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“This is bad,” Ed Wilson said. He clicked his mouse and shook his head. “Bad, bad, bad” he said as he clicked away the articles on his computer monitor. “Why do these doorknobs think they can write?” Ed Wilson, Associate Editor of Sexerotica, an online amateur erotica site, pushed himself away from the terminal in disgust and popped his head into the cubicle next door. “Eh?” he said to the young woman sitting next to him. He stood up to stretch his six-foot frame and straighten out the wrinkles in his suit pants. It was almost time to go home. The office was empty and it was already getting early-December dark out. Ed saw his reflection in the window and smoothed back his brown hair.



Sheila McGrane hunched over a swamp of papers that littered the desktop under her oversized computer monitor like leaves under a tree. She was Editor in Chief for Sexerotica, and had shared this space in a dingy Queens office building with Wilson since she took the job six months ago. They spent most of their days reading erotic stories from amateur authors, searching for a gem amongst the rubbish, for a story that might actually be worthy of the website’s weekly prize.



She ignored Wilson’s complaint about the quality of the stories before her. It was the same rant she’d heard many times before. The fact is, you can only read so much crap before it finally starts to get to you.



“If you want great literature, go read Dos Passos,” she finally said, not looking up. “It’s a paycheck.” Sheila came from a good background: education in a private Illinois college and masters from Northwestern. But English majors weren’t in much demand when she graduated, not even good looking blonde ones with nice smiles and long legs. The offers she got were all for executive assistant positions and clerical jobs except for this one. Her position at Sexerotica paid the bills and gave her time to write, even if she had to spend most of her time waist deep in somebody else’s wet dreams.



Ed said dryly, “I found one where the guy actually writes more than a paragraph before his main character is whipping out his dick and sticking it up his sister’s ass. Other than that, they’re pretty much just bodily fluids from paragraph two on.”



Sheila winced knowingly.” Ed liked to try to gross her out. She pretended not to be bothered. She pictured herself the un-flappable editor, capable of handling anything.



“Yep,” Sheila agreed, “just one cum-fest after another.” She leaned back from the desk and rubbed her eyes.



Standing over her in her cubicle, Wilson couldn’t help casually glancing down her blouse which, as usual, revealed a nice cleavage but nothing further. Sometimes he thought she knew exactly how much she was showing, like the time at corporate when she leaned over the boardroom table and her tits nearly rolled out onto the business plan. It was like she did it on purpose.



And of course she did.



“What I don’t get,” Sheila said, trying not to sound whiny,” is how boring these people must be. I mean, it’s the same shit over and over. Different categories, maybe. Different places, positions, relationships. But it’s all just the same cock, rammed into your choice of three different holes. And do guys really always cum like that? What the hell’s up there anyway? It’s like each guy has Lake Superior for a prostate!”



Ed looked out the window into the black. He saw her reflection as she glanced up at him briefly, as if she thought he wasn’t watching.



“I had one today,” Ed recalled. “Sex between total strangers who never said a word to each other.”



“Train car?” Sheila guessed.



“Ferris wheel,” Ed corrected.



“Ah,” Sheila noted. “Carnival sex!”



“Beats the one in the cotton candy machine,” Ed said.



“Oh yeah,” Sheila recalled. “Cum and pink cotton candy don’t offer a great visual, do they.



“Or the one with the corn dog?”



“What’s so wrong with just mustard and ketchup?” Sheila commiserated.



“So what’s missing?” Ed queried. “Why are they all crap?”



“Well,” Sheila mused. “First, they’re all just fucking. And it gets too mechanical. There’s no passion, no getting lost in the whole erotic moment and expressing yourself by doing whatever you feel with someone who’s doing the same thing with you. In these stories it’s all about the spurting, the orgasm thing.”



“True,” Ed agreed. “But do you have to be in love to have that kind of passion?” Ed leaned on the cubicle, getting a slightly better angle above Sheila’s blouse. Still nothing but a little cleavage. Ed shifted his elbow, and a paper pinned to Sheila’s cubicle wall floated to the floor.



“I don’t think so,” Sheila said. “I still think two people can enjoy great sport sex if they aren’t inhibited, truly trust the other person, and don’t focus on those great squirting orgasms everyone seems to think are required reading.” She leaned down to pick up the paper at the same time Ed squatted to help. The blouse parted. Beneath it a beige bra sagged. A nipple dangled in dark silhouette for a micro-second of voyeuristic pleasure. Ed glanced away quickly.



Sheila sat back in her office chair, placing the errant paper on top of the others on her desk. “So you want to see my tits?” she asked.



The matter-of-factness about it shocked Ed slightly. He struggled for a response. “Yes. Sure.” He chuckled nervously to deflect his embarrassment at being caught.



Sheila did her blouse up a little tighter. “They had a sociology experiment when I was at Northwestern. They had a girl ask a test group of a hundred guys, one by one, if they would like to fuck her. About fifty percent of them agreed, on the spot. Then they turned it around and had a guy ask each of a test group of a hundred girls if they would fuck him. Do you know what the girl’s response was?”



“No.”



“Ninety nine said, ‘No.’”



“Only one agreed?” Ed asked curiously.



“Yep,” Sheila said. She paused. “That was me.”



“Oh, wow,” Ed said. “What happened?”



“I fucked him. I didn’t know it was a survey, and I didn’t find out until the results were published. I just did it because I wanted to. I thought he was serious!” Sheila swiveled the chair toward Ed and grasped the collar of her blouse in her fingers. “And he was cute. Still wanna see my tits?”



“I guess this porno gets to you after a while,” Ed concluded sarcastically.



“Look, Ed,” Sheila said matter-of-factly, “You’ve been hovering over my tits since I started this job. It just so happens that I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have batteries for my vibrator and all I have waiting for me at home tonite is a basket of dirty laundry. It’s just another lonely Friday night and I don’t really give a shit anymore. So if you’d like to see my tits, now, just say so.”



“Uh, sure,” Ed said, not very smoothly.



“Welcome to the top fifty percent,” Sheila said with a naughty little smile. She popped the top button on her blouse without breaking eye contact, then the next and the next until it was fully unbuttoned, revealing a smooth, flesh toned bra. The bra showed that she wasn’t big, but the cleavage that parted above the cups suggested a lovely pair of breasts beneath. She twisted the snap between the cups, pulled them apart and two of the most perfect size-C breasts poked their nipples up at Ed’s face. Sheila held the bra apart until he spoke. It took a while.



“Very nice,” Ed managed.



“And they’re very real,” Sheila said proudly.



“I can tell.” Ed admired the view, taking it all in, never averting his eyes. It was such a surprise, so abrupt. Not like in the strip clubs where you know you’re going to see it, even if it takes a while. Ed never thought he’d be standing in his office looking at such a lovely pair of tits being displayed entirely for his enjoyment.



Sheila dropped the bra cups, which hung down between her parted blouse. Nipples still peeked out. She reached over and artfully took the zipper tab on Ed’s suit pants between her thumb and forefinger.



“I love giving blowjobs.” Again the wicked little smile.



Ed never moved. The zipper zipped. The warm hand found his penis quickly, and in seconds it was out of his pants. Then it was all warm, and wet. Sheila was taking deep relaxing breaths through her nose. Together, they couldn’t wait for the wet spurting part.

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