Excerpts from a Trashy Novel

He was dead tired, from what little restless sleep he had gotten the night before.  His appointment was at 11:00, and it was only 10:10, but he still felt an impulse to rush.  He didn’t want to be late for her. He got up; went into the kitchen to fix a fresh glass of juice; then jumped into the shower.
By 10:50 he was at the studio, sitting down and resting his eyes briefly; until she woke him in a low voice, “Are you ready?”
She led him into their usual room, which had been prepared with soft music & lighting, incense, and candles.
“I’ll be back in a minute” she said softly as she closed the door.
He then disrobed and slid under the sheet of the massage table.
He was resting his eyes again when she returned and commenced warming up her expert hands with jasmine-scented oil.
She began to rub his firm muscular body with her fingers, knuckles and wrists; coaxing his tightened muscles to release their stress.  He felt the pulsating waves of relaxation envelope his being, as he began to drift into that state of consciousness/unconsciousness where no pain or shame is felt, only the pleasure of relaxation.
She worked deep into the muscles of his neck, releasing months of built-up tension.
He groaned slightly at the early twinges of discomfort, which started to turn into moans of delight as the rubbing activated the endorphins in his brain.
His erections came & went as she worked every area of his body.
Energy repeatedly shot like electricity from his feet and inner thighs into his genitals.
The fatigue that he had felt earlier had now left him.
It had been completely replaced with love energy.


It had taken a while for him to become integrated into his new office environment.  Working in a new city, with new people was not a problem for him; he had always dealt with fresh situations in an enthusiastic manner.  The staff for the most part was the usual mixed-bag; mostly regular people trying to earn a living, along side elitist middle management–defined by their gossiping & backstabbing nature.
The woman he gravitated towards was the one with a foot in both camps.
She was the quiet type, with long hair & sad eyes– both brown.  She was highly sensitive to rude behaviour, and always wore a black suit & pants with high heels. He wondered if she was in mourning, but could never find an appropriate time & place to ask her such a personal question. She was too busy running the office all by herself.
Her personal hygiene was good, except for the fact that she let her hair go lifelessly flat. She rarely smiled genuinely, even though she had nice teeth.
The office stayed extremely busy with a steady trickle/stream of wealthy clients ending up at her desk, ready to pay her whatever she said they owed. She was definitely a killer when it came to collecting the money.
Her marvellous ability to instantly turn on & turn off conversation-mode with clients, while maintaining a high level of empathy & good listening, impressed the new hire. He noticed that clients tended to linger, which helped business. She never objected to those customers who wanted to waste her time.
One day he noticed something different about her. She had styled her hair, very subtly.  Noticing instantly, he quickly smiled and told her how much he liked it.  She looked at him intensely for a second, before thanking him and then returned to her business.
Freud once said, “There are no accidents”, and that was likely the case at the end of that day, as he lingered for no particular reason.  She was alone, closing out the day on her computer. He shuffled into her work area, which was typically off-limits to anyone else.
“May I ask you a personal question?” he inquisitively asked in a direct tone.
“Sure”, she cautiously replied.
He leaned in and whispered into her right ear, “Why aren’t you happy?”
She was stunned and hesitant to meet his eyes.  She was usually expert in deflecting any personal overtures, but her suffering & loneliness had been too long, and his tone too sincere to ignore his enquiry.
Her eyes melted into his as she trembled trying to formulate a response to a question that cut her to the quick.
She bit her lip, as he pressed in closer to her body.
He murmured into her left ear so softly that she felt his breath more than heard him say, “You are too beautiful to not be happy.”
His hands started randomly sliding over her body, as he pressed his chest and pelvis into hers.
Any will she had to resist was being quickly consumed by raw desire…


They had fucked for two days & two nights straight; it was a blissful, spectacular orgy of young love.  She was leaving for college in six weeks and he was staying behind, entering his senior year in high school.
“No regrets!”, was their rule that gorgeous summer.  Everyday seemed to be sunny, 82 degrees with a mild breeze.
They would make love on the patio in the sun, as no one else was around the cabin.
It overlooked a lake that had only a few other dwellings on its shores. Everyone minded their own business.
At midnight they would drift out into the middle of the lake on an inner tube, and become one with nature by making love under the moon & stars.
Then, they would climb up to the roof with a sleeping bag; caressing & fucking, until they fell asleep until morning.
Right now they both lay naked in the afternoon sun, melting the tan lines away from their lithe & athletic bodies.
He especially loved watching her flesh brown in the sun.
A breeze from the lake kicked up and sent a waft of aroma from her pussy to his nostrils.
He breathed it fully & deeply, and was instantly hard again.
He looked at her with unlimited passion as he contemplated how her wanted to take her.
She was half-asleep, hypnotized by the warmth of the sun and glowing in her radiance.
He eased on top of her, and she began to awake only when he started teasing her nipples with his tongue while rubbing the head of his cock gently into her pussy.
She smiled at him in her sun daze, and then pulled him in with voluptuous rapture…


The artist shook his head and prepared for the worst as he packed his guitar into the trunk and headed to the Shithole.
That wasn’t the actual name of the club he was playing, but it would have been appropriate.
The place was beyond bad, and should have been closed down by the Health Department a long time ago, but that’s how it goes in the backwoods.
It was the type of place where most patrons are alcoholics or potheads, with many missing their teeth.  There were never any attractive women in there.
Cigarette smoke was a permanent feature along with skunked Budweiser, making it a favorite biker hangout.
The music at the Shithole is, of course classic rock, which means any kind of artist doesn’t really belong there; but since he was asked to play a few songs by a friend who books the place, he felt obliged.
Now the day had come and he regretted saying yes, envisioning the usual disrespect he was going to have to put up with from the classic-rock die-hards.
“I need to make something happen, otherwise this is a waste of time”, he fumed to himself on the road.
His friend was cool, an ace guitarist who could also play bass.  There was no need for that today, as the semi-regular bass player was there, at least in body.
A fair description of the bass guy would be to say that he had pro talent, but was a complete fuck-up–a burnt-out veteran of the 1980’s heavy metal wars.
The drummer was a friendly guy who smoked & drank too much. He kept the beat solid as long as he was provided a good groove, and that’s all that mattered.
The set began and the place immediately came alive, in a completely different way from the other performers in the club.
Instead of stale covers, it was original rock that actually excited the crowd.
At the second chorus of the first song, a strikingly pretty late-20’s blonde in a slinky blue dress begins to shake her stuff in front of the artist.
The combination of both sexes commanding the situation attracted everyone’s attention, and the entire set was a huge party for the performers and the audience.
After the set and a few games of pool, the artist & the chanteuse ducked out the back…