Life Imitates Art

John was a fan. I never really expected to have a fan, I suppose. I never even thought I would share my work with anyone, let alone have someone enjoy it.

Let me back up just a bit. I write erotica. It's a way for me to escape. Escape my boring job as a dentist, escape my responsibilities as a mother, escape the loneliness that dating in one's forties can bring. I can take little seeds of fantasies and plant them, nurture and shape them however I want.

It was only recently that I'd started publishing my stories online. Some of my favorites were well-received, lauded and rated highly by my readers. But then, I was always surprised by the ones that were less popular. Was it the subject? Did I write it differently? Too serious? Too frivolous? I would rationalize to myself. Of course the readers didn't connect with that story--they didn't know the characters as well as I did. They hadn't been there at their conception! They didn't know that each person in each story was a facet of myself: my desires, my wishes, my secrets. I tried my best not to take the lower ratings personally. After all, I wasn't writing for attention.

Was I?

John and I met at one of those speed dating events, though this one attempted to be different, more cerebral, deeper than the rest. "Sapiosexual" was the buzzword they used. Each little table had a small fishbowl with slips of paper inside, and each slip of paper had a question or short statement meant to spur lively discussion about ourselves. I'd made it through a few different pairings before John sat at my table.

What was your first job and what did you learn from it?

Discuss one of your favorite movie moments.

How has a specific genre of music changed the way you see the world?

The bell rang and John sat at my table. Tall, with broad shoulders and a captivating smile, he introduced himself and shook my hand.

"Hi, I'm Leigh," I said, "nice to meet you in this completely natural, unforced way."

He laughed lightly. I noticed his gaze held a certain intensity. He was not just listening to me talk, but devouring every word.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the bowl. I picked out a slip of paper and read it out loud.

"What's something your new acquaintance would be surprised to learn about you?"

The corners of my mouth lifted up in a shy smile and I blushed slightly. I saw John's eyebrow twitch, just briefly, in anticipation of something juicy. My mind went to one place and one place only. But should I share it?

Several times in my life, boyfriends have been surprised by my dirty mind and salacious desires. "I never would have guessed that there was this side to you." Of course they wouldn't have guessed. I looked like the kind of girl their mom would love. A sweet face, framed with dark hair that fell to my shoulders. Curves that I kept hidden beneath my lab coat or other modest dress. The perfect picture of a respectable woman. A woman with a secret no one would guess.

"Actually, I write erotic stories." I said quietly. "I have a dozen or so posted online." I covered my eyes briefly with one hand and then looked up at John, biting my lip.

He leaned back in his chair, both eyebrows now raised. "Well, I have to admit, out of all the things you could have said, that was probably the last one I expected."

I laughed. "I don't tell many people about it because I give off a certain... vibe, I guess. And I'm happy flying under the radar where my writing is concerned."

John leaned forward again, shifting slightly in his seat. "So what kinds of stories are these? Bodice rippers? Would Fabio be on the cover?"

"Is Fabio still doing book covers?"

"I don't know. I guess they can draw whomever they want on those things."

"I suppose they can. But no, my stories aren't like that. They aren't the romantic kind of erotic. They're more..." my hands traced circles in the air as I tried to come up with the best word. "Animalistic."

John's eyes widened. "Oh? That's an interesting word to choose. How are your stories animalistic?" He shifted again in his chair and I caught his eyes flicking down to my cleavage as I briefly looked away to gather my words.

"Well, I've always found it kind of insulting when people make those "porn for women" calendars and such, and it's just men vacuuming or washing dishes or whatever. I'm sorry, no. That's just basic adulting. Not sexy. In my porn, people fuck. I wish I were saying something clever about subverting traditional ideas about female opinions on attraction and sex. And maybe on some level I do that, but honestly, I just write what turns me on."

My eyes met John's and we looked at each other wordlessly for a beat. I imagined I could feel a certain hunger radiating. Or maybe I had just spent too much time describing the male gaze in my stories. Sometimes the line between fantasy and reality can start to blur.

