Erotic story leads to erotic encounters, I shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably watching as my sister, Shelly read. She kept shaking her head and occasionally grunting in disgust. I resisted the urge to question her, to defend my statements as she made her way through the pages. Finally she finished the last page and slid the pile of papers back to me.
“Well,” I said, trying to read her expression.
She stared at me for a moment, her face unreadable. Her fingers tapped lightly on the table. It was unbearable and I finally broke.
“Come on, sis!” I said, placing my hands on the table and leaning toward her. “What do you think?”
“Well, uhm…” she started, her face finally showing some reaction. “The grammar is pretty good, and the punctuation should pass, but …”
“But what? This is half my grade, and if I don’t pass Mom will kill me!”
“She’d probably kill you if she read this paper.”
“Yeah, well that’s why I asked you to read it.”
“Gee, thanks. Just what I wanted to do, get a glimpse of your perverted mind. You could have warned me.”
“It’s not perverted, it’s erotic fiction!” I replied, only half believing it myself.
“Yeah try that argument on her and see how far it goes! Now explain to me again how this paper is supposed to go. I mean so far it just seems like fantasy writings of a pervert infatuated with his mom.”
I took a deep breath, trying not to get angry. I had worked hard on this paper, and I needed it to be great. Anything less and I’d probably fail the class. And I only had until Monday, just three days, until it was due.
“Okay! Professor Jones is on this erotic fiction kick. Apparently some of the first novels ever written were erotica. She posted a list of topics. Trust me, this was the tamest. I have to write a story and include all the problems that make it so taboo. Then I’m supposed to analyze them and show how the characters overcome the problems.”
I held out the paper with the list of topics on it. She grabbed it and looked it over, her face turning crimson as she read. She handed the paper back, then made as if to wipe her hands on her jeans.
“This professor is one sick individual. Remind me to never take any of his courses.” Shelly said, a hint of sympathy in her voice.
“It’s a she, and you’re right. She is sick. Mom said the same thing when I told her what I had to write about.” I replied.
“Well, uhm, I just said it was erotic fiction. She called such stories nothing but rubbish, and threatened to call the school. I didn’t dare tell her the details. She would have blown a gasket.”
“Well, you’ve got the description down, in every pornographic, if unbelievable detail” She said, turning her attention back to the paper,” but I don’t see you addressing the problems, much less analyzing how they overcome them.”
“It isn’t a term paper. The problems have to be integral to the story. That’s where I’m having the problem, showing how the difficulties present themselves, and what do you mean unbelievable?” I said, almost shouting.
“Well, let’s start with this.” She said turning to the third page.
“Susan tried not to stare at Jeff’s cock as he pissed, the heavy stream of urine splashing against the frozen ground causing steam to wisp up into the chill air. The mere sight of his cock sending shivers through her body.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Come on! First of all, he’s taking a piss. Nothing exciting there, and he’s her son. Hell, she’s probably seen his dick a thousand times and there’s no way seeing it should have that sort of an effect.”
“Yeah, well maybe, but some women …” He knew she was right, but wasn’t about to give up.
“Some women, right, freaks or those that only exist in the juvenile minds of horny guys.”
“Maybe I should have him jacking off.”
“Oh, so much better.” The sarcasm in her voice was obvious. “Could you imagine mom walking in on you while you were doing that?”
I blushed. The simple fact was that I had.
“So, how do I fix it?” I said, hoping she hadn’t notice.
“It’s the whole concept, David. I mean, she’s not going to get turned on seeing him. I don’t know. Maybe, maybe turn it around. Let her be the one who’s peeing, and him catching a glimpse of her. You have to start showing the problems from the start. Make the forbidden nature of it an integral part of the story.”
“And how’s that supposed to work?”
“Well, it’s simple really. The sight of a pussy always turns a guy on, and the forbiddenness of her son watching her. It takes the blame off her, you see. No guilt, no crossing the border on her part.”
“But wouldn’t she just yell at him.”
“Probably, but it would set the seed. Let him watch for a minute before she notices.”
“I got it, and maybe he could he holding his cock.”
“Slow down fella, things like this take time.” she replied almost laughing.
I looked at her quizzically as I rewrote the whole scene in my head. The words flowed and the images moved. God, it would be hot.
“This has to build slowly. No cock, maybe she notices his bulge through his trousers, but that’s it. Push things too quick and you either lose credibility for the story, or you chase the mother away.”
“Now here, the shower scene.” she continued, flipping to the next page.
“No way does she just walk into the shower with him.”
