The Intern

Sorry that this is another rough draft. I took my first stab at writing erotica the other day, and really enjoyed it. I'd love to know what you all think of my next piece: The Intern.


"I'll only be another hour or two," Taylor said, without lifting her head from the deposition she was rushing to complete, "well… hopefully." She picked up the remaining stack of pages and flipped through them far too quickly to count.

"Just don't be here all night," her boss said, "an attractive young girl like yourself should be out on the town on a Friday night, not stuck behind some desk."

"Well," she sighed as she finally looked up at him and slowly took off her glasses, "most attractive young women aren't up for a promotion to Sr. Partner if their case goes well."

"Ahh.." he said, tilting his head in acknowledgment, "just don't forget to have some kind of fun for yourself tonight." "Oh don't you worry," she said back to him, sliding her glasses off her ears, "this office is my playground." He laughed as he turned and left her office. She looked back down at her paperwork slowly, then double took and realized that she never noticed how tight, lifted, and pronounced his ass was. It lifted as he walked in the same way she hoped that hers did. If only he wasn't such an overbearing, micromanaging jerk, she thought to herself, maybe i'd want to take a look.

My first stab at erotic fiction. Looking for any and all advice.

So I'm completely new here, and wondering if I have any scrap of talent at this. Below is most definitely a first draft (I haven't even edited it yet) but I'm posting to gain first impressions and any/all perspective.

Anyway… thanks for reading! PM me if you'd like to speak privately. Otherwise, I look forward to reading your comments.


She walked into her apartment hours after sunset and switched on the lights. Finishing a email on her phone in her right hand, she stopped to place down her bag and lifted her left leg let up behind her to remover her shoe. The other shoe came off immediately after pressing the send button, and was thrown in the corner along with her bag. She hated her feet, she always had. No amount of pedicures could cure their awkward shape, she thought, and she hated the way that they never fit in any of her shoes. She took herself into her kitchen and unbuttoned the top button on her blouse as she reached for the bottle of wine she opened last night and poured the last few drops. After uncorking another bottle and venturing into the living room, she sat down on the couch and gazed out onto the city.