The Erotica Author

Phil writes science fiction. Zoe writes romance. Together, they have long been critique partners. Phil has noticed, however, that his friend's stories have become increasingly sexual and graphic. Zoe, on the other hand, doesn't think he is taking her seriously. She refuses to continue seeing him unless he rereads all of her lurid tales again. When Phil obliges, he notices a few alarming details that prompts him to wonder if they should be more than just mere friends....

Warning, this 5000+ word short story contains sexually graphic content about legal, consenting adults. It is only intended for adults.

Excerpt:

"Does everything you have to write be about silly little robots?" Zoe glared at me over her rectangular-rimmed glasses – that had slid ever so slightly down her dainty nose. A strand of her long brown hair hung over one of the lenses. She brushed it aside.

"Hey," I said. "There are more to my short stories than just droids."

She sighed. "Phil, I wasn't even counting all the Star Wars fan fiction you write." She grimaced. "I mean, Darth Fuckface? You are not even trying with this one!"

I frowned. "That was a parody!"

"In a screenplay format, one you want me to act out with you – so you could upload it to your YouTube channel." She gathered her papers together into one neat stack on the café's table. "And don't get me started on that damned YouTube channel."

All of sudden, I felt angry and blindsided. "But, you're a subscriber!"

"One of two, Phil." She picked up her papers and slid them into her backpack. "The other is your grandmother, and she really doesn't know what YouTube or a computer actually is." She clasped her hands together. "You know, we having been meeting every week now for nearly a year. I'm starting to realize that you really haven't been reading my short stories all that carefully. Why do I even bother?"

I held up my hardcopy of her writing. "You mean this?" I held it at arm's length and began to read. "She quivered in his arms and felt week at her knees. Desire consumed her to where she wanted to bite him and be bitten by him." I turned a few pages. "Shall I go on? Here, you write: She frantically tore at his jeans, wanting to get to the hard treasure the denim hid beneath."

Zoe angrily stood up. "Fuck you." She slung her backpack over her shoulders. "I am tired of being passive aggressive about this."

"About what?"

She pointed in my face. "Do not call me. Do not email me anymore of your stupid stories about robots. Do not text me, either. Read all of my more recent short stories over again, carefully. And maybe then we will talk."

The Erotica Author