B R E A K I N G T H E D O L D R U M S : A Serialized Erotic Story in Three Volumes

—

Teaser Summary:

A young fiction writer who's experiencing a doldrum in his life meets an older woman, who's sense of spontaneity and whimsy allowed him to shake of his Winter blues. Though it is written from a male perspective, this story is intended for female audiences, 25+. See the end of this post for links to GWAudio readings of each chapter.

Dedicated To:

BlondesRMoreFun6. She knows why. ;)

Author's Introduction:

What follows here is a bit of an indulgence on my behalf. Feel free to skip down to the first chapter if you aren't interested in the craft of writing or the nature of erotic fiction.

Erotic fiction is a bit of a paradox. If ever there was a medium un-fit to convey the raw, carnal expression that is sexuality, literary fiction would be it. Photography, film, and even music; each are better capable to capture the rush and the ecstasy of sex in a visceral way then the written word is. No perfect sequence of well-chosen words could be as arousing as feeling those same words whispered into your ear conjure down in the bottom of your gut. No description of the curve of a lady’s hip under your palm could equal seeing it in a portrait, for instance. With that in mind, I’d like to state my intentions with this serialized story. I intend to create a strong sense of tone and theme (enough literary things to chew on after reading), compelling characters that are both specific and identifiable, and to make you feel a little less lonely on a Winter night (or a Summer night, I suppose; when-ever you find me, dear reader). This is going to be more about anticipation than the money-shot, which is why the serialized format works especially well for a story of this nature. It keeps you waiting for the next volume. I hope you come back for more and please, please leave your feed-back below. Any spelling or format corrections is greatly appreciated.* Enjoy!

—

CHAPTER ONE: Waiting for a Taxi to No-Where

I buried my shivering hands in the pockets off my jeans, then clenched them into two tingling fists and looked up at the night sky, wishing the time would pass faster. In my small town, it gets dark early during Winter — around five o’clock. At the time, it was six o’clock; which meant the mountains on the horizon were too dark to distinguish from the black sky behind them. The stars were faint, barely visible, as if they were on dimmer-switches. The street was lit with lamp-posts that looked like floating orbs in the thick snow-fall.

I watched for my taxi, but it was hard to see far down the road. What am I even doing out here?, I asked myself, kicking at the fresh snow with my heavy boots. My numb fingers felt the corner of my pack of smokes and I thought about having a cigarette while I waited, but it wouldn’t be worth it to expose my hands to the chill any longer than absolutely necessary. Then, I reconsidered: I’d be cold either way, but at least the time will pass quicker.

A number of taxis passed me, but none of them pulled up beside the curb when I raised my hand to signal them. As my cigarette burned down to the filter, I tried to think of somewhere I wanted to go… A bar? The movies? A cafe? Each idea seemed empty and hollowed-out of fun. Fuck it, I thought. I’ll tell him to drive me downtown, then I’ll figure it out from there. My melancholia — a usual symptom I have when Winter comes back around — felt like a thick blanket I didn’t have the strength to throw off me.

It didn’t matter where I went next, I tried to reassure myself, as long as I kept moving and didn’t stand still, I’d feel better, in time. I dropped the cigarette-butt down onto the snow, then immediately buried my hand back in my pocket. As I looked up, I saw two head-lights swell under the snow-flakes, growing bigger as the vehicle drew nearer. They blossomed, like flowers made of light, then scattered into a million glittering threads of refraction.

The cab began to crawl down the street, as if the driver was straining to spot me through the thick sheets of falling snow. I stepped forward, toward the curb, holding one quivering hand up into the air, half expecting the cab to pass right by me. It continued to drive down the road, steady and slow. I raised my hand a little higher, forcing my stiff fingers to stretch out; a little like jazz-hands, it occurred to me. The cab pulled to a sudden stop.

—

CHAPTER TWO: Spreading Warmth

I shifted my back-pack higher up onto my shoulders and ran toward the back-seat of the cab, feeling the snow whip my face on the way. My blue fingers wrapped around the yellow door-handle and I pulled it open, practically leaping inside. The warmth hit me in the face like a pillow.

Instantly, my hands tingled from the change in temperature and my toes started to throb. The driver must have the heater cranked, and in that moment, I loved him for it.

The cab was one of the van-types you’d usually see near the airport, perfect for lots of suit-cases, I guess; but not the kind of cab you’d expect in the suburbs late at night. I made good use of the extra-room in the back by stretching out my snow-caked boots and placing my back-pack on the row of seats opposite me.

“Hey, sweety. Are you Nick?” The voice was slightly smokey, raspy. I looked into the front of the cab and a set of blue eyes in the rear-view mirror caught my attention. “I have to make sure I picked up the right person.”

“Yes, I’m Nick. Sorry for ripping the door off like that, but it’s murder out there.” My voice stutters a little, the warmth inside the cab melting the ice off my vocal-cords.

