Women. Pussy-smelling women whose scent screams at you what will never cross their lips. That’s how he knew who I was.
Where was it? When? Soaking up all the attention as though the party were being thrown for him. He was a guest like everyone else.
– I know what you’d like…
– I beg your pardon?
– I told you.
He scooped out my cream. Painted his lips with it.
– Kiss me.
– This doesn’t mean you know me.
– I know you well enough. You’ll be back for more.
There should have been guilt somewhere but there wasn’t.
– If Nick was any good, you wouldn’t be here, so don’t worry about it.
– Who told you that I’m worrying?
– You do this all the time, then, do you?
Watching my family life from a distance. It seemed so normal. So good. So empty. Maybe one day the children will hate me. They look happy for now.
Do you love me, he wanted to know.
– Do I need to?
– A little bit, at least.
– Do you love me?
– Enough to eat you out and finger you the right way until you spritz. I thought it would hit the ceiling. How would I explain that to my wife? Next time we do that, can I film you? Place a camera between your tits and film your spritz and me sticking my face in and gulping down the lot.
Folding the laundry. Nick will be home soon. I will get the peck on the cheek.
He is a good man, I say.
– Well he’s not good enough.
What can I say?
I don’t like the look of Tatar’s dick. What he does with it is heavenly. Slapping my face with it till it’s as stiff as a rolling pin and down my throat till I threw up on him once so he punched me. It was a reflex, he said.
To prove it, he scraped some of the sick of the sheets and ate it.
– Now kiss me.
Nick is worried that I’m no longer happy. He says he feels there’s something wrong. Talk to me, Carmina. All I see is a good man who hasn’t a clue. Maybe I should put him out of his misery.
I think we should stop, I say.
– Tatar, let’s be reasonable.
– We haven’t even started!
– Look, I’m not coming today.
– Then I’ll turn up at your place.
– Don’t you dare!
– Nick’s my friend. I knew him before I met you. What’s to stop me coming by for a chat with my mate?
– I’m warning you!
– When can you get here?
– It’s our wedding anniversary, for God’s sake!
– When can you get here?
I said I’d send him a message. A harmless one.
This short episode picks up the protagonists of my trilogy, Verses Nature: The Memoirs Of A Lonely Hotwife:
‘Literary, astute and gifted (…) shocking, erotic, disturbing and impossible to put down (…) runs right up to the boundaries of the usually acceptable, and then rides right over them.’ (Simone Leigh, best-selling author)
Not erotica in the conventional sense, but rather erotic literary feminist fiction. Yes, fiction can be erotic and literary. Yes, fiction can be erotic and feminist.
The complete trilogy is out now!
€0.99c. That’s a joke, really. This preferential price is to break down your reservations, not only because if you are who I think you are, then you’ll love this challenging read, but primarily because I’m ready and waiting for the discussion I know we’ll have about what erotica is and can do.
Don’t wear the labels other seek to pin on you. Even as you take their words/structures, make them your own.