Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click hereI should become a spy. I would be good at it too. I mean, I'm short, cute, and sometimes I can pretend I'm very dumb. I'm not at all petite or thin so if they were looking for the next James Bond girl, I wouldn't be it. No one would suspect that I was a spy. I could listen in on conversations and pass on important information to those that needed it. Yes, I could be the next international woman of mystery.
No one knows I write erotica. Now, I'm sure there are authors and readers that don't call my writing erotica. I have been given some interesting descriptors for my writing, but just the same they are posted on an erotica site so that is the label I am giving them. I write in secret. No one knows my identity and I want to keep it that way.
Now, I need to clarify that there are two people who know that I write erotica. My editor, of course, knows, but he doesn't count. He just knows me as Erin Cassidy who lives in Canada and sends him stories to edit on a consistent basis. He doesn't care who I am or what I am. I could be his wife, best friend, or next-door neighbor for all he knows. Either way I'm anonymous to him.
My husband knows, but he has taken the route of pretending I didn't tell him. You know when you tell a child something they don't want to hear, normally the word no, and they put their hands over their ears and start singing a song without words? That is what my hubbie does subconsciously every time I mention a story I'm working on.
In any case, I keep this a secret from my real life. It is difficult to do really, but I have succeeded so far. Sometimes I want to blurt out that I have written over 250 stories this year. I want to talk to others about how I'm planning to write a novel in the month of November. I hold back though. I know I can't say anything without lying about the topic of my novel.
I can only write at home. I have a fancy laptop with wireless, but I dare not bring it out for fear my stories will be read accidentally. I actually meticulously removed all my stories the few times I've taken it on flights. It's lucky that I paid attention in school and know how to actually write with a pen. Many of my stories were written by hand in a secluded area of an airport or in the corner of a library. No one can know that I am writing about sex.
It's not that I'm ashamed of what I write. It's just that the career that I have chosen involves being a role model for today's youth. When I'm discussing goal setting with them I can't use the example of how in January I had a goal to write 365 erotic stories in a year. I could have just said stories, but then they would have asked what kind of stories and then asked if I could read one of them aloud. It's easier just to pretend in my real life that what I do after everyone is asleep and the house is quiet doesn't happen.
When I have time to myself, which normally is not until after ten in the evening, I write. I crouch over my laptop and type as fast as I can. I can't stop writing until I have the whole story out of my head and on paper. Sometimes, I've gone to bed at one or two in the morning. The next day at work, I have to stretch the truth and tell my colleagues that I was up late because of drinking too much coffee or something. I can't tell them that I was up late writing a hot and steamy sex scene between a young eighteen-year-old college student and her big black married professor. It's not really a lie that I was up late because of coffee. I do drink coffee.
During the day, I will think of sex. Not sex with my handsome husband. No, I'm thinking about sex between the characters in my story. I can't look aroused or someone will suspect something. I have to pretend that I'm thinking of something extremely important such as the grocery list or things to ask my child's pediatrician at the next visit. When I get home, I have to keep the scene I created in my head a while longer. When I finally get it out of my head, it feels so good. I will admit it. I like writing about sex.
So in the ten months or so that I have been writing erotica, I have yet to be caught. I look like an innocent member of the community who volunteers with youth, has a well-respected career, and a loving family. I get red in the face when someone talks about sex or pornography. I still squirm in my seat of embarrassment if a sexy scene is shown on television with my parents in the room. Some of it is acting, but most of it is overacting.
I can play the part well of a closet erotic writer. On the outside, I am normal, but on the inside, my mind is thinking naughty thoughts. No one would suspect a thing.