Saturday, May 1, 2010

Because you needed more proof of how fucked up I am...

...I present to you a random bit of erotica I started but never finished. I always wanted to finish this one up and send it to some publication that still publishes written erotica-those still exist, right? they have to-but I probably never will. Names changed (more than once) to protect the guilty; as originally written this was a fantasy about a cute jewish chick we used to have a crush on.

Without further excerpt from "The Crystal Menage"

It was 4:48 PM on a dull grey Friday and despite the stack of bills angrily impaled on my desk I was about ready to give up waiting on the new client my charming young secretary had penciled in for the end of the day, turn off the neon sign and get reaquainted with my good pal Drunken Stupor, with whom I had a dinner date at 5 sharp. I could hear Amanda's keyboard clicking idly, though what she was doing (at 9.50 an hour, no less; I'm too good to that woman but lets face it, my business would be even more boned without her) this close to closing time was beyond me.

The silhouette in the frosted door made me reconsider in a moment, as any good private eye always regrets his job less when seeing a curvy long haired shape through frosted glass. The knob turned, and she stepped inside, one long leg at a time. Both Amanda's and my eyes clicked to her immediately; she was definitely a sight for the sorest of ocular cavities, and as she made her slow, hesitant way to my secretary's desk, we both shared a mischevious wink. Our day was looking better already.

She was short-maybe 5'4" at the outside, with a body that pulsed with living sin. Her hair fell in dark, carefully permed ringlets that tumbled around her spa-tanned skin, and her carefully manicured fingernails were wringing nervously at a brown manilla envelope. She had a long trenchcoat on that did little to hide her curves, and a pair of sunglasses were sticking out of the pocket, but the dress that showed from beneath was raw coutre, probably with a name I couldn't pronnounce. "Mind if I smoke?" were her first words, and Amanda, god bless her, said with all the professionalism she could muster in wet panties "Not at all."

The woman pulled out a menthol and fondled it nervously, and looked around my admittedly unimpressive office. "Not quite what I expected from your website."

"Bandwidth is cheap, Mrs...." I started in, though Amanda shot me a jealous look. I came up behind her and lit her cigarette for her, close enough to feel the nervous heat rolling off that tight little body in waves. I couldn't resist grinning at my wife, who by now had retaken her seat.

"Mrs. X, but call me Serena," she replied. "I'm paying cash and I want this discrete-even from the IRS. That's why I came to you," and here she gave my dismal office a pointed glance, most notably the stacks of bills on my desk, "instead of someone more reputable-say, someone who would report his findings to the proper authorities."

"We speak the same language, Mrs. X," I said smoothly, and she finally seemed to ease up a little. She slide out of the heavy trench and plopped it across the back of her chair. I could see Amanda taking a discreet peek up her dress, and I made it a note to ask her what color her panties were as I took another rickety chair and straddled it backwards beside her. "So what can I help you with?"

"Well, it seems I'm missing a husband and...well, a trinket. A family heirloom, of no value to anyone but myself..." I could already smell trouble, but as I lit a cigarette of my own and I watched my secretary lick her red lips I decided the trouble would be worth it. "The husband can take a flying fuck into the arctic for all I care, but I need the trinket back."

"Mmmm." I dragged off the cigarette. "So you want something, presumably worthless, and you don't want it reported to the IRS?" She flinched a little, and I knew my blind toss had hit it's mark. She fidgeted some, uncrossing her legs with the whisper of silk against flesh, and I could see Amanda, the consumate minx, squirm a little in her computer chair. "Probably also need it aquired under the table, without your husband's knowledge." I licked my lips, and breathed deeply of the woman's scent as she held me pinned with those dark, glimmering blue eyes. I smelled some perfume with a name long as the Amazon and something else. Something familiar-desperation. I gave her a comforting smile. "I can probably handle both for you." Actually, the aquisition might be a problem, but I knew a group of specialist that would work for dope.

"Oh, thank you," she breathed, and I could smell the gin on her breath. Probably working up her courage all afternoon to walk into a place on this side of town. She leaned in and suddenly that red mouth was hot and slick against mine-just for a second, perhaps before she realised what she was doing. "I'll do anything...anything to get it back. Here." She pressed the envelope in my hands. "This is everything I know. Please...hurry."

Amanda quietly inserted herself in that moment, stepping beside us and wiping up the lipstick with her little pink bandanna. She kissed me as well and said "Don't forget your hat," she said, warmly and wickedly. "I'll have Serena stay here for now, so I can get the relevant case details out of her." Which was as good as code for 'I'll have her panties off by the time you get back, sucker, and you have to go to work.' I guess I lost that round, but really, I don't call that losing. Besides, I had bills to pay.

As I reached over behind my desk for my sawn-off 870, seeing Serena's blush as she realized that Amanda and I were an item, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. Looks like it was going to be an interesting case, and if I played my cards right, I might not even lose money this time.

Naturally, I'd never even mentioned price.


  1. A great start. Very descriptive. It made me curious to know what is going to happen next, although I'm sure my imagination could fill in the blanks...but I'd rather hear (read) you tell it.

    I write erotica too, and yes there is a market for it. I posted a sample of my "not for publication" stuff at my blog. Check it out if you'd like!

  2. Oh, and I don't think you're fucked up at all. Very normal in fact, and open. There's nothing wrong with that. I'm very open too. Sometimes it puts people "off", but I don't give a fuck.

    Keep on being YOU.

  3. Thanks Robin.

    This isn't anything I plan on continuing; it is a mere shadow of an idea though I toyed with the concept of serializing it somehow.

    And believe me, in truth, I am not ashamed of it, or anything else. I'm so far off into the lunatic fringe that dissenting opinions bounce off my tinfoil hat.

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