into a book of my own. But my life is no romance. And writing it down would make it real. Once I’d gotten over the fear, I didn’t want to relive it. So I did my best to move on.
I was hesitant to start from scratch, but I pushed myself to do it anyway. Within two months my new blog had taken off, and I’d revitalized my income. I log on and see twelve new messages in my email. The first few are easy enough to reply to, requiring nothing more than copying and pasting from a template of other answers I've already given. The next email takes some time to write out though. I'm responding to a new author who messaged me looking for advice on her series. I'll have to get back to her in the morning. I don't have the energy right now. But I take this business seriously, and it shows. And it pays. Just before I close the laptop, I hear a ping.
It’s a message from a new book friend. She joined my book club a few weeks ago. Right now it’s just a small Facebook group, but it’s my baby. Although she’s not very active in the group, she’s messaged me a number of times. I get so many messages a day. Some are from other bloggers and columnists who are just starting out and looking for advice. Others are from authors wanting to send me advanced reading copies and beta reads. I can read two books a day, so I’m always happy to help where I can. But Val’s messages are different. They’re more personal.
What did you think of the book?
I scan the message twice as my fingers hover above the keys. I read and receive so many books that most of the time I have to sift through my emails before replying in order to make sure I'm keeping everything straight, but not this time. I know exactly which book Val's referring to.
Smut, also known as erotic romance to some, is a genre with which I'm intimately familiar. I prefer the term smut though, because it fills me with life. Like I'm naughty for reading it. The book she picked out though is exceptionally taboo. Arousal heats my core. The idea of being taken by a strange man has certainly been a dark desire of my own. I clench my thighs and bite down on my lip. I won’t admit how I touched myself to some scenes.
I decide to respond with a professional answer.
I thought the author did a fabulous job of depicting the scenes with vivid imagery and capturing the heroine’s emotions and character arc. Overall a well-written book.
She’s quick with a reply. So you enjoyed it?
I did, I message back.
Is it so wrong that I’d want it to come true? Her reply makes me stop and consider her words.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the fantasy. But I’m sure real life would be much different.
You don’t think you’d enjoy it in real life? Her question forces a small laugh from my lips. Although it’s wonderful to get lost in them, these books aren’t real. I know I’d enjoy some things. I’ve often fantasized about them. But this conversation is veering a little more into the territory of my personal preferences and is less about the book. It's also late, and I need to go to sleep while the melatonin is still active or I'll never get to bed. So I settle for a quick reply with a little humor that she’d enjoy.
Oh there are scenes I’d enjoy, but I’ll stick to role playing for that ;) Gotta go to bed, ttyl!
Night!
A shiver of want travels through me as I exit her message and look at the list of remaining emails. I’ll get to them all tomorrow.
I close my laptop, but I feel more awake now than I was when I first sat down. The book Val mentioned is all I can think about as I change into a nightgown. The imagery of a dark, damp cell and chains flood my mind. I can picture being the heroine. I can understand her desire to please her master. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending though. It wasn't the happily ever after I enjoy from romance. It was more realistic. After all, how could you ever fall in love with your captor, but still be sane? Would it even be possible to have both the sweet fantasy and the dark