It seems as though everyone is writing erotic fiction. I can’t tell if these are young lonely people, fantasizing about love, or just trying to prove if human combustion from the heated passion of writing is possible. So I thought I’d give it a try.
Arlene walked into the room as the college football national championship game just began on ESPN. She was wearing a silky satin teddy, or doll baby, whatever, it was hot, really hot. My eyes wondered from the tube to her direction. She was winking that seductive wink and wrinkling up her lip, with a small trace of tongue appearing and teasing me. At first my eyes veered then my whole head. She had my undivided attention.
Holy cow! Did you just see that run! Screamed the game analyst. I turned my head back to the tube and screamed my favorite Bobby Bowden curse “Dadgummit!”
Suddenly my attention was diverted again as Arlene ran down the hall shouting ‘REALLY’ and a few obscene words, which I will not utter. Control yourself Arlene, I thought to myself, coach Bowden would bench a player for such cursing. She was down 0-1.
Suddenly I was trapped in a dilemma. Watch Arlene or the game. Now this is what I call pressure. I was already sweating and my mouth was getting drier and drier. She came back with a silver pole and my lithium charged Milwaukee heavy duty screwdriver set. As I watched her assemble the pole, my attention was back on her. Of course planting the pole in front of the 60″ TV, was easy to catch my attention. She secured it to the ground and then the ceiling and then proceeded to do the tether ball dance all around it. My head swayed from side to side as I watched her slink and swirl down the pole. I was about to give her an Olympic perfect score of 10 hotness, but I lowered myself to see the pass play now in progress and then raised it back up when she was done. My team scored and I missed it. Arlene was now down 0-2.
“That was great honey”, I said. “I had no idea you could do such things.”
She ran down the hall again and brought in the exercise ball and proceeded to balance it in ways I thought impossible. It was getting hotter in the house, the game was getting near halftime and then the timer in the kitchen went off. My bacon covered jalapeno nachos were now done. So I proceeded to the kitchen to open another bottle of beer and wolf down the nachos, just in time to see Arlene roll around, never realizing I had left. Hey, it was bacon covered I justified to myself. Now she was 0-3, a strike out, and she went back to the room and torched that new teddy doll barbie thingy outfit, or whatever they call it.
The game ended and after a handful full of TUMS I was ready for the post game action. I came into the room and there she was; my angel, my honey bear, my goddess divine all sprawled out and snoring. I tore off my jeans and stood on the bed over her in my new Hanes. “Your loverboy has arrived,” I said with a huge grin on my face.
“REALLY!” She turned and rolled over and resumed the wood cutting.
Appears my chance of scoring was a shut out too. Not only that she didn’t have the decency to put my tools up.
As you can see, my future as an erotic writer is doomed. Football, bacon and jalapenos are now my mistress as a middle-aged author. I may not know women and their complex female code, but I sure know my wife….
That’s right – 50 Shades of Soap Suds, grrrrrrr