May 10, 2008

Eroti-can't

So awhile ago, I went out with some girlfriends and they came up with the idea that I should write erotic stories. My friend Jennifer said she thought I'd be awesome at it, that I could really hit that nail on the head, so to speak.

Of course, my initial response was complete disbelief. I mean, don't you need to feel erotic in order to write erotica? I'm sitting pretty here in my mommy-jeans and I haven't taken a shower. I put on perfume once in a blue moon and my legs haven't been regularly shaved since before the Iraq war (no connection, though, purely coincidental). My language filter is usually in overdrive, as my three-year-old daughter tends to repeat everything I say, for days and days and days. For example:

Me, stubbing my toe on the chair the baby has just pulled out: "OUCH, DARNIT! GOSH IT ALL TO HECKEROONIE!"

Anna, gleefully: "Heckeroonie! Heckeroonie!"

Still, as a writer, I do like a challenge, so I figured I'd give it a (very brief) shot. Here's what I can come up with erotically, but with my mommy-filter still intact. (At this point some extreme sympathy for my long-suffering husband would be appropriate).

"Stepping over the cast-off, ketchup streaked bibs in the front hall, Francesca opened the door to the delivery man on the front porch.

"Yes?" she whispered softly at him, her voice still raw from the series of colds her toddler had brought home that month.

"I just need your signature right here, ma'am." Holding out a pen and clipboard, his eyes roamed over her figure, briefly taking it all in. Her every so slightly unkempt hair was pulled back in a sensuous ponytail, the high-waisted jeans straining slightly against her skin. Coffee stains on her off-white t-shirt drew his gaze to her full-figured bosom, like a moth to flame. One breast seemed slightly lower then the other. He realized with a rush of excitement that her nursing bra had come unclasped on that side, unleashing the fullness of her flesh.

The door knob was sticky against her skin. Probably more ketchup, she thought. Seductively, she wiped her palm across the back pocket of her jeans and reached for his pen..."

So? What do you think? Should I call HarperCollins?

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