Alicia
I grabbed my latte and got comfortable in one of the cushy, red leather chairs at my favorite coffee shop, a local joint where I tended to do my best writing. The employees were awesome and nearly every customer came in with a laptop and ear buds, just like me. It was a great place to be anonymous and get shit done.
I fired up my laptop, logged in on the shop’s Wi-Fi and opened my blog, Waiting in My Tower. I sat back and thought about what, exactly, I wanted to say. I had started my blog nearly five years earlier and though I had no idea if anyone actually read it, I totally dug writing and it broke up the monotony of waiting tables. Like most writers, I had dreams of someday supporting myself with my writing, but I knew that unless I morphed into Stephen King overnight it was unlikely to happen. Still, I kept updating, kept promoting, and kept linking to other pages, hoping to expand my readership.
Before I started the blog post I had in mind, though, I checked my email. There it was. I sighed. A message from my agent. Where are you? she’d written. The editors said they would take a look at your next book. Get it written, and don’t pull your punches.
There was nothing I could say to her. My next book. Ha. She’d shot down every one of my proposals, all of the pitches I’d sent for novels, and even a nonfiction idea I’d had. I archived the message before it could taunt me further, and went back to my browser.
I opened a fresh page on my blog and stared at the blank screen, my fingertips poised over the keys. I knew what I wanted to say, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. I decided to keep it simple and direct.
Okay, readers, here’s one straight out of the Strange and Sexy files. As you know, I work at a restaurant. The other day, this guy comes in, whom I’ll refer to here as Damien because he was truly the devil in disguise. A very, very hot disguise. I could barely wait on him; I couldn’t take my eyes off of his sexy eyes, hair, chest—you name it. After I spilled about 30 things at his table and nearly tripped over my own shadow, he struck up a conversation with me. That’s when things got a little crazy. Remember that movie where some dude offers another dude a million dollars if he’ll let him have sex with his wife? Well, Damien needed a date for the afternoon because his blind date had bailed, and he was willing to pay me a thousand bucks to do the job. Needless to say, I was up for the task.
No, I haven’t decided to go the route of prostitution (yet—stay tuned!); this was just supposed to be me helping a guy out and him paying me for my time. After all, a thousand bucks is a thousand bucks, and he promised a day of fun on the lake. I met him at the harbor and then, well, then, things got a little crazy. We went on a yacht and I played the part of the good girlfriend…including a few make out sessions that got a little heavy—that’s the sexy part of the Strange and Sexy. Everyone on the boat keeps referencing some club and I’m all, “Dude, what’s this club you all are talking about?”
I paused and took a long sip of my latte. I was trying to keep the tone of today’s post light and relatively G-rated, not because I’m a prude but because I really didn’t want to come across like a hooker. There are some batshit crazy people in the world and they reside mostly on the Internet. But the truth was, sex with Ryan had complicated things. At least for me. So, did I write about the sex? I could feel heat pooling between my legs at the very thought of that night. I hadn’t gotten an exact answer from him about the club, but I’d been too caught up in the moment to care. The way he’d stroked my skin, worshipped me with his fingers. How his kisses had caused arousal in places I’d never considered erogenous.
I didn’t think I could write about the sex online. My blog was all about keeping it real; I had designed it originally as a play on the fairy tale Rapunzel, a sexy woman waiting in her tower for something exciting to come along and rescue her. Though in my case I didn’t need a prince to rescue me; I just needed adventure. Well, I had certainly gotten what I’d asked for. And more. The question was, how much did I want to share? I sighed and kept writing.
Turns out finding out about the club isn’t included in my thousand bucks. Yet. So, dear readers, you’ll have to wait as well. I’m meeting Damien later this week for lunch and he promised to fill me in on everything. Of course, the devil can’t be trusted, so who knows if I’ll find out the truth. If I do, you’ll be the first to know. I promise!
I read over what I’d written. It wasn’t my best work, but it was hard to write your best when you had to withhold information. At least I’d managed to tease my readers a bit. After my meeting with Ryan, the devil himself, I’d go full disclosure for my blog and get the truth of the club out in the open. Hopefully, I’d even get laid a couple more times in the process. A girl could dream, right?
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair…