The Hardest Things to Write

A writer buddy of mine and I were chatting about topics that are traditionally difficult to write about and how writers are attracted to them — like flies to a dead bunny. Our original list was Sex, Death, and Boring. So, we held a competition among our fellow writers to see who could write the best sex scene. I sat down in the morning and didn’t get up from my desk until the early evening. It was one of the best spent days ever.

The results of the competition were unfortunate. Despite the wide range of ideas, styles and topics (and I mean a very wide range), what we learned was that sex scenes are all fairly similar give or take a hand here or a member there. In the end, all of our hopes for a stimulating afternoon were drowned out by the cider and the loud mouths at the table beside ours.

Nonetheless, the afternoon I spent with my first real attempt at erotica was a great one — one that I followed up with a glass of wine and a bubble bath. Because that’s what one does, clearly.

So, if you’ve got a half hour, a tub and some bubbles, here’s a little something to help you pass the time.  A Family Man.


He was the type of man she typically loathed – charming, idealistic and compulsive. Just the kind of guy she never went with because she could read them too easily. They made her feel exposed – like everyone would know that she was nothing more than an animal. Ronnie embraced his animalistic nature – he even used it as an excuse to misbehave. He visibly struggled to keep his hands off of her, even in the most mundane conversations.

Her new co-workers could see it, feel it, and they turned the tension to her. It was as if they hated her for getting the attention – men and women alike. They silently blamed her for his affections, as it couldn’t be his fault. He couldn’t help the way he was. She could feel their hot stares as he walked her around the office for the first time. He demonstrated things like a golf or a tennis instructor – innocently spooning her while he showed her how to use the copier, the coffee machine, or the computer.

Since Anne was new to the firm, she wanted to make a good impression and this really wasn’t helping her reputation. The people in this office weren’t the friendliest bunch. No one was jumping up to shake her hand. In fact some of the women were obviously ignoring her and deliberately trying to make her uncomfortable.

It was excruciating and Anne began to doubt that she could make it with this firm. If it wasn’t such an amazing opportunity and such a wonderful position, she might have left. She wasn’t used to this kind of social pressure. She was a nice woman and was typically well-liked and made friends easily. These people couldn’t even afford her some simple manners.

Ronnie, on the other hand, attended to every possible formality of politeness in a borderline comical way. He held the door open for her and used standards like, “ladies first” and “after you, my dear.” He got up from his lunch in the staff room to pull out the plastic and metal chair for her. He complimented her clothes. One day he rode up to the office with her in the elevator. It was a full load, to be sure, but he was unnecessarily close. His arm innocently pressed against hers, his warm hand against her upper thigh that reached around and cupped her backside.

Suddenly the air around her seemed to moisten so that she reached her hand to her forehead to wipe away sweat that wasn’t there. Mercifully, the door opened on their floor and they separated.

“You smell amazing,” he said. “What is that scent?”

“Oh,” she was taken off guard. “I’m not wearing anything.”

He smiled as if he knew that. “Well, it must just be your natural perfume.”

With that he, turned on his heel and strutted off to his office. Anne’s cheeks burned and she made a beeline for her own office and shut the door in her secretary’s face.

That evening, as the workday came to a close, Ronnie appeared in her doorway. She had spent the day building up an ice wall for him to run into him and it was working. His presence in the room affected her very little. In fact, she was actually taking power from him by being unresponsive.

He was such a literal creature. He sensed the shift immediately and even seemed to run smack into her imaginary ice wall. He looked hurt, misunderstood.  She immediately felt sorry for him and ashamed of herself, as if she’d just kicked a baby fox.

He leaned in the doorway like a teenager. “You look busy,” he said.

“You got that right. Can I help you with something?” Her voice cracked at the last syllable and they both knew the jig was up.

He shuffled up to her desk, feigning bashful and innocent. “Some of the kids around the office are going for drinks at Eddie’s tonight. Are you game?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t. I’m not really a drinker. One glass of wine and someone will have to carry me home.”

They both shifted at the potential implications of her comment. “So, maybe another time.”

“Another time?” he asked. She cringed, inwardly. Why had she chosen that particular phrase? “Well, I would be happy to carry you home anytime, Princess.”

She bent over her desk, looking for something important to stare at. “Yes, well, that’s nice but…”

“Oh, come on. Everyone’s coming and you need to get to know the gang if you’re going to be happy here, right?”

