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TThe Big Performance

When a stage manager gets carried away reading erotic poetry in an empty theatre she imagines an audience is watching her and does something she’s only fantasised about. However someone really is watching her and before long the pair of them are putting on a really big performance!


EXCERPT

I closed my eyes then, imagined what it would be like to be on stage for real, in front of an audience full of people and saying “when you fucked me” over and over. My body was hot and tingling and I put my hand between my legs, running my thumb over the seam of my jeans, sending gentle pressure down to the hot and responsive spot underneath.

“When you touched me, When you fucked me, When you touched me, When you fucked me, fucked me, fucked me, fucked me.”

I was so turned on now. I loved the thought of sitting up here, stroking myself and saying dirty words with a whole theatre-full of people watching me, getting off on me getting myself off.

I pulled in my stomach and slid my fingers down inside the waistband of my jeans. I pushed the soft cotton of my panties aside and slipped my forefinger into the crease of my pussy.

I couldn’t believe how wet I was, the moisture had seeped all along my lips and wetted my finger as soon as I touched myself. I circled my finger a couple of times, then added a second finger.

I ran my fingers down between my lips, slumping down in the chair so my hips were thrust forward to give me easier access. I pictured myself naked, or in skimpy underwear sat, just like this, on stage with a busily silent auditorium.

I could hear my own breath harsh and ragged in the silence, filling the huge, empty space. My hand was working fast now, slipping and rubbing across my pussy as I panted for breath and muttered those two lines from the poem over and over.

Going Straight: to porn or not to porn

The problems of being an erotic author are many and varied. This erotic author, for example, is seriously considering moving into the more generally accepted genre of romantic or ‘chick lit’ fiction, not least because then I could finally let my mum and dad read something I’ve written!

In fact, telling people is one of the biggest reasons I am considering moving into a more ‘acceptable’ area of fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed. All my friends know I write erotica, as does my partner and my mother, but I can’t let them read anything I write, nor can I tell people at my volunteer work who ask me what I do. The follow-up question to “Oh, I’m an author” is always some variation of “Oh? What do you write?” A total nightmare if you’re in a very conservative situation.

Add to that the difficulty of getting it published in the real world – and I’m sorry, however wonderful e-publishing is, it’s just not the same as being in print – and the continual problems of finding new vocabulary for basic human anatomy and you have a rough idea of why non-sexual romantic stuff might be preferable for me.

Of course, the problem there is that I just write sex too damn well, and I bloody well enjoy it. For the time being I guess I’ll just have to continue typing away, producing marvellous works of literary genius that just happen to be filled with pages and pages of raunchy sex and deal with the consequences. Though, looking as sweet and innocent and I do, it’s always fun to drop a bombshell now and then.

“So Emelia, what is it that you do?”

“Oh, I write porn…”