea stuck to the plan of spoiling her son that morning, and Ben seemed to appreciate every second of it, as he enjoyed the food and all the service from his mother.
When he leaned back in the chair, content with everything, it was Andrea's chance to find some inspiration.
"About that favor you offered," she said calmly. "Do you think you can help me after this?"
"Of course."
She smiled, "Perfect. I'll clean the dishes and I'll meet you in the living room in about 15 minutes. I need to get some stuff organized first. Okay?"
"Sure thing."
Andrea cleaned everything up and went to the living room where her son had been waiting. The anticipation was growing within her. Would this work? Was this even appropriate? As Ben turned off the tv, she was about to find out.
"Stand up," she said excitedly, with her hands on her hips.
Ben stood up and realized that this was serious business.
"You got it."
"My writing style is very sensory," she stated. "I need to dig into the details so I can conjure up the right words and sentences. I've never told anyone this, but for my first novel, I did a lot of roleplaying with my ex-boyfriend. That's why it was a hit-- the little details made it captivating. Now that I'm single, you'll have to take that place."
He was taken aback. "I don't get it. What exactly do you want me to do?"
"Nothing really. Just stand here and let me touch you. Is that okay?"
He was even more taken aback. "I still don't get it."
"It's hard for me to explain, but in order for me to write detailed descriptions, I need the right feelings of hardcore passion. That's where you come in."
His eyes suddenly widened. "Oh..."
"That came out totally wrong," she laughed. "Relax. I'm
not
going to have sex with you. All I need is for you to stand still. That's all."
"Oh. Okay."
"Think of me as a method actor. The more I inhabit the characters, the more I can write their feelings. Does that make sense at all?"
He nodded. "Do whatever you want. As long as it makes for a great story."
"It'll be a killer story, and hopefully, a big hit too. Now hold still."
