You search and you search. Suffering through endless dates with women who expound about the intelligence of their cat or the evils of their ex as you smile and nod pleasantly while secretly hoping the waiter will stumble and pierce her jugular with a fork. Then one day, when you least expect it, sitting by a pool on your solitary vacation, you meet her. She’s bright and beautiful, confident in an almost arrogant way with a sexual undertow that threatens to pull you out to sea. Before you can muster the nerve to ask her back to your room she askes you up to her suite. Her passion is astounding and she sweeps you up, taking control of the love making. After the shock of her rather large revelation fades away, you allow her to plunge onward. And she plunges and plunges and plunges, joyfully driving you both through twists and turns of sexual acrobatics that would make a porn star sigh in weariness.
In the end, you lay together spread eagle on the king-sized bed, catching your breath. The sunset over the ocean has stolen into the room to paint the walls in colors of rose and orange, and your afternoon of debauchery is drawing to a close. Her hand finds its way to your thigh and with an urgent squeeze she alerts you to her growing interest in having you spend the night. With a delighted smile you roll into her arms, knowing you have finally found true happiness.
You go out on a blind date with this cute girl your cousin hooked you up with. You are a complete gentleman, flirty without trying to get in her pants. Hey, you actually like hanging out with her and don’t want to screw up what could be a great thing. The evening is winding down and the conversation hits that lull where you say it’s time to go home, then she tells you she was expecting to at least get a blowjob out of this date, and you end up spending the night anyway.
I had an email exchange with a fan recently. They requested a sequel to a story that might have an interesting second chapter out there, but at this point I don’t have anything in my head for it, so I declined. The fan was gracious about it, but I could feel the disappointment in their email.
I feel bad whenever I disappoint a fan. I wish that I could find that one screw, that one that drives each and every one of you absolutely over the edge each time, every time, and then tighten it down until just looking at your computer and thinking about my story for you makes your pulse quicken. But let’s face it, I have to paint with a much broader stroke.
For me to get started painting with my words at all, I have to have something in my head and I don’t always have that. There are several series on Literotica that I would like to finish, but those endings have not come to mind yet (All though I’m getting close to something for Helen and Jim.) and I sure as heck don’t want to ‘Game of Thrones’ the endings.
All this is meant to give a little context to ‘I’m sorry’. I’m sorry when I disappoint even one fan. Please forgive me and rest assured, I’m still looking for your perfect screw. Pun intended.
Your Humble Author,