“Got it.” I replied, as the whole flow of the story reshaped. “How about she’s in the shower, and he’s spying on her. Maybe she notices, but isn’t sure. Just a feeling of being watched.”
“Now you got the idea. Slow things down. This is the ultimate seduction; remember you’re trying to get a woman to commit the most taboo of acts. She’ll be riddled with guilt and conflicting emotions. This won’t be easy for her.”
I sat down across the table from her, hoping she wouldn’t notice my growing erection. From the look on her face, I knew I was too late.
“God, David.” she said, her face turning red.
I tried my best to look confused but she saw through it.
“You’re not really thinking, I mean you don’t think …”
“Don’t be an idiot!” I replied perhaps a bit too intensely.
“You are! You sick bastard, you’re actually thinking about mom!”
“It’s not like that.” I replied, my face flush with embarrassment. “Okay, so maybe I imagine mom, but I’d never even consider trying it.”
“Good thing, ’cause she’d kill you.”
I grabbed the pile of pages and went to stand up.
“Wait!” Shelly said, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. “I said I’d help and I will. It’s just, well …”
“I know.” I replied, not daring to look up.
“Now, where were we?” She rifled through the pages as I sat staring at the table.
“Right, the shower scene. Now, you let things stew. Give it a day or two. Maybe some casual contact, he brushes against her, or a hug that’s just a bit lingering. Get her mind swirling, let the conflict build. This whole thing has to seem credible, like it might actually happen, right?”
“Got it.” I said, grabbing the page and scribbling some notes on the edge.
“By now, he should be hot as hell. I mean walking around with an almost constant hard on, and lots of lingering gazes. Oh, and he should be taking every opportunity to do things for her; anything that gives him an excuse to be around her.”
“Right, like maybe she comes home from a long day at work and he offers a massage.”
“Here we go again.” Shelly said, dropping the papers. “If he shows anything like aggression he’ll blow it. She’s the mother, she’s in control. Until she relinquishes control, he has to stay passive.”
“Okay, I think I got this.” I said, grabbing up the papers.
“Oh no you don’t.” Shelly replied, folding her hands across her chest. Something she always did when she wanted to look superior. It also managed to make her tits look bigger. Something I tried not to stare at.
“What now?” I said, the frustration getting the better of me.
Her reference to my girlfriend took me off guard, and she must have quickly recognized the frustration in my expression.
“Wait a minute! You mean you guys haven’t? Are you serious?”
I just stared at the table. The embarrassment was overwhelming. “I just haven’t, well I uhm. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, we broke up last Friday.”
“Uhm, sorry. I didn’t know. What about your last girlfriend, what was her name, Cindy?”
I just shook my head, my face turning bright red.
“Fine, then whoever you’ve been with, have any of them ever screamed like that?”
I continued staring at the table. I wasn’t sure how this had ended up as a discussion of my own sexual experience, and I wasn’t happy about it.
“Look!” I said, finally raising my head to look at her.
“No way!” she cried out, her words making me flinch. “You haven’t, not with anyone?”
I couldn’t say it. I just nodded as I fought back my emotions.
“It’s all starting to make sense now.” she said, her voice taking on a much softer tone. “Look David. It’s no big deal. IT will happen soon enough.”
I just nodded, filled with embarrassment.
“Now,” she began, as she placed a hand over mine, “Anyone who thinks telling a woman “Suck that cock you bitch!” is going to do anything but put an end to the sex, they are wrong. In fact, if you’re going to write a sex scene, there should be almost no talking. Spend your time exploring the characters emotions, what they are feeling deep within themselves. He might want to tell her to suck his cock, but he better not say it, at least not that way. And the same goes for her.”
“Okay, so no talking.” I replied, the warmth of her hand on my arm starting to make me feel uncomfortable.
“Maybe a little bit.” she replied, her other hand moving over to grasp my hand. “But keep it short, a few gasps, maybe a Yes here or there, but give it lots of mental embellishment. Talk about what they’re feeling.”
“Are you alright?” she asked, her fingers reaching up to brush my cheek.
It was like electricity shooting through me, and I jumped at her touch. I looked up at her, trying not to let my emotions show in my face.
“Now, you think you got this?” she said softly, her fingers still lingering on my cheek.
I just nodded as she slid the pages in front of me and stood up.
“Okay, let’s hear it. Tell me how you are going to do the sex scene. It’s easier to say it, and then rewrite it. Saying it out loud lets you see the stumbling points.”
I stared at her as she leaned back, crossing her arms under her breasts. I tried to imagine what those perfect globes of womanhood must look like.
“David, you still with me?”
“Uhm, yeah. I just …”