He opened his mouth to ask another question and the bell rang, signaling time to move on. He stood up and paused briefly before shifting to the next person, taking a moment to tap his fingertip on the tabletop. "To be continued," he said, flashing an easy smile.

The rest of the meetup passed uneventfully, and nowhere near as fun or electric as my brief conversation with John. As the event drew to a close, I stood up and pulled my jacket on, fumbling slightly with the buttons.

"Leigh! Wait a sec!"

I turned and saw John weave his way upstream through the people making their way to the exit.

"Hey," he said, "could I get the name of the website you post on? I'd love to read your stuff."

"Oh, of course!" I grabbed a pen and wrote the url and my username on the back of a coaster. "Just search for me there and you'll see all my stories."

"Awesome, thanks," he said, tucking it quickly into his back pocket.

"No problem. Make sure you give me five stars and boost up my ratings," I replied with a smile.

"Well I guess that depends how good they are," he said with a wink as he left.

After that, I didn't hear from him for a couple of weeks. Of course not, I reminded myself. It's not like we exchanged any information to be able to reach each other. I checked my stories a few times, hoping to see something, but there were no new comments. I was a little sad, but figured he just hadn't had a chance to read any of them yet. Or maybe he had but didn't enjoy them. And so I tried to forget about John, more or less, but I found myself replaying the looks he had given me over and over in my head. The hunger, real or imagined, had planted itself in my mind.

Then, one Saturday night, I was out with a few girlfriends for my bestie Jenn's birthday. She wanted to go to a local bar, something trendy and far too young for me. I tried to tell her that, but she had insisted. "Wear that cute little black dress," she said, "you'll fit right in." I wasn't sure she was completely right as I stepped up to the bar to order another round, but I did know that the dress left very little to the imagination. It clung to my curves and the short hem barely covered my ass. Still, it was a fun night, especially a couple drinks in. We cheered and teased Jenn in equal turns. I leaned in over the din of the crowded bar and whisper-yelled to my other friend Katie, "I'm just going to go to the restroom really quick." She nodded and I slipped away.

Completely focused on my mission to navigate the crowd, I didn't notice my name being called until a hand clamped onto my wrist. I looked at the hand first, then up at the man who had grabbed it. John.

"Sorry," he yelled, dropping my hand, "I don't think you heard me, and I wanted to say hi."

"No worries," I said loudly, smiling. "How have you been?"

"I can barely hear you," he said with a shake of his head, then motioned for me to follow him. I glanced back at my group of friends, oblivious to my absence, and followed him to a side door where we slipped out onto a small, mostly empty patio.

"You look great," he said. "I love the dress."

"Thanks," I replied, "I don't get to wear it very often."

"Maybe you should."

Our eyes met, holding each other's gaze as they did that first night, for just a moment. I could feel my pulse in my neck.

"I read your stories," John said, without preamble.

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

I blushed. Standing in front of someone who had read my writings suddenly felt very intimate. His face was inscrutable. I cleared my suddenly very dry throat.

"... and?" I managed to squeak.

"Honestly? They're a bit short. They left me wanting more." He shifted closer to me. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

Before I could reply, he continued. "Did you mean it when you said that you write about what turns you on?"

I nodded, unable to form words for the first time in my life. I looked up in his eyes, and the hunger I thought I had imagined stared back at me.

"So, if I were to, I don't know, push you against this brick wall and kiss you, like Philip did to Kat, you might enjoy that?"

"Mmmhmm," I murmured with a slight nod of my head.

"And if I called you my little slut, like Coach Dave did to Mrs. Howard, that would turn you on?"

"Yes," I said breathlessly.

Suddenly, the world blurred as John spun me, pinning my back to the wall. I could smell him now, clean and spicy. Hi body was closer still, not in a menacing way, though he did radiate power. I looked at his neck, warm and inviting, and imagined kissing it, but then his hand was under my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

"You're a very skilled writer, Leigh. I had quite the reaction while reading your stories. You could probably publish them if you wanted to."

His head dipped closer to mine. "I thought you were beautiful when I first saw you, and seeing this intensely sexual side of you has only made you more attractive."

