Like any writer or artist, I love to get affirmation that people enjoy my work. Those people who claim they just do it for themselves "and if anyone else likes it that's a bonus"? They're lying. Even the most esoteric creators thrive off knowing that someone, somewhere approves of what they're doing and has made the effort to let them know.
I'd been posting erotic fiction online for a few months and received a few direct messages from readers; most of them, I'm pleased to say were positive, while others did at least attempt to offer constructive feedback, whether I agreed with it or not. Happily, I didn't seem to be attracting any weirdos or cranks as I'd feared I might, all of my correspondence was friendly and respectful in tone. Occasionally I responded with a brief thank you, but mainly I simply enjoyed reading what people wanted to share with me.
For my latest piece I'd attempted something new, a story where no actual sex occurred, but which examined the thrill between two distant lovers. It seemed to divide my readership, which was fine - it was definitely out of my comfort zone - but it also meant that when an email popped into my inbox a couple of days later, it's contents were more than usually welcome.
"Hi, I've been following your work for a little while. I don't usually send messages but your new one is really HOT! Loved how it played out, any chance of another chapter? I'd love to know what happens next, they have to get together. Here's hoping...
Laura x"
I hadn't planned on another instalment, but sent a brief reply thanking her for her kind words, and with the promise of new stories soon as I already had some ideas I was working on. That seemed to satisfy her as I heard nothing more for a week or so until I released my next piece, a short, very explicit description of intercourse between two strangers in the bathroom at a party. It was very different to the previous story, but again it seemed to please Laura, who got in touch to confess that she'd masturbated to what I'd written.
Over the next few months we began to message each other regularly. At first Laura would reach out to talk about whatever I'd just written, but in time our chat became more general, taking on the feel of a conversation between friends. I learnt a little more about her, and offered a few details about myself - age and approximate location - though was careful enough not to give out any information that would identify me.
One theme that did begin to emerge was Laura's own interest in writing. She expressed an interest in composing her own erotic stories, though lacked the confidence to actually share anything she'd written with me. Instead, she began to offer suggestions for my own work, perhaps a character name or a few words of description to improve on what I'd posted. Looking to encourage her, I began to ask Laura for feedback on pieces I was still working on, sometimes incorporating her ideas into the finished story. Then one day, after one of these stories had been released, she signed off a message with something unexpected:
"How about you make me the subject of your next story? I'd love to see what you do with me.
Laura x"
The forwardness took me by surprise. Believe it or not, for all the chatting we'd been doing while talking about sex, there hadn't really been any flirtation between us. I liked Laura - like I said, creators love to get affirmation about themselves, and she really did seem to enjoy what I do - but hadn't actually thought about her in an erotic sense. Beyond knowing she had dark hair, I didn't even know what she looked like, and she'd only offered "40ish" when I once asked her age.
In my response I was noncommittal, vaguely promising to think about it while making no guarantees. I was a little intrigued, but usually I deal with fantasy, relying on my imagination or composites of people I've known to drive a story. I'd never actually written a pure description of a real person, and would need some time to think about it. If Laura was disappointed she hid it well; soon our conversation was back on familiar lines, and the topic wasn't mentioned again.
Perhaps a month passed, and in a message to Laura I talked about how I was struggling with my latest idea. To be truthful I hadn't really got far beyond an intimate description of some underwear which the female would be wearing; a romantic, lacy black bra and knickers with red trim and tiny embroidered flowers, complemented by matching black hold up stockings. I sent the details to Laura, but even as I typed it felt flat, like I was just writing about a set I'd seen in a catalogue. Perhaps my inspiration was running dry?
Laura's reply barely touched on what I'd written, instead she wanted to share some news. She had to take a trip for work, and would be staying in my city for a couple of nights next week; her evenings would be free, did I want to go for a meal or drink? If the invitation made me uncomfortable she'd understand, but it would be good to finally meet and chat.
Again, I was a little taken aback. Other than Laura I rarely corresponded much with my small band of online fans, and now she was offering to meet me and setting the terms of engagement. It might also be a strange feeling sitting across from someone who'd already shared details of how they touched themselves while reading your thoughts. But as I've already explained, there's a healthy dose of ego concerned with writers, and the chance to talk with someone who enjoys your work isn't one that happens too often. We made our arrangements to meet.
*
The pub I'd suggested was busier than I expected, and when I arrived a few minutes late it was impossible to scan the room to look for where Laura might be sat. Instead I texted the number she'd shared with me asking where I could find her. It took only 30 seconds, and then a reply came through: "This place is too crowded - meet me out front x", so I turned back and waited nervously by the entrance step. A couple of minutes passed, and then out came a petite, middle-aged woman with dark bobbed hair.
"Jamie?"
"Laura? Hi!"
"So good to meet you at last!"
We hugged and she stretched up to peck me on the cheek. Then she drew back to look at me properly and smiled:
"Well your description was accurate. Slim, full head of brown hair and all your own teeth! Bad choice of venue though, if you don't mind me saying so. Where can we go to chat?"
I apologised, we discussed options, but in the end we simply decided to head to her hotel bar a few minutes walk away. The decision made, she placed her arm in mine and we set off. As we walked I tried to get a good look at her - it was already dark, but Laura seemed to have come dressed for a date which we'd never discussed. She wore an elegant long coat which was belted at the waist, and a pair of patent stilettos. I also caught a hint of what smelled like very expensive perfume. As we walked she talked about her first impressions of the city, her voice having an appealingly husky quality.
Laura's hotel was a typical chain affair, with the bar being functional rather than glamorous, and it was sparsely filled, but it would at least offer us the chance to talk properly. We ordered a bottle of red and chose a booth in a corner which afforded us a view of the rest of the area. Now that it was light I also took the opportunity to study her more closely as she removed her coat. Beneath she wore a little black dress which came down to her knees - definitely date wear - and a delicate silver chain. Her skin was pale, her dark eyes danced with mischief, and she clearly looked after herself with her slim figure; 'classy' is the adjective I would choose if I only had one word to describe her. This was going to be an interesting evening.
The talk between us flowed easily, such that we hardly touched our drinks. At first we simply talked a little more about ourselves, but inevitably the conversation slowly turned to our shared interest that had brought us together. A couple of times her leg briefly brushed mine under the table, but I affected not to notice, enjoying the interplay between us. For a while she quizzed me about things I'd written, then I steered the conversation back to her own writing ambitions. Her suggestions were good, what was stopping her from putting them into print? Laura spoke:
"I don't know. I enjoy observing people, well, couples, and guessing what they might enjoy in bed. That's where most of my ideas come from. Sometimes I think it's more fun just to fantasize about them in my head."
"You don't mind sharing ideas with me."
"Only when it's something I've already thought about. They're not things I dream up out of nothing."
I glanced around the room. Sat across from us and out of earshot there was a man and a woman in their early twenties, clearly getting on famously. The man seemed to be telling a story, the woman was laughing, and as she stopped she placed a hand over his. I turned to Laura:
"What about those two? What are they going to be doing later?"
"Mmm... If it doesn't sound too cliched, they're going to have great sex tonight. They're both young and good looking, they must be staying here or they'd be somewhere more trendy. Maybe it's a dirty weekend."