“I bet.” Those blue eyes filled the rear-view mirror, bordered by a hint of dark red hair. Just going off her voice, I guessed her to be in her late thirties, early forties. I’ve never had a woman cab driver before, I thought, realizing what a cliché that was a moment later. Like something out of a soft-core porn. The type they make in Italy for bored house-wives. Those blue eyes shifted, seemed to focus on me with more intensity. “Why don’t you come sit up front? It’s warmer closer to the heaters.” Her head turned over her shoulder, just slightly, giving me a glimpse of the side of her face; porcelain white. “I won’t bite, sweetie.”

Hair-dressers, cab-drivers, dentists… In my experience, most of them want conversation from you, as if it were a second form of payment for their services. Rarely do I feel more uncomfortable than when answering their questions, awkwardly avoiding any real substantive conversation. I avoid this chitter-chatter whenever possible, staying quiet and keeping to myself. I don’t know what did it that night — maybe it was the way those blue eyes narrowed on me, maybe the raspy way she said “sweetie” — but I found myself climbing back out of the cab and climbing into the passenger’s seat, instead.

“Hey”, I said, instinctively raising my hands from my lap toward the heaters on the dash-board. “How’s your night been going so far?” In exchange for my warmer position, I felt like I owed her at least a little conversation, even if I'd much rather stare quietly out the window at the falling snow.

She wore an unzipped slim Winter jacket with a black shirt beneath it and red lip-stick that looked tacky, too sticky. Without the lip-stick, I imagined she’d look like sweet and sincere. With it, it gave her a slightly pathetic look, like she was trying to hard to maintain an element of sexual desirability. “I’m good. Finishing my shift in the hour, so I’m a happy-camper. Where am I taking you tonight?”

Happy camper, I thought. That's one of those phrases you don't hear much anymore. I should put it in my story. Those blue eyes were more arresting face-to-face. “Honestly, I don’t know.” I expected her to react to that, to scold me for wasting her time, but instead, she simply waited for me to continue, expression completely placid. After a second thinking, I replied: “I was hoping you could take me toward downtown, maybe, then when we get closer, I’ll think of a bar or something I’d like to go to. A cafe, maybe. Some-place like that.”

“Sure”, she said, pulling away from the curb. “We’ll cruise.”

I sensed no exasperation in her voice, so I settled back into my seat comfortably and wiggled my frosty toes inside my boots, attempting to spread the warmth. My mind turned back toward the story I'd spent the last couple nights writing, mulling over the specifics of characters and plot. Maybe there's a cad-driver in my story? Maybe it turns out to be Martha, from Act One? The revelation felt pathetic and hollow, like an idea that had no future. After a few minutes, I began to feel the blood-flow to my finger-tips again.

“Are you running away from something, sweety? Is this your great escape?” She was looking side-ways at him, playful suspicious. "It's strange to not know where you want to go."

“No. –Well, I guess. But I’m not running from anything literal. Like the police. Just the Winter blues, I suppose.”

“Well, I know the feeling. I get it every year, like clock-work, always a couple weeks before Christmas. I blame the jingles on the radio and all the talk about family in the commercials." She yawned, holding one hand to her mouth. The, she continued: "Do you have any family in town?”

“No”, I answered. “They’re back home. I’m just here for the University. What about you, have any family in town?”

I realized that if I had been sitting in a hair-dresser’s chair, I’d have likely lied about my family and said they were in town for the sake of an easier narrative. I have no desire to share my personal life with strangers, so most often, I simply tell them what I think they want to hear. Why didn't I lie to her?

“Nope”, she replied. “I don’t have much family. None that are living here in town.” Another yawn — like a cat, I think — then she continues: "The radio has been shitting me all day. Do you mind if I put a CD on? I thought I should ask befor–"

"Go ahead", I said, without thinking to ask what the CD was. "I'm okay listening to just about anything."

"Thanks." She opened the centre console with one hand, then tried to dig through it to find the CD, but instead relaxed back into her seat, defeated. "Mind finding it in there for me, sweety? Blue case."

There's that word again, "sweetie*"; it felt warm coming from here. *Less like the voice a prostitute would use to seduce you, more like the tone the lunch-lady at middle-school had when he reached the end of the line each day at lunch-time.

"Sure", I said, then began to rummage through the center-console. Mints, spare recite pads, a copy of Fifty Shades of Gray (deep sigh), a candy-bar wrapper, a see-through blue CD-case– I grabbed the case, then opened it up and slide the CD into the player for her. The label on the CD, written in curly Sharpie letters, read: 'Martha's Mix'.

A couple seconds of silence, then the first song on Martha's play-list started. I couldn't recognize it at first. Just like sounded like swirling cymbals. Then the drums kicked in, as did my recognition. "Tusk!", I belted out. "I love this song!" [Link: youtube.com/watch?v=MT7W8xJFl_g] The drums built up towards the first drop, like a maddening gradual pace, as I saw a smile spread across her face.

"Great minds", she said, almost stoically.

—

(CONTINUED IN THE NEXT VOLUME…)

—

Volume Two Link:

http://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/23gje0/breaking_the_doldrums_volume_two_mf_foreplay/

GWAudio Reading of Chapter One:

http://soundgasm.net/u/Princess-cumbucket/R-CHAPTER-ONE-Waiting-for-a-Taxi-to-No-Where

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/23gi10/breaking_the_doldrums_volume_one_mf_foreplay