I continued to look at his face, watching as his eyes dipped to my lips and back up. I could feel my heart pounding, my body responding out of excitement and arousal. There was no mistaking the telltale signs. My nipples hardened to stiff little peaks and my skin flushed. For fuckssake, he hadn't even kiss--

My thought was cut off as John pressed his lips to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, placing one hand on the back of his head as we deepened the kiss together, perfectly in rhythm, like a dance we'd performed hundreds of times.

His hands ran down my sides and found the hem of my dress. He pulled it up, nearly to my waist, exposing me to the night air.

"Mm, what is this silky little thong you have on?" He whispered in my ear as his fingertips traced the outline off my pussy lips through the fabric. "Were you hoping to see me or do you just like dressing like a little slut?"

His words echoed my stories, and my eyes fluttered shut. I held my breath as he slipped his fingers under the silk, feeling my freshly-waxed pussy. "Yeeeessss, you wanted to see me. I knew it," he whispered, and kissed me again, this time more passionately than before. The rough skin of his fingertips glided over my hairless folds, then he slid his middle finger between the lips.

"My God, you are wet, aren't you? Is that why you write all your women like that? Do you also have a tight little cunt that's going to milk my cock dry?"

Before I could answer, he slid his middle finger inside my pussy, eliciting a gasp. "I think that's a yes," he whispered as he bit my earlobe.

He worked his finger in and out of my pussy, tantalizingly slowly. "Tell me, Leigh, do you want me to fuck you?"

I nodded. His fingers stopped. He kissed my neck a few times. "I said tell me. My sexy little author isn't at a loss for words is she?"

I grabbed his wrist, a perverted echo of how he'd gotten my attention before. "John, please..." I rocked my hips, desperately trying to get his finger deep inside me again. I could feel my wetness sliding down my inner thighs. I honestly couldn't recall having been this turned on before.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me. I... I need you to fuck me..."

"Mmm, that's much better. Go ahead, then, get my cock out."

I fumbled with his pants, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping them. I pushed them down just enough to reach in. There was a wet spot on the front of his boxer briefs. I wanted to taste him, to lower myself to my knees and lick his sweet precum before sliding the length of his cock down my throat.

Instead, I kissed him, moaning as he began pumping his finger in and out again. I lowered his underwear, freed his hard cock and began to stroke it. It felt heavy in my hand, hot and thick. I knew it would stretch me deliciously.

John groaned and broke the kiss, sliding his hand out from under my thong. Pulling the fabric to the side, he lined up the round, dripping head of his cock with my entrance. I gasped as the head popped inside. He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His hands dug into my hips as he slowly pushed inside me with a low, guttural "fuuuuuuck."

He stayed there for a moment, and my head swam. That first full feeling always makes me dizzy with desire. "I love that first push in," he murmured against my cheek, echoing my thoughts. He then began to slowly pull back and then drive his cock in deep, pushing me against the rough brick. I could feel the bricks scratching the skin of my back and shoulders, but I didn't care. Funny, I thought, I remember writing that exact line, and now here I am.

"Fuck me, John," I moaned, pulling him in tighter with my legs.

"Goddamn it, Leigh, your pussy feels amazing." He pushed harder and faster into me, and I could feel every ridge of his cock. The slight upward curve rubbed against my G-spot and I felt my orgasm building, threatening to overtake me any moment.

"Keep going... right there... please don't stop."

My legs began to tremble as I came hard on his cock. I buried my face into his neck, muffling my squeals. My pussy contracted rhythmically, squeezing John's thick member.

"Oh God," he groaned, thrusting up inside me one more time as he joined me in orgasmic bliss. He held me tight as the last few twitches pulsed through us, then he slowly lowered me to the ground and smoothed my dress over my hips. It took a few moments for us to catch our breath.

Then, John kissed me and we slipped wordlessly back into the bar. He grabbed a coaster and jotted something down really quick. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "I should have given this to you a while ago."

I looked down at the square of cardboard in my hand. It was his number. "Text me when you write something new. Or just whenever." He smiled his captivating smile once more and I knew we'd be seeing much more of each other.

After all, there were many more scenes for us to reenact from my stories.