My J. Attempts Writing Erotica

I challenged J. (whom I admittedly think of as my property — a mindset that likely benefits neither of us in the long run, but hey, I claim my stake like a pilgrim stepping off the Mayflower). Most would just call him the boyfriend, but I prefer something a little more possessive.

He’s a professional writer and screenwriter, so naturally, I pushed him to step out of his comfort zone and try his hand at erotica.

Shhh… he’s not exactly a natural at it. But we cherry-pick the best (bold) from his writing and make it work.

Ready?

With a playful grin, I teased him, “Hey babe, make me wet with words.”

Late last night, while he was stuck at LAX, he sent me pieces of a love story he’d written just for me. Something I have been pestering him about since the election.

But I loved how he started it — it immediately made me picture him shaving. There’s something so captivating about watching a man shave, the slow, deliberate strokes.

It’s like visual foreplay — I can never get enough of it. That slow, deliberate shave, the razor gliding so close to your skin, creating that faint, hypnotic sound as it passes over flesh. Something so sharp, capable of cutting to the bone, yet you take it to your face each day with such precision. It’s mesmerizing. Okay, anyways enough of my kink.

Let’s see what wrote below.

“I write best at night. My brain shakes and pours its sweetest chemical
cocktail in those later hours, while the mornings bring only orange juice
spiked with tooth paste and hazy, confused thinking best used for little
more than shaving.”

Then he writes about how he’s completely immersed in his work, only to be distracted by me climbing onto his lap and shutting his laptop, whispering, “I need you now.”

I couldn’t help myself and teased him further. “Let’s…” I said.

He blinked at me, confused. “What?”

“you know I can’t.”

“Yeah, let’s …” I replied with a grin.

“What the hell?”

J., is always composed, in control, and hyper-aware — it’s just who he is. So naturally, seduction becomes my only option.

Cue the tight little shorts that hug and explode the ass cheeks from underneath, high heels, and the occasional well-timed bend over in his face while he’s working. Subtle? Not exactly. Effective? Absolutely.

So anyways back to his peer review.

Now let’s talk very visceral here for a moment.

When my tongue traces the rough texture of your cock, lingering on that sensitive spot just beneath your glans, I can feel the jolt it sends through your body — lighting you up like a fuse ready to ignite. You’re already slipping into that state of heightened arousal, that place where every nerve feels raw and electric.

And when I have you there J., — teetering between pleasure and surrender — you’re babbling, speaking in tongues, trying to piece together how your lover could possibly unravel you like this. Your body is no longer your own, dripping with desire, completely lost in my control.

My nipples graze your skin, leaving a trail of heat, as my fingers tangle in your hair. I lock eyes with you, my gaze burning into yours as I grind harder, determined to pull every last rope of cum from your body.

Your sighs turn into groans, and when your hands grip me tighter, I know I’ve taken you beyond where you thought you could go.

Okay back to the peer review J.,

J. writes:

“I see her in total for the first time since she entered. She’s in
only a t-shirt adorned with the logo of some surf equipment brand I don’t
recognize. Her breasts outlined under well-worn cotton, I can’t help but
run a stare from her bright eyes down her body to her artistically shaven
nudity below. Work knows it’s coming in worse than a distant second by
now. It considers staying home and skipping the race.”

I think he’s drawn to the fact that I’m so in love with surfing, the ocean, and everything water represents. Maybe it’s the way I look like a quintessential blonde Californian, but with the grounded, unassuming heart of a Midwesterner. It’s a mix he can’t seem to resist.

Anyway, here’s how I responded to that piece…

Her white t-shirt clung to her skin, the soft curves of her breasts subtly outlined beneath the thin fabric. The cool air and the anticipation in the room made her nipples press against the cotton, small peaks adorning the smooth expanse like an unspoken invitation.

His hands, warm and deliberate, slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, fingertips gliding over her bare skin. Slowly, he moved upward, tracing the curve of her waist before finding the swell of her breasts. When his palms cupped her, his thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples, he felt the subtle shift — softness giving way to firmness, her body responding to his touch.

K. locked eyes with J., her gaze smoldering with an unspoken intensity. A soft sigh escaped her lips, carrying with it the heat of her desire. The moment stretched, electrified, and then he felt it — the warm, slick sensation of her arousal seeping onto his bare thigh, leaving a wet spot that ignited a primal need between them.

More to cum.