She nodded. He was right. “Plus, none of the women in this office can truly drink, if you ask me. Except for old Dori, there.” He gestured out her office window at the partner’s secretary. She was built like a tank, moved like a bulldozer and could conceivably drink a few of the men around the office under the table. Anne laughed, despite herself.

“So, you’ll come?”

“Yes, yes. You’re right. I’ll meet you all there. I have a thing or two to do around here first.”

“Great. We’ll be there at 6.”

She had no good reason to be so excited. Surely this get together would be tense and more of the same exclusive behavior. But, as soon as the door shut behind him, electric butterflies squirmed in her stomach and sent shock waves down her torso. She could barely stifle a squeal.  She was just wanted to be near him. She imagined him pulling out her chair for her, him gesturing for her to sit in the seat beside him, his hand placed casually on her knee while she pretended to ignore it — his fingers reaching up her thigh, discretely, under the table while their co-workers rattled on about this or that employee injustice.

As soon as the last co-worker left the office, she grabbed her purse and made for the ladies room. She pulled her shoulder-length wavy hair free of the tight bun at the nape of her neck. She applied a little too much blush, a fresh layer of lipstick to her pouty lips and didn’t bother to blot the excess. She unbuttoned her cardigan and allowed the lace camisole beneath it to peek through.

This is crazy, she thought as she stood back to admire the finished product. In an attempt to look a little less obvious, she conceded to blotting a little lipstick from her lips before she locked up the office and headed to Eddie’s down the street.

The scene played out almost exactly as she’d imagined it. She arrived at the bar and the hostess gestured to her co-workers’ table. He saw her make her way through the crowded old pub and stood to greet her. He patted John, the accountant, on the arm who took this as a sign to find another seat. Ronnie pulled the chair away from the table and presented it to her like a throne. She smiled confidently and took a seat at the table beside him.

That’s where the fantasy ended. Here in this captive environment, Ronnie was changed. He was cool towards her and talked over her. He treated her like anyone else and even forgot to ask her what she’d like to drink when the order was being taken.  It was Dori who took control of the situation.

“Hey, wait a minute,” she said. “We forgot about Miss Fancy-pants over here. What are you drinking, hun?”

They all looked at her and she knew that it would be certain death to order her usual white wine spritzer, heavy on the spritz. She looked around and saw that most of the women in the office were drinking scotch and she had never even fathomed to drink it. Casually reaching a hand to her breast, she fastened a button on her cardigan and asked for a scotch on the rocks.

“Good girl,” Dori said and Anne relaxed a little.

The rounds of drinks kept coming and the little crowd of co-workers grew louder and more comfortable with each other. At some point, the conversation split in two – women talked about balancing work and homes while the men were having some sort of complicated discussion about stocks.

Ronnie didn’t even glance her way and she found herself doing things to try to get his attention. She pretended to bump into his knee and he did nothing but move it out of her way. She went to the bathroom, hoping that when she returned, he would notice her and pull out her chair but he was deep in conversation when she got back and maybe didn’t even know that she’d left.

The more he ignored her, the nicer the women became and the more anxious she became. She found it difficult and boring to listen to conversations about being married and having kids when she had neither and desired neither. She desired to be president of the company someday and have the power to make Ronnie squirm.

She mentally checked out of the women’s conversation and entertained the scenario of Ronnie entering her office for an employee evaluation. He would be sheepish and shy. He was a lazy worker, after all and presumably got by on his charm and almost arresting sexuality.

She would sit him down in front of her desk, where his would slouch, legs spread, she would perch at the edge of the desk, directly in front of him and she would tell him what a terrible employee he was. How he was behind on every report, how sales were down and she had no idea why she kept him around.

“I can think of a thing or two I do well around here,” he’d say as he reaches a leg between hers and rubs it up against hers.

She would recoil, walk to the back of her desk and tell him to cool it if he wanted to keep his job.

“Oh, I don’t imagine I’m going anywhere anytime soon,” he’d say as he got up to follow her. He’d stand behind her barely touching her as he whispered into her ear. “Who would notice that you never wear any panties when we have a meeting? What good would it be to wear those little white blouses that let me watch your nipples harden when I ask you how your day was? For whom would you go to the gym, the beauty parlor, or the lingerie shop? There would be no real reason to come in to the office at all, would there, Anne?”

She would be barely able to withstand his hot wet breath in her ear, the way she could feel his heat on her backside but just barely. The pressure building between her legs would cause her to arch her back involuntarily and he would pull away from her, laughing.

She would walk to the door and open it for him. “You may leave,” she would tell him but he wouldn’t.

