My Secret Life: Writing Erotica

I swept some of my necessities from the vanity and the bathroom into another small bag, and my laptop from the office into its case, while Lorraine opened up the garage and pulled her car in on the empty side. She put the door back down, and motioned me out with my bags. We shoved them into the open trunk, and grabbed the remote control for the garage door from my car.

I got into Lorraine's little white Toyota on the passenger side, and once the car door was closed, Lorraine hit the button to open the garage door at the same time that she started the car. When the door was open far enough, Lorraine was out of there, back down my drive, and heading down the street. She pushed the button on the remote for the second time, and my garage door came down again.

As we drove down the street, coming up the opposite direction from us was one of those television mobile vans, for the local station, XDTV. I slumped down as low as I could get in my seat when they passed us. I looked in the side view mirror, and could see them stop in front of my place, get out, and come running up to my door — one cute fellow in a suit with a microphone in hand, followed by a kind of chunky guy with a video camera on his shoulder.

Damn! We just beat the barbarians. We had successfully made our escape. Now, on the run, I had to get out of Dodge for awhile!

***

We made our way to Lorraine's condo, where we reversed the process, and pulled the car into the garage and closed the door so no one would see us. Lorraine went into the condo and made sure all of the curtains were pulled on the street side windows before I came in from the garage. You can't be too careful.

We brought my stuff in from the car, and I collapsed on one of Lorraine's lazy-boy chairs. In a matter of second, it seemed like, Lorraine had put a glass of liquid in my hand. She had another identical glass in hers.

"Janice, here's to 'Shit Happens'" and we clinked our glasses together.

"Shit happens!" I agreed, and took a sip. Jack Daniels and Coke, my favorite.

I looked at the clock — it was only 10 A.M. in the morning, and there I was with a drink in hand.

Lorraine saw my glance.

"If this isn't a morning when you are allowed a drink, I don't know when is." she said.

I nodded at that. Damn straight, I thought, then I leaned back and closed my eyes for a second. A few more sips of JD, just to empty the glass, and I drifted off for awhile, right there in the chair.

I woke up again with a start. I could hear Lorraine.

"Damn, this is bad." I heard her say.

"You're telling me," I croaked at her, "I'm the one who has got to deal with those emails..."

"No, not that silly, I'm talking about your STORY! Dangling participles, unclear antecedents, run-on sentences. Shoot, misspellings — how many times have I told you 'i before e, except after c, or when followed by gh as in neighbor or weigh.' And, Oh Gawd, you changed tense in the middle of the third paragraph. How could you have sent this out; this isn't up to your usual standards yet!"

Lorraine and I looked at each other eye-to-eye at that moment, and then started giggling like a couple of school girls. Then we started laughing. After a minute or so, we were rolling on the floor, until we finally couldn't breathe anymore. We just lay there for about five minutes, taking deep breathes.

We finally recovered, and lifted ourselves up and sat at the dining room table, where I'd sat my laptop.

"Ok," Lorraine said to me across the table, trying unsuccessfully to look serious, "I guess that the fact that the story was sent out to everyone on your email list is more important than how far along it was in the writing process."

I thought about my situation for a minute.

"How long are we going to hide out here?" I asked.

"My estimate is that by tomorrow they will have tracked us down, so we should be out of here at the crack of dawn," came her reply, "And you can't use your cell phone, either, because with the GPS thingies these days, they can find us in a heartbeat."

I nodded.

After thinking about it, I decided that the thing to do was work some damage control. I connected my laptop up to Lorraine's hi-speed cable modem and returned to my now infamous email program.

First, I sent out a short apology explaining that I had not intended for that email containing my story to be so widely distributed, and expressed my GREAT regret to anyone who was offended.

At least this time when it sent it to "All" I meant to do it.

Then I started going through the (over 600 by this time) emails, sorting them into categories.

I already mentioned the "What filthy Trash" category. About 200 emails went into that folder. Those were mostly from married women, who were a little older and who had children. The funny thing was, for a lot of those, a little later I got an email from their husbands too, giving me a second email address and asking me to send my stories to the new address and not let their wives know about it! I was shocked (for about the umpteenth time that day,) that so many men were keeping secret email accounts hidden from their loving wives!

