Jess crossed her arms and held them tight against her chest. “No!”

“I don’t have a choice,” I explained. “We have to.”

She shook her head. “No!”

“Well, I’m sure not going to get someone else to do it. You’ve got to.”

“It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s different,” I said. “But I wouldn’t call it dumb.”

She gave me a side-eyed look. “It’s pretty dumb.”

“It’s already written. I can’t change it now. You know how I am. My books have to be accurate. I can’t go having something in there that people pick apart in their reviews. It’s got to be believable.”

“Take that scene out,” she demanded.

“It already happened. Hell, it’s part of his personality. I can’t take it out.”

“You can,” she huffed. “But, you won’t.”

“We just need to give it a quick try and see if it works. If it doesn’t, I guess I’ll figure Ripp’s an idiot, and I’ll have to delete it. If it works, I’ll have to say he’s a genius.”

“He’s not a genius,” she said. “A genius wouldn’t leave his shoes on during sex, and he sure wouldn’t step on someone’s head, either. That’s dumb.”

I pointed at the couch. “We’re trying it.”

She lowered her arms to her sides. “Seriously?”

“We have to. If it doesn’t work, we’ll stop.”

She glared at me for a second. “If I say stop, you better stop.”

“You know I will.”

“You better.”

My recent book, Unstoppable, had a character that was modeled after The Big O. He had a rather odd sexual appetite and chose to leave his shoes on during sex. He claimed it gave him better traction. He further claimed that while penetrating his lovers from behind, that he did so with his right leg stretched over their back.

His right foot was then placed on their head.

The shoes he wore were Converse Chucks. When he wore them during sex, he called it Chuck fuckin’. When he did the foot on the head maneuver, he simply called it head steppin’.

According to him, the sex was second to none.

Eager to find out if Ripp was full of shit, I pulled off my sweats and reached for my socks. Jess looked at me and shook her head. “Leave on the socks, Boss.”

“On?”

She nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

I stripped down to nothing but socks and put on my Chucks. She looked me up and down and then smiled. “You look like an idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“A cute idiot,” she said.

I pointed to the couch. “Assume the position.”

She did just that. A few seconds later, we were deep in the throes of passion. With her face buried in the loveseat, and me buried deep in her, I paused and assessed the situation.

After satisfying myself that I could perform the maneuver in question, I leaned over Jess and cleared my throat.

“Ready?” I asked.

“I guess,” she breathed against the fabric cushion. “Take it easy.”

I lifted my right leg over her back and placed the sole of my shoe lightly against the back of her head. As I suspected, the stretching of my leg allowed a much deeper penetration to take place.

Much deeper.

She arched her back and turned her head to the side.

“You okay?” I asked.

She blinked her eyes. “Do it,” she growled.

The few minutes that followed were unbelievably pleasurable, at least for me. The experience was different than anything we’d tried in the past. My elevated level of satisfaction was undeniable.

Jess felt the same way and she wasn’t afraid to express it.

“Oh, my God,” she grunted. “This is amazing!”

I agreed wholeheartedly.

We continued in that position for some time, but not for as long as normal. Eventually, the excitement of it all got to us both. During the extremely climactic ending, I pressed my foot down hard against her head.

It wasn’t intentional, it seemed to be more a result of simply losing my mind during climax. She didn’t oppose verbally or physically, so I expected it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

In the end, we stood, staring at each other in awe.

“Well?” I asked.

“Ripton’s a genius,” she said.

“I think he might be.”

She raised her flattened hand in the air.

I slapped mine against hers, giving her the high-five that she’d undoubtedly earned.

“To Chuck Fuckin’,” she said as our hands met.

I chuckled. “Head steppin’.”

Her children were staying with her mother, which left us with the weekend to ourselves. That night, we performed the head-stepping maneuver once again, and then fell asleep exhausted. The next morning, we awoke to the sound of Teddy munching on a bowl of cereal. I got dressed and wandered into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

“Mornin’, shithead,” I said.

Clutching the bowl between his hands, he grinned. “Did she do it?”

Jess stepped out of the bedroom. “She sure did.”

He slurped the milk from his bowl. Upon lowering it, he arched an eyebrow. “How’d it work?”

She walked into the kitchen before I responded. “Hey Teddy.”

He looked at me and then at her. “Well?”

She gave him a hug. When he released her, she turned toward the coffee pot. Her head and shoulders rotated in unison, as if her head was incapable of turning independently.

She reached for a coffee cup and winced in pain. Upon realizing she couldn’t reach it, she pointed.

Teddy pulled the cup from the cabinet and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She turned toward the coffee pot in a robot-like manner. “The head-stepping thing? It was awesome.”

“Don’t look like it,” he said with a laugh.

“This?” she asked, pointing to her neck. “This is the sacrifice I’m willing to make to ensure the accuracy of his books.”

He drank the rest of the milk from the bowl. After wiping his long beard, he grinned. “Better hope he don’t ever write one about murderin’ people.”

I shot Teddy a laser sharp glare.

“What?” he asked.

“Funny you say that,” I said. “That’s coming up next.”

Jess faced the living room. Her head and shoulders, once again, turned in unison. “He can be your guinea pig for that one,” she said. “I think I’ve sacrificed enough.”