Page 67 of The Fed Sex Man

Tyson

I desperately neededto resolve my issue with impotence. Convincing myself that Jo was more than an object of sexual desire was crucial. If I could find a way to once again see all women as being attractive, and not just Jo, I could get back to normal. The first step was to be in her presence, and not fuck her.

I had no idea if I possessed the ability to spend time with a woman if we weren’t engaged in a sexual act, but I intended to find out. Seated at a quaint little Italian joint across from Jo, I asked the first question that came to mind.

“Of all things, what made you choose an erotic book store?”

Her eyes thinned a little, and her gaze fell to the table. After some thought, she looked up. She brushed her hair behind her ear. “A love of reading, I guess.”

“Have you always loved reading?”

“I have. I started before I was four, from what my mom says.”

“You were a natural.” I admired her hair, which was down and curly, and then met her gaze. “Why an erotic book store? Why not a run of the mill, one store covers all type affair?”

She chuckled. “I get asked that, a lot. Well, my senior year in college, the Indie book world was just starting to gain momentum. It had been around for a few years, but it wasn’t perceived as producing worthwhile literature. I read a few Indie published books and liked them. I always known I wanted to do something with books but didn’t know what. Maybe be a freelance editor, or work for a firm as a literary agent, or something. When I realized the books written by the Independent authors were as good, or oftentimes, better than the books that were published by the big publishing houses, I decided to do what I could to assist those authors in getting their names out there.”

“I want to ask something, but don’t think I’m a complete idiot, okay?’

She smiled. “Okay.”

“What, exactly, is an independently published book? What’s the difference?”

Her eyes lit up. “Good question.” She rubbed her palms together and leaned forward. “Traditionally published books go through this process: The author writes the book, or a portion of the book, and pitches his or her book to an agent, usually through an email. An agent is the only way to get the book in front of a publisher. Without an agent representing them, an author has no hope of a publisher ever seeing their work. So, the author submits his or her query to hundreds of agents. Maybe one in ten thousand, if that, turn into a published book. Over the years, there’s been all these books, authors, and ideas that have just evaporated because an agent either didn’t take time to read the query or didn’t like the book. Amazon came along and gave authors a platform to publish their books independently. It allowed the author to upload their book, develop a cover, and publish it into an ebook that could be read on Kindle, which was Amazon’s e-reader. Amazon took thirty percent of the revenue, and the author got seventy percent. The authors who had a room full of unsellable manuscripts were now able to publish them and see if anyone liked them. Some of the authors learned that their ability to write was as good as anyone out there.”

Her level of excitement showed just how much she enjoyed doing what she did. “I had no idea how that worked,” I admitted. “Hell, it sounds like the process was pretty shitty before Amazon came along.”

“It was.”

“So, I could, theoretically, write a book, and publish it?”

“Sure.”

“Has anyone really succeeded?”

“Have you seen the movie, The Martian?”

“Yeah. Matt Damon? Gets stuck on Mars?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yeah. It was great, why?’

“Independently published book. The author’s name is Andy Weir. You’ve heard of Fifty Shades of Grey, right?”

“Yeah, who hasn’t?”

“Independently published,” she said. “E.L. James.”

“Damn. Okay. Well, that’s awesome that you’ve devoted your bookstore to those types of books.”

She beamed with pride. “Thank you. Do you like to read?’

“I will if I have to. Honestly, I think my escape is my car. I work on it even if it doesn’t have anything wrong with it.”

“There could be worse hobbies.”

“I suppose.”