When I started this whole writing thing several years ago, I was stupid enough to believe that I, in erotic/romantic terms, was going to have an intriguing, scintillating fling with a newfound mistress. I mean, I’m cool. I know how to play the game. A little touch and grab here, a quickie at a Motel 6, a little nookie there; something I could handle easily.
But then she started to talk to my inner needs.
“God, Jay, I love you, I need you, and I’ll let you use any fluffy superfluous adjective and adverb that you can come up with to describe me. I can’t breathe without you. I’ll die if you leave me.” And like a dumbshit, I’ve fallen for it. And worse yet, I have committed the cardinal sin of having an affair. I’ve fallen in love with my mistress, and she won’t let me ignore her.
I think she’s beginning to stalk me. She follows me wherever I go. She’s always there, right there out of the corner of my eye. And, holy shit, she always looks incredible.
She’s a demanding temptress that constantly lures me back into bed with her, when I should be doing more productive things. You know, those little things, like bathing and shaving, or maybe sleeping.
The sex is unbelievable. She’s sleek and sexy, and as fully engrossed in our debauchery as I am. It’s been torrid and I get off on her every time we’re together. But I do feel guilty about it sometimes.
I’m having lover’s regret.
But then, I say to myself, “Wow! She is so hot. Great in bed, easy on the eyes, always there for me … and she keeps telling me that I rock her world.” What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t just ignore her, can I?”
I never intended her to be my main squeeze. It was always going to be a fling. Oh sure, I want to jump into bed every chance I can, but I still have the wife and kids at home, and I’m not going to abandon them. But my mistress keeps texting me and tempting me. “Come back to bed, Jay. I’m ready for you. I want you. I need you. Only you can rock my world.” I should break if off and walk away clean. But I can’t. She has a smokin’ hot bod and knows how to use it.
However, it’s not the sex that’s the problem. It’s that she’s beginning to make some demands. “Jay, sweetheart, you have to promote me. You have to spend hours and hours a day with me, here in my warm satin-lined boudoir, fawning over me, and telling every last living soul on social media how much you love and need me.”
God, I am such a sucker for it too. Every time she does that, I jump right in there with her and fuck her brains out. I love the feel of her arms and legs wrapped around me. And she keeps begging me to a real man, tie her to the bedposts, and ravage her defenseless body. (Of is it the other way around?)
Now, so far, the wife is not suspicious, but she is looking at me kind of funny. I haven’t come home with any lipstick on my collar yet, or reeking of perfume, or with a pair of lace panties in my jacket pocket that I can’t explain. But I have had to start thinking on my feet and coming up with excuses why I was out so late.
“Why were you up so late again?”
“Um, I was editing.”
“And why are you looking at all those pictures of other women?”
“Those? I was looking for an inspiration for a character.”
“And why are you on Facebook and Twitter so much?”
“I’m promoting the books. Yeah. That ‘s it. I’m promoting.”
Oh well. I’m in deep, over my head. I know I am. But I do wish my mistress would do one thing for me. I wish she’d introduce me to her friends. You know; readers.
Go ahead; ask the question that I know is on your mind. “Jay, why don’t you man up and tell her take a hike?”
Have you seen her? She is the sexiest woman on the planet, with a perfect body, a beautiful face, and sexual skills so hot she could melt steel.
Yeah, you can handle it, bucko. You can keep it all under control. You can call the shots and not let it get out of hand, can’t you?
Bullshit. You’ll get sucked into her just like me. I guarantee it.