Page 23 of Foreplay on Words

“That I did,” she promised, her lip curling into an amused smile. “Have to pop that cherry slowly so I don’t frighten you off.”

“Quit distracting me.” I mock-glared in her direction.

“Touchy. All you virgins are the same.” I loved her sarcasm. It helped keep me from overthinking things.

“Shhh,” I scolded.

She stuck her tongue out at me and pulled out her pencil and composition notebook. I could respect a writer who drafted on paper. All my initial outlines were on paper. You never knew when a story idea would hit you, so writing it down quickly was key to remembering things.

When I looked at the scene again, I immediately went in and changed the vocabulary for several sections. She’d told me to be provocative. Then I broke down the actions and tried to add more descriptive words.

The feeling of the rough upholstery of the couch against the front of her thighs.

The way her back arched when he grabbed ahold of her hair.

Once I knew what to remedy, the scene flowed better and became less choppy.

“That’s probably as good as it’s going to get on a first try,” I confessed as I saved the document.

“You’re done?” she asked distractedly as she finished writing and closed her notebook.

“Take a look.” I passed the laptop over, and she settled it on her thighs, tucking her pencil behind her ear before she adjusted the screen. Waiting for her feedback was making me antsy.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked quickly, hating the anticipation of her approval...or disapproval. The usual sense of unease that accompanied a panic attack started to creep its way into the periphery of my brain.

“Hmm?” She was really focused on the screen. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. A little line appeared between her eyebrows as she concentrated.

“I’m going to run up and grab water from the fridge. Can I get you one?” I asked again, knowing I’d send myself into a spiral and freak her out if I didn’t try to walk it off.

“Sure,” she answered absentmindedly.

I rose from the lounger and quickly walked up the stone path to the hill, glancing back to look at her before leaving. The line was still there. But I pushed it out of my mind and concentrated on grounding myself with my surroundings.

When I returned with our waters a few minutes later—noticeably calmer—she had a new notebook with a bright red cover open on the arm of the chair.

“I’m jotting a few notes,” she told me as her pencil flew across the page.

“Take your time,” I sighed, but I think she could hear the residual nerves in my voice.

“It actually wasn’t bad,” she mused, glancing up briefly with a small smile.

“I assume it’s not good if you’re writing me notes.” I nodded at the notebook.

“These are more suggestions on places to dive deeper into. I feel like now it’s bouncing around instead of sliding along the surface.”

“Better or worse?” I cringed.

“Better, much better. They seem like real people now and not sex robots.” Her smile wasn’t merely indulgent; I think she was pleased that I’d not been completely hopeless with her tutoring.

“That’s a whole other book,” I laughed, and she shook her head,

“Oh, diving into sci-fi next, are we?”

“What? You’re the only one who gets to play with other genres?” I shot back without even thinking.

Her eyebrow rose as she looked up at me.

“You get leather and blindfolds. Why can’t I have robots?”

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