I sit at my typewriter working on the great erotic novel. Yes, I use a typwriter. I clack it old school.

In the background Mike + the Mechanics play one of their newer tunes, “I Don’t Do Love” as the dusk begins to settle in.

Speaking of old school, I am typing by candlelight. It is something every smut writer should do as the candles add a sensuality to it. They add a flavour to the process and production on the work.

Weatherman says their should be snow on the ground tomorrow. Not sure what it is about the white, but it always puts a bit more romance in my writing.

One minor point, I hate the word “smut”. I will contradict something I said a bit earlier…I am an erotic writer…a romantic erotic writer…I do not write smut. Always sounds like porn when that word is used…and I am a big subscriber of the theory that erotica uses the feather and porn uses the entire chicken. I believe it was Robin Williams that said that…may have been someone else, but my memory is currently distracted in the process.

Clack…clack…clack…
Clack another letter on the white fulscap for the reader to drool over.

The Great Erotic Canadian Novel…wonder if that title would sell? Outside of perhaps Creston, British Columbia or Stouffville, Ontario…likely not.

Titles have always been an issue for me. Never want to be too obvious with what I am saying and give it all away in the title. I have always wanted to entitle a story “Cock Worship”…one kink that has always fascinated me. I am not a dom, but sometimes my aggression comes out a bit when I am able to coax that from my partner.

Yes…I have a partner. More than one. Just because I write erotica does not mean the stories of the Cobbler’s Children applies…I make plenty of shoes for myself and my partners.

Before you ask about the plural, I will answer the pending question. I am not certain I would deem myself as poly, but two ex-wives have taught me that traditional relationships do not work for me. For now, open relationships seem to be the proper form…honest open relationships.

Wow, the music turned to an old favourite of mine. Do you remember the band Men at Work? One of their lesser know tunes, “Overkill”. A tune that talks about exasperation between the sheets and desperation in the streets.

My partners…sorry, off topic there…there is Heather. She is a brunette who likes stiletto heels. All things considered, she is pretty vanilla with a little aggression on occasion. Gorgeous big green eyes that widen just as she nears orgasm. Typical short and Irish…might explain the stilettos and how she can drink me under the table. She is a nice FWB that lives stumbling distance away with two dogs and her sister…and no, threesomes are not an option with her devout Catholic sister.

Then there is Linda. Blonde, which due to the aforementioned ex-wives is unusual for me as I have baggage in that regard. She has piercings both in her belly button and her tongue. She is what many would term a MILF…four kids, so she does not wear bikinis anymore and never misses an opportunity to complain about it. Part of the issue is the way her husband treats her over her “baby fat”. He just does not know what he has in her…too much the ego of how good he looks if she is in shape.

I know…I know…I said honest open relationships and she is married. She deserves so much more than what that bastard gives her. I doubt he realizes that she is with me for comfort…and guidance.

She is here now, in fact. She is helping me fulfill a fantasy I have always wanted to work through.

Funny, with all the writing I do, I have never had the opportunity to do this. To actually write a piece while getting a glorious blowjob.

I expect, now that you know what is happening, you will forgive any spelling errors prior to this.

It is a little awkward, I admit, with my body half turned as she kneels and sucks while my fingers clack away.

Forgive me for a moment, but I am about to cum. Even I know I cannot type legibly while that happens.

She is such a good girl.

Author’s note: This is a fictional piece and part IV of my “Good Girl” series…I know, I’m disappointed, too…being I am writing it on a Greyhound bus that just stopped in Toledo, Ohio…there is no clacking tonight

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