Page 16 of The Fed Sex Man

Spending Saturday morning buffing the imperfections from my paint was far better than having our night together end before it ever started. I needed to make measurable progress toward fucking her into oblivion.

Taking her home was counterproductive.

“Your car is just like my brother’s car. Spotless.” She waved her hand toward the vomit-covered windshield. “Or, at least it was. I’ll agree to Lockhart’s, but only if you promise to wash your car on the way there.”

I wouldn’t have guessed she could become any more attractive to me, but with that demand, she certainly did.

“Fine.” I huffed as if I’d been coerced to do something I didn’t want to. “We’ll wash the car first.”

Twenty minutes later, we were both standing in Lockhart’s with clean teeth and a plate filled with barbeque. We found our way to a remote table in the rear of the restaurant and sat down across from one another.

After the embarrassing events in Rockfish’s parking lot, I wanted to make her feel as comfortable as I could. I picked up a rib and paused before biting into it.

“So, what exactly is a steamy romance novel?” I asked.

Her face lit up. “They’re romance novels for adults. Not like what your mother used to read, that’s for sure. They’re descriptive, sexy, and fun.”

“Descriptive and sexy romance novels for adults? Like that Fifty Shades book?”

“That wasn’t contemporary romance.” She peered over the top of her glasses. “It was erotica.”

“What’s the difference?”

“If the story drives the sex, it’s contemporary romance. If sex drives the story, it’s erotica.”

I took a bite of my rib. Her line of work allowed me to introduce sex into the conversation without seeming like a pervert. I took advantage of the situation and lobbed her an underhanded pitch.

“Give me an example of each,” I said. “Can you?”

Her eyes narrowed. After a moment’s thought, she set her fork aside and clasped her hands together.

“I’ll use your example, Fifty Shades of Grey, by E.L. James, and another, Cocky Bastard, by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward. In Fifty Shades, Christian, the hero, is a Dom who encounters a naturally submissive woman, Anna. Their relationship quickly turns to sex. That sex is instrumental in telling their story. In fact, without it, there’s not much left. The story’s development can be measured by the progression of the sex.”

“So, there wasn’t much of a story?”

“The story was great,” she argued. “But, it required sex to tell it. Cocky Bastard was just the opposite. A girl named Aubrey meets a smart-ass named Chance while she’s running from the memories of her cheating ex. She’s driving across country and he needs a ride. Together, they take a journey that’s hilarious, sexy, and fun. Take the sex out of the book, and there’s plenty of humor, growth, and plot to tell the story. Take the sex out of Fifty Shades, and there is no growth.”

She left the sexual door wide open. Considering my intentions, I stepped right through it. “So, some stories are just like relationships, they’re sex-driven. Others, on the other hand, aren’t.”

“Exactly.”

“Which one are you?” I asked. “Fifty Shades or Cocky Bastard?”

She pierced a slice of brisket with the tines of her fork and raised it to her mouth. “Which book did I prefer?”

“No. Which relationship do you prefer? Sex-driven or otherwise?”

She choked on her food, turning beet red in the process. After a few gulps of water and a minute or two of fanning her face with her hand, she let out a long sigh.

“Sorry, I choked on that meat at the exact same time you asked that question,” she said. “Which what? Where were we?”

“Are your relationships sex driven or otherwise?”

She barked out a laugh.

“What?” I asked.

She adjusted her glasses with nervous hands. “I’ve never been in a relationship.”