“No, no, Anne. I want to make sure this employee evaluation is thorough.”

With that, he would walk up to her and shut the door, snapping the lock closed as he did so. As if being pushed, she would back into the paneling and he would hover his face above hers for a moment. Then he would gently brush his lips over hers, making her thirsty for him like she’d been in the desert all this time. Her nipples would be hard and aching, her hips jutting forward into his pelvis. He would smile once more and then dive into her kisses, which she could no longer control. Her tongue would swirl around in his mouth drinking him in. His mouth would taste like syrup, which, drizzled onto her neck, sucking and pulling on her ears. His hands would be tangled in her hair.

Without knowing how she got there she would be up in his arms – oh how she loved it when men picked her up –with her legs wrapped around him, causing her skirt to cinch up to her waist, exposing her naked bottom. She never did wear underwear when she intended to meet with him. She would pull off his blazer and shirt, spilling buttons to the floor. He would be so hard for her. He would have been waiting for this. With one graceful movement, her blouse would be off and his face would be buried in her breasts while his hands worked between her legs – fingers slipping in and out of the slick.

“You smell amazing,” he would say.

She would rock back and forth in his arms as he pushed her into the arm of her leather couch. She would reach for his belt and zipper, releasing him into her hands. He would shudder as she touched him, tasted him. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. He would try to pull away from her but she would hold on tight to his hips, guiding him into her hungry mouth. He would release himself into her for a moment and then lift her off the ground, pull her skirt away, pull her legs apart and position himself before the tiny opening. She would be ready.

“So, Ron, how’s the wife?” John inquired. The word “wife” knocked her out of her daydream and sent a shock wave of disbelief into her stomach. She was nearly in a panic.

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to tell them that there was no wife or that they were separated, plotting divorce or that she was a paraplegic. He looked right back at her.

“She’s just fine, John. How’s Betty?”

Anne decided that she ought to go. She was clearly a little too drunk to take this kind of let down. She was afraid she might cry.

“Listen everyone, I really should go now. I have a lot of work in the morning.”

“Boo,” they cried in unison.

“But, tomorrow’s Saturday,” a woman from HR complained.

“I’m pretty behind. I’m just going to run off to the ladies for a moment. Would one of you mind asking the waitress for my bill?”

She ran off to the washrooms, which, unfortunately had only one toilet and there were three women ahead of her. Now that she was standing she could feel a breeze against the dampness that had formed between her legs as a result of all her fantasizing. The thought of which brought about a surge of disappointment and self-pity that she certainly didn’t want to share with the other ladies in line. She was about to turn away, collect her things and wait till she got home to use the restroom when Ronnie sidled up behind her, his erection pressed urgently against her back.

“Come with me,” he said and she did.

He took her hand, led her into the men’s bathroom and locked the door. The time for subtleties was gone. She pushed him into the wall and pulled away his clothes. He fumbled with her camisole and nearly ripped her skirt away. She hopped up on the counter and pulled him between her legs, frantically unfastening his trousers, taking him into her hands and unceremoniously urging him toward her wetness. She wanted him to take her now.

He took the cue, wrapped his hands around her hips and pushed himself into her, hard. She gasped as his thrusts opened her up and sent electric shocks through her stomach, breasts, through to her fingertips. He pulled away her flimsy bra with his teeth, sucked her nipples roughly and she let out a little shriek. Her hand ran through his hair pulling and tugging as he pounded into her, giving her everything he had and she wanted him – all of him.

Just as he was about to orgasm, he reached down and pressed against her spot bringing her along with him as they shuddered and convulsed against the cold tile walls. He bit his lip and clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming out.

As soon as she seemed to settle he pulled away from her, panting, trying to re-group. He suddenly looked so young and tired. She shut herself into the stall for a moment to clean up and get dressed. When she came out he was still standing there, semi-erect and totally spent. She reached for her purse and applied a fresh layer of makeup, washed her hands and put on a little perfume.

“I’ll see you back at the table,” she said, turned on her heel and let herself out.

When she got back to the table, the gang was still there. They were completely smashed. She saw her bill in front of her chair and she handed it back to the waitress.

“Actually, I think I’ll stay for one more. Make it a double.”

The table cheered.

“That was one hell of a bathroom break,” John joked. “Did you fall in?”

“There was a long line up.”

“What the hell happened to Ron?” Dori asked.

“Maybe he went home,” Anne suggested. “He is a family man after all.”


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