There were another about 100 or so emails that were basically propositions — did I want to meet for a little, what many so indelicately called, 'fuck and suck'. It was amazing at how many of those were from women, too! I had NO idea. Those I trashed.

To my surprise, there were emails from people and groups that I had never heard of before. The 'Dallas Swinging Stars' invited me to their next get-together, and told me that I didn't even need to bring a date with me. The Texas Lesbian Alliance seemed to have gotten my story from somewhere, I'm not sure where, but they had some idea that I was their new poster girl. And there was some kind of Ashram down Waco way that wanted me to come by and share some tantric sex with them, whatever that is. Those I trashed, too.

There were 22 proposals of marriage. Most were from men who were definitely NOT on my 'keeper' list, and a couple seemed even more interested in my money than my sexy story. I trashed most of those. There were about five, though, that I set aside for further consideration. Ron Smith, who worked in our Waco office, was unmarried, and he was a hunk. Hmmm.... definitely worth a call after things quieted down.

Then there were the would-be editors who were all correcting my story; some were actually pretty good and had constructive things to say, but then there were the ones who wanted to argue with me about the basic plot — like I don't get enough of that on-line!

I finally put my computer aside, and figured that I could do more follow up later. I thought that I would just kick back and relax for awhile.

But before I did anything else, I called home on Lorraine's phone to let my Mom and Dad know that I was alright. I got the answering machine, and left a message. I also asked them if they could meet us tonight for dinner at a chain restaurant not far from their house.

I turned on the TV, and was flipping through the channels, when I recognized the news reporter on the screen. It was the fellow from XDTV who had shown up at my door this morning while I was making my get away. I turned up the volume.

"And in other news: Local businesswoman, Janice Johnston, sells real estate during the day, but it turns out that she also writes torrid romance stories, under the pseudonym 'IsellItInTX', in her time off."

They put on my photo that they have up on the wall at the office. I had a very nice suit on for that photo, and my hair and makeup were just perfect. I looked pretty good on the TV!

He continued,

"Yesterday evening, in an apparent effort to promote her 'literary' endeavors, Ms. Johnston sent out a mass emailing containing her most recent effort. Her story, which has caused a great outpouring of anger among recipients offended with its X-rated contents, has not only been spread far beyond the original list, but has made its way onto several of the web's most popular sites. This morning."

They showed a picture of the front of my house, and of the reporter knocking at my door.

"the XDTV news team arrived at Ms. Johnston's house to ask her a few questions regarding this incident. She did not answer the door, and no one appeared to be home. According to well placed sources, Early Runman, the well known District Attorney for Travis County, which includes Austin, is considering indicting Ms. Johnston for disseminating obscene materials over the internet. More at 10:00."

At that last bit, my mouth was hanging open. Indicted? I didn't mean to do it! I was horrified.

Then the anchorman looked at his blond female co-anchor and smiled as she said,

"I have to tell you, John, I read part of that story on-line, and if nothing else, Ms. Johnston needs to learn how to use a spell-checker. She's no Hemingway — run-on sentences all over. Talk about typos! And maybe she should look up 'dangling participles' so that she can avoid them in her writing!" at which they both laughed.

Ha, Ha. She ought to try writing a story herself sometime. It isn't as easy as people think. Bleached blond bitch.

***

The dinner of dread was upon me — I was going to go face-to-face with my parents. The only good news, as far as I was concerned, was that so far no one had recognized me. Due to my new found notoriety, I was wearing a baseball style hat, and dark sunglasses in a feeble attempt at going incognito. I was not, despite Lorraine's recommendation, going to wear one of my scarves, and look like an old lady on my way to church. I had a pair of jeans and my cross trainers on — if the media types were going to get me, they'd have to catch me, and I can run pretty fast.

Lorraine and I sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, in an area that wasn't too well lit, but where we could see the people coming in. I had located all of the emergency exits just in case. When Dad and Mom came in, Lorraine waved at them, and they walked back and seated themselves.

"Hiya, baby girl," said my Dad.

"Hiya, Daddy." I rather meekly replied, my eyes looking more at the table than at my folks.

The waiter came over and took our orders, and after we had gotten our drinks, there was a silence at the table for a moment, with no one willing to be the first to speak.

It was my Mother who finally broke the silence.

