Thursday, June 2, 2011

The Bumper Cars
I know, I know! Everyone loves the bumper cars. It's almost as if the bumpers were the most sacred of all the rides, simply because you can smash into other people's cars, without consequences.  Which I suppose is fun, if that's your thing. The idea of  no consequences--that, I like. That's why I wrote erotica for all those years. I could slip into a story, be up to no good and escape unscathed. Sweet, huh? Anytime of the day or night. 

Writing erotica isn't as easy as it sounds. The research alone is time consuming and sometimes downright  exhausting. I started writing erotica as an assignment given by my therapist. The reasons why are personal, the payoff priceless. 

One morning, while reading the paper, I saw a small ad for an escort service. What happened was comparable to one of those songs that you can't get out of your mind, say like, any Barry Manilow song. Click the arrow below. I dare you. See how often this song comes into your mind today. (Plus, whoever did the video made it quite enjoyable.)

The escort ad kept looping in my mind all day long until, I couldn't take it anymore. There was only one way out. I called the escort service. Of course, the escorts were for men who were looking for women. Who cared. I asked if there were any women who liked women. No... but the owner's best friend, a beauty of a woman, liked women...

The charge? $300 for 2 hours with her. As a writer, one has to self-invest. I rented a room in a nice hotel in San Francisco and met her in the bar. I'd had a couple of calm-my-nerves shots of tequila (I don't drink often) before she arrived and was very, very relaxed when she showed up.(BTW, she was extraordinary.)

I don't remember how we got up to the room... We were in the bar. I blinked. We were in my in my room, on the bed, kissing...

"Her name was Lola, She was a dancer."

Sorry. I watched that damn Manilow video and am doomed to hear this song loop through my mind the next week or so.

...kissing, kissing. Her soft, moist...

Penthouse liked my story and published it at $1/word. They wanted 1000 words. Sweet. (my investment paid off.)

After, my two hours were up, she called the service and said the 2 hours were up and she was leaving. She hung up...turned to me... and stayed an extra hour, on the house.

The consequences? I got audited that year. Thank god, I'd asked for a receipt.

No comments: