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My publishers representative, who I shall call The Reader had been in my study for no more than ten minutes when I found myself beginning to like her for her down to earth, straight to the point practicality.

“Why do you think your stories get so few reviews?” she asked.

“Probably because not many people understand them” I said.

“That may be” the Reader agreed. “But perhaps they’re also too complicated. A lot of people have short attention spans and a poor understanding of language you know”

“Isn’t that being rather cynical?” I asked.

“Cynical but true!” she murmured, flicking through several pages of text quickly.

“Some of your pieces” she pronounced efficiently “are certainly saleable but……others are……well, I’d say ridiculous!”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“This one for a start!” she said, turning the sheets so I could see what I’d written several months previously.

“Midnight Blue” I remembered it vividly.

“Most people only want to read about ordinary fucking!” I told her flatly.

She smiled. “Maybe the masses do, but you are not writing for them. You’re writing for those who can appreciate the subtle nuance of implied sexuality, waves breaking on rocky shores if you like, rather than sperm spurting and splashing all over someone’s face. That stuff has a place of course but your readership is different, more sophisticated. What they are looking for is Something New and thought provoking which they haven’t read about before!”

“That was the plan with that particular tale” I told her.

“But the plan got hijacked, didn’t it?”

“Sort of”

“Then we must get it back on track again!” she told me firmly. “Delete it all!”

So I did.

………………..

Seven cups of coffee and two packets of chocolate digestives later we had the bones of another Something New story cobbled together. I’d abandoned my P.C, indeed I’d abandoned my desk entirely for a laptop on the softer, and still surprisingly fragrantly carpeted floor. Why it smelled of cinnamon I had no idea but I recalled it had done so since the day it was fitted.

“Don’t use the word ‘cunt’ in this story” the Reader advised “Its too hard for the concept you are putting across”

She tickled my laptop prettily, pink fingernails dancing on the keys faster than I could follow.

“What shall I use then?” I asked “Hole? Minge? Not Pussy! Everyone uses that!”

The Reader leaned back against the wall and breathed deeply.

“Your carpet smells of cinnamon!” she said obliquely.

“Yeah, it did when it was fitted” I told her “And I think we’ve stirred it up again……”

I looked at her, the woman from my publishers who, not so many weeks ago, I’d hated with a passion. She’d been unkind about my work then and I’d felt disheartened. Now suddenly I saw her in a different light.

She slipped off her shoes and as she moved her legs to get comfortable I noticed that the toes of her tights had gone all wrinkly.

“Cinnamon!” she enunciated “Always makes me randy………”

“Does it?”

She nodded “That and reading your stuff!”

“Well thats good” I told her carefully, unsure where the conversation was leading.

“Randy…..” she murmured unbuttoning her cuff.

“Help me with this will you?” she asked suddenly.

‘This’ was the blouse which by now she’d partly unbuttoned.

Without saying a word I helped her out of it. It was warm and fragrant, scented with something I vaguely recognised. For a moment I wondered what to do with the garment. I looked at her for guidance and saw she had unhooked her bra and was slipping it’s straps in loose loops down her arms.

“Is that better?” I asked inanely after she’d taken it off.

“Much better!” she sighed “I wish I’d done it earlier”

She caressed herself familiarly, hands going round and over, under and around, several times while she smiled to herself thoughtfully.

“This character of yours, Marie…..” she began suddenly. “What is her body like?”

She let go of her breasts casually, careless of my gaze and, still smiling to herself picked up some of the paperwork again.

“I made her about five foot five, slimmish, size four and a half shoe……”

“No, no, I mean intimately. Whats her skin like, her tits, her thighs, her backside. What colour is her pubic hair, does she have a lot, a little, any at all? Is her pussy plump, long lipped, tight, open……? Your readers will want to know these things!”

I must admit she’d caught me out there. Marie, the character I’d originally been working on was a shy girl who wouldn’t have said boo to a goose. Now suddenly, at the Reader’s instigation, she was in mixed company, flinging off all her clothes and announcing she needed a fuck.

“Well her tits are rather like……” I started to say.

“Describe her vagina” the Reader said bluntly “in such a way that the men reading the story will get an erection and the women will wish theirs was like it……”

I had to laugh at this.

“Everyone is different….” I began.

“Alright!” the Reader said “Help me with these…..”

Suddenly I found myself assisting with the removal of her tights and knickers, slipping them along her legs like screwed up handkerchiefs, over her feet and off, loosely twisted into my hands.

The smart businesslike skirt came off after that, without any assistance from me at all except that I found myself squinting at the tightly pressed down mass of hair at her crotch.

“Now!” she said forcefully “Can you describe her properly”

“Her hair is dark reddish in colour, lighter towards the edges and at the top where a small light pattern of dots on her skin marks where clothing has been” I began.

“Good!” she said.

She ran the tip of one pink nailed finger from her navel down to the curled fringe, then with her right hand she stroked the bush luxuriously, loosening only individual strands from the mass at first before, slowly, oh so slowly setting all of them free.

“Go on!” she urged.

“Her crease is fingertip shaped at the top” I said. “Little curls of darker hair hides within it……and it broadens and thickens there where her lips begin”

The Reader played with herself lightly.

“Where they’re crinkled and folded into the cowl which hides her……clitoris which……”

She spread herself wider with a little gasp.

“……is extremely wet and very aroused!”

“Damn right it is!” the Reader said. “And so should you be! Do you think Gaugin painted Tahitian ladies in a studio, or Constable The Haywain while sitting in a barn? No course not! They were out there with their models, getting up close, not mooning about limp pricked searching for inspiration!”

………………

Oh the carpet in my study still smells of cinnamon. But in a couple of places that smell is now overlaid with the aroma of the juices which, several times, erupted from the Readers cunt. Although she told me not to use that word because it was, in her opinion, too harsh, I thought it right for my story because Maria got what she wanted, and plenty of it, eventually going home, semi comatose and only partly dressed, in a taxi with a friend of indeterminate gender. The Reader on the other hand got onto her hands and knees and refused to go anywhere until we had fucked each other to exhaustion.

“Try to remember everything!” she yelped, jerking herself back and forth like a rocking horse “So you can describe it all in great detail……”

“I’m remembering!” I gasped. “As much as I can…...”

Slap, slap went her bottom against my belly. Grunt, grunt she went, like a Gloucester Old Spot on heat.

“Harder!” the Reader urged desperately “So that my tits jerk about like jellies. Men like to read things like that!”

Smack, smack went her bottom against my belly. Jiggle, jiggle went her tits.

“That’s it!” the Reader yelped. “Give them Something New! Something they want…… to…… read!”

Bash, smash went her thighs against mine. Then, everso slowly she began to snort like a hippopotamus in the mud of a swamp.

“Steady now” she advised “And deeper……”

“Yes……?”

“Ahh yes…”

Somewhere inside her something tightened, loosened then tightened again tremendously. The Reader let go a whole series of screams……

……………

If I told you the story I eventually wrote went on to be a best seller you’d probably know the one I meant. They made a film of it too, with some little known actress making her debut with it. No-one famous would even look at it. They hadn’t the nerve.

The Reader visits me regularly now. She is helping me write a new story, she says. And this time I am going to use the word ‘cunt’ in it if I can.

© Aahlu. 14.05.10.

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