They weren’t writing, they were dancing. These were in memo form. Their writings were thinly disguised attempts to win the favor of each other. It was a dance as much as it was a display of fine swordsmanship. Him a thrust, her a parry. The dance would take a long time to complete. The idea of the dance was to create tension and desire. When this dance was done and she surrendered her gift to him he would mount her and he would be forever lost in her event horizon. That’s why we are here on earth.
I am going to quit drinking but not as long as I can get away with it. The smell of a good smelling cunt is very distinctive and it makes a person—more so than a dog, which is known for a good sense of smell—rock hard and horny. A good smelling pair of a girls dirty panties with just the right stink can send a fella into a tizzy. It can make him do things that he’d only do drunk. Sarah left a pair of her soiled panties on Max’s desk. She was a long distance runner and she prepped these especially for him. She gave them to Mrs. Hathaway, Max’s secretary (Administrative assistant as you’d call her these days, I’m old, excuse me.) in a box and told her to be sure he got them. Guess what else Sarah told Mrs. Hathaway? “Don’t say where they came from!” said Sarah. Mrs. Hathaway, no stranger to love and a great grandmother winked at Sarah.
Max’s noodle was just that, an over cooked limp noodle. But he had a plan, a work around and he was going to get what he wanted. Max was the head of one of New York’s, and that means the world’s, but not for long, China is creeping up, most successful publishing houses—he had the means. He assembled a team of writers, the list read like a who’s who of Super Bowl MVPs. Next he set his sights on a stout fine looking gentleman from his corral of boot licking toties. He picked John because the name was sound and John didn’t always kiss his ass. John was a fine physical specimen. John was a graduate of Harvard’s school of business. He was cocky, a little arrogant but kind and confident. He was the only person Max would trust to sit in with a client alone until Max himself could present. Max was 77, Sarah 49 and John 36. Age is important because in life, experience and time served is everything. Rumor had it John was hung like a horse. A draft horse.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/bi0r2e/the_story_of_max_the_erectionless_old_man