"Janice," she said, "I cannot tell you how shocked I am!"

I started to give a cringing, abject apology, but Mom cut me off.

"'IsellItInTX' has been my favorite online author at Erotolitica.com for at least a year, and I find out it is you, and you've become a famous author overnight! I am so thrilled!" she proclaimed.

She pulled out a print-out of my story.

"Would you autograph this copy for me?" she asked in a loud voice.

"Mom!" I replied, "This is embarrassing. I'm your daughter."

"Does that mean you won't sign my copy?" she was getting indignant. Her volume was going up.

"Of course I'll sign it for you. Just keep your voice down." I replied, ducking my head down, and taking a quick look around the restaurant, to see if anyone noticed the commotion.

"You can write 'To My Biggest Fan, Emily', OK?" she instructed me, "That's E-M-I-L-Y."

"I know how to spell your name, Momma." I whispered, hoping Mom would get the hint.

"I've read all of your stories on-line. Some of them five or ten times. They make me cry, they touch my heart so! Then I read the sexy parts, and grab your Daddy and head for the bedroom!" Mom finished. She had one of those 'cat who ate the canary' looks on her face.

Oh, Gawd — I've been providing my MOM and DAD with sex fantasies. Could it be any worse?

Then my Dad spoke up. I was looking forward to a few calm, down to earth words. Daddy has always been the rock of our family.

"Janice, you need to understand some things. Your Mom and I are good Christian folk, but we had some wild times in our younger days." Dad explained, "When I met your Mom, I was working in the oil fields; a hard, punishing job. When I went into town, I was there to blow off steam."

He continued, "Well, that was when I met your Mom, but she wasn't exactly waitressing, like we always told you, she was..."

"I was working as a stripper at a club, and I was damn hot, too! I still have my pasties and g-string hidden someplace where you kids wouldn't find them. I'll have to dig 'em out and show you." Mom seemed pretty proud about this revelation.

There was suddenly another silence as we all looked at each other. Lorraine started laughing. I was in shock again. My parents? Wild youth? My Mom, the stripper? My mouth was hanging open, but nothing was coming out.

"What I want you to understand, honey, is that there isn't anything much in your stories that your Mom and I haven't tried at some time or another. Most, a lot of times. So we maybe aren't as scandalized as you expected." Dad concluded.

My brain was frozen — it was a case of TOO MUCH INFORMATION, AGAIN!

Lorraine was still laughing. She could hardly breathe, she was laughing so hard.

By the end of the meal, I was relieved that my parents weren't disowning me, and dismayed by my new found knowledge that they, in fact, have a more active and varied sex life than I ever had! Shit.

Back at Lorraine's condo, we flipped on the news, and XDTV basically replayed the segment on my story that they had on the 5:00 news, except that this time, they had tracked down Dr. Goode, the Pastor of our church.

The same reporter who was on the 5:00 news, whose name I discovered was Trevor Bell, was interviewing Dr. Goode.

The Rev. Dr. Goode, was a good looking man in his early sixties, with gray hair, piercing gray eyes, and a voice that would make most television announcers envious. But it was his smile that everyone remembered.

"Dr. Goode," he asked, "You are the Pastor of the 'Shepherd of Mid-Texas' church, here in Dallas?"

"Why, yes. I have had the great fortune of being the Pastor of our 20,000 member strong congregation at 'SMT', as we call it, for the past 20 years," Dr. Goode explained.

"And I understand that Janice Johnston, whose extremely sexually graphic story has been circulating on the web for the past 24 hours, is a member of your congregation?" Bell put to him.

"Yes. I've known Janice and her family almost as long as I've been Pastor of SMT. They are fine Christian folks. Indeed, Janice was our real estate agent when my wife and I recently sold our old home and purchased another," Goode said with that lovely smile of his on his face. He could just brighten up a room with that smile.

"That would be the $4.5 million dollar mansion off the 17^th Hole of the Dallas Heights Country Club?" Trevor was pushing Goode.

Not everyone in the church was happy to discover that Dr. Goode could afford such a palatial mansion. But in truth, I'd gotten him a great deal on it — it was originally listed for $6.2, so at $4.5 it was practically a steal. On second thought, maybe I shouldn't put it that way.

