I had said to myself this morning that I was going to play my choo-choo simulation rather than work on the porn bit. But when I got things all set up to finish a run from Ash Hill, California to Needles, I saw her scuffed brown pumps dangling in front of the whistle cord.
“What are you doing here?” I said, trying to see around her swollen ankles
“I was reading your piece that you are submitting to literotica®com” she replied, fanning herself with her hand.
“Oh that. I was desperate one night, thinking that life was passing me by, and I have yet to publish anything over 1500 words. I thought maybe I could get some fiction juices going by taking on a subject where the reader wants to get to a point without a bunch of needless bunny trails.”
“Well, it made me hot! I can hardly wait to finish it!” She replied, once again fanning herself with her hand.
“How can you get hot over something that hasn’t happened yet? Besides, you haven’t ever written anything. You just whisper stuff in my mind when I let it run.”
“It has a lot of potential. Horny man, scantily clad neighbor lady, missing pickets in the fence …”
“That was the problem. I just don’t understand the dynamics behind sexual attraction. I know that such things happen on rare occasions, but how do you get a woman within range of a man behind the fence? I have no experience with that. My mentors in writing tell me to simply write about the event without assigning motives to the characters when you don’t understand the motive. But in this case I have to ask: ‘Why would a neighbor lady allow herself to get felt up through a picket fence?’ I can’t devote much space to assigning her a motive. The story is about the man.”
“Why not re-write it from the woman’s point of view? She could be obsessed with him, but shyness and circumstances separate them. Perhaps she could be driven by desires that she doesn’t understand herself. She knows when the neighbor works in the yard, and makes it a point to be outside when he is there.” She suggested.
I asked, “Well, tell me then. Have you ever had the desire to be felt up and make passionate love through a picket fence?”
“Well, then, some muse you are.”
“You get the muse you deserve.” she said primly.
“I can’t be that bad!”
“Yeah, you can be. And you aren’t going to get better until you write.”
“Maybe I should. But who is going to get the manifest freight over Tehachapi in time for switching out the customer orders in Bakersfield?”
“It’s either that damned sim, or me.” She replied as she folded her arms across her chest.
“That’s an easy choice, for once.” I smirked, knowing that I scored.
“And that is why your little erotic foray is a failure. It doesn’t take any talent to write erotica, and so a talentless wordsmith like you should have no trouble in writing it.” She shot back.
“I dunno. Writing something straight faced like ‘Ahm gonna make love to you so intensely that yuh squeal out mah name!’ is hard for me to take seriously.” I explained.
“Well, just write it, and judge it for triteness later. That should give you plenty of work.” She peevishly replied. “Can’t you enlist one of your women friends to help you with this?”
“There aren’t any of those type of women in my circles anymore. I do miss them. I could ask them any question, no matter how off the wall it seemed. But not so now. I have good female friends, but none that I would discuss sexual plots with.” I said sadly.
“Well, all I can tell you is to write. I can’t help you if you are playing with them %$#!! trains!” she screeched.
“You aren’t much help to me anytime!” I said, somewhat dishonestly.