Page 59 of Smut

“Well, it’s the truth. We had drinks and a good time, and that’s that.”

“And it wasn’t a date?” she asks suspiciously.

“Not a date. Just…it’s good to discuss things with a fellow writer.” And I shut my mouth before I say any more. I can’t talk about this shit with anyone, I just can’t risk it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Blake made me sign a confidentiality agreement.

“You’re a bit of a cockweasel,” she says bluntly.

“A cockweasel?”

“You made me think something more had happened.”

“I think you mean cocktease.”

“Cock something. Cocks right in your face and you’re just throwing them away.” She demonstrates, though it looks like she’s being attacked by flying dicks coming from all directions.

“Technically, Blake only has one cock.”

“How would you know? You haven’t seen it.”

“And I don’t plan on it,” I remind her.

I have some homework to do before Blake shows up, so I grab my Kindle Paperwhite and notepad and head to Willows Beach down the road to do some light reading and note-taking. I lie down on the grass under an arbutus tree and decide to read the most popular book on Amazon, sitting at number three on the charts, called Seduced by My Virgin Stepmother, which is described as a “light and fun read that no one should take seriously.” Well, at least they’re upfront about it, and judging by all the five star reviews, it seems a lot of people want exactly that.

It’s hard to read it without rolling my eyes every sentence. It’s not badly written, per se, and if anything, it’s entertaining. It’s just not my cup of tea. But I’m trying really hard not to judge. I read to learn and think and to be challenged, but I also want to be entertained. I guess some readers just want a quick escape from their lives. I can’t pretend that I don’t find myself sometimes glued to those awful soap operas Ana is always watching.

And then I hit the first sex scene (which happens at the beginning of the second chapter).

And holy shit.

Now I think I get it.

Granted, the dialogue is unrealistic and cringe-worthy, and the dude is a crude alpha with a cock the size of a Subway sandwich, but hey, no one wants to read about pencil dicks either. The hero, Chet Texas, knows his stepmother, Paris Monroe, wants him bad (and through her POV we get a lot of “clenching” and “drenched panties” and “my sex was swollen with need,” so we know she’s equally as smitten), and after she spies on him in the shower, he corners her and…well, I hate to admit it, but I was feeling a bit swollen with need myself by the time he was done pounding her against the wall, using pumice against her nipples and a bar of soap between her legs. Her clit must have been sparkling clean.

By the time I’m done with the book, I’m looking around the park red-faced and slightly sweaty, totally convinced that everyone knows exactly what I’ve been reading. Thank god for e-readers. You can read the filthiest shit and pretend you’re engrossed in War and Peace. The only problem is I’m turned on as hell and I’m not about to take part in public masturbation.

That said, maybe a character in a book would do just that. I scribble that down in my notebook, along with everything else I thought was either hot or important.

A text from Rio comes in: I just paid my weed guy with a check. I think I’ve got the hang of this adulting thing.

I text her back: Hey, random question, but have you ever read erotica?

Her response: Uh, yeah. I have a waterproof Kobo. Why do you think I take so many baths?

Me: Because you’re a dirty girl. You walked right into that one.

Her: That’s true. But yeah, you should get up on that shit, even though book boyfriends might ruin you.

Me: You don’t need book boyfriends. Your whole life is one big erotic novel.

Her: That’s true. I could write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad.

Oh my god. Blake and I could totally write a book called Slammed by the Single Dad! I quickly write that down and hope Rio never finds out.

Back at home I’m compelled to read as many books as I can, but with Ana being home, I know I’ll have to postpone getting off until later. Which means when it’s almost time for Blake to come and get me, I’m wishing he’d really come and get me. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to read all this smut then write it with him? Him with his gorgeous eyes and devilish grin, and taut, muscled body, and those hands, those hands that could so easily pick me up by the waist and throw me on the bed before lavishing me all over with his tongue and…

“Sweet one, your man is here!” Ana yells, snapping me out of my torrid daydream.

Fuck.

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