"Young man, even Christian ministers have to live somewhere. But I don't understand how that relates to Janice's little, ah, parables." Point for Dr. Goode. He smiled into the camera again.

But Trevor was back on track now.

"How are you and your congregation planning on dealing with this situation — a woman in your church spreading salacious writings?" Trevor demanded.

"Trevor, if I may call you that," Trevor nodded his head in the affirmative, and Dr. Goode continued, "At SMT, over the years we have learned that we may hate the sin, but we love the sinner. So I expect that we will help Janice repent of her ways, and lead her back onto the straight and narrow."

Trevor looked directly at the camera,

"And this is Trevor Bell, on 'the straight and narrow', back to you, Marty and Evelyn," and the segment ended, and the two 10:00 anchors were back.

I flipped the tube off in disgust.

Lorraine had gone out on an errand, so I called up my Dad before he went to bed.

"Daddy, what am I going to do. I have a nasty feeling that I'm going to be the subject of Dr. Goode's sermon this Sunday, and I don't think that I'll like it," I pleaded.

"Don't worry, baby girl. Your Daddy will 'straight and narrow' out Dr. Goode," he replied, and I felt better almost immediately. Daddy's are like that; they love their girls and can fix almost anything.

Lorraine sidled in the side door of her condo, and after having another JD and coke, we went to bed. Not together — don't be dirty minded — I was in the guest room!

I slept the sleep of the mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted.

***

It was still what my Dad would call 'O'Dark Thirty' the next morning when Lorraine woke me up. We did our morning ablutions, had a cup of coffee, got packed up again, ready to move on. I was beginning to understand why Butch and Sundance finally just decided to shoot it out, rather than keep running. Its a pain to be on the lam.

Lorraine and I grabbed our bags, but instead of going out through the garage like I expected, we exited out the side door. Lorraine was whispering to me as we walked,

"I went out last night and borrowed my cousin Billy's pickup truck to throw anyone following us off track. He said we could use it for as long as we need. We can be real quiet and the neighbors won't hear us. We'll just drift down the street and start the engine at the bottom."

Sounded like a plan to me.

We tossed our stuff into the back of the cab (it turned out to be a slightly beaten up 'extended cab' 4X4 pickup raised about 6 inches; cool!) and jumped in. Lorraine released the brake, put the transmission in neutral, and without turning on our headlights, started drifting down the street. As we silently moved perpendicular across the street in front of Lorraine's condo, I looked out and there was that damn XDTV mobile news van, again! The window was down on my side of the truck, and I could see and hear them in the pre-dawn light.

There was Trevor Bell and his cameraman standing on their tippy-toes looking through the window into Lorraine's garage, and I could hear the cameraman say,

"Trevor, that Lorraine woman's white Toyota is in the garage. Let me get ready, then I'll que you, and you start pounding on the door. The lights are still out, and I'll bet we can wake them up and catch them together, looking like shit. Like shining deer; freeze 'em in the headlights. We'll get some GREAT footage for your Five O'Clock gig!"

I could hear Trevor's reply,

"Yeah, let's make this bitch rue the day that she hoofed it instead of talking to Trevor Bell!"

I really had to stifle my urge to holler "Bye now Trevor. Day late and a dollar short, again. See you later, you loser!"

Lorraine, on the other hand, had a better idea. She got out her cell phone and called 911.

"Officer, please help me, my ex-boyfriend and one of his gang are outside my condo trying to break in, and I think they're armed! Oh, please hurry!" She should have been an actress, she sounded so frightened.

Sometimes things work out better than anyone could imagine. Outside of Lorraine's condo that early morning was one of them.

When the cops arrived, about two minutes after Lorraine's call, one of her neighbors across the street had emerged from his house with a video camera, just in case — and just in time, too. He got some great video of the police, with their guns drawn, coming up behind Trevor Bell, who, by then, was pounding on Lorraine's door and screaming like a crazy man for her to open the door. He had no idea.

The pictures of Trevor and his cameraman lying there on the ground, their hands cuffed behind them, screaming that they were members of the press, were, as the credit card commercial proclaims, priceless. Every station in the DFW area, except XDTV, showed those clips that night, with opening lines like, "XDTV Reporter 'Peeping Trevor' Bell, Arrested at Ex-Girlfriends."