Making Whoopie

Get a load of this conversation:

Raoul: If I have a kid, I’m going to train him to be an MMA fighter.

Me: Wait, I thought Tito Ortiz was your son.

Raoul: It’s quite possible. Man, I feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins.

Me: That’s why you feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins?



Raoul: You ever had someone with complete knowledge of the full nelson thrust themselves through your crotch? It ain’t pretty.

Me: Have you ever thought about writing erotic stories? You’ve got a gift.

From this conversation I gathered 3 things:
1. Raoul has either been crotch-pounded by an MMA fighter OR
2. At the very least, he’s witnessed it happening to someone else (context clues suggest Jenna Jameson).
3. Why the F am I not writing erotic stories for supplemental income/sexual healing?

Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. How hard could it possibly be (note: save that line for an erotic story)? Easy, I figure. So easy, in fact, that I've already made the cover art for my first three erotic novels (don't worry, Downtown Darrell Woolery is just my pseudonym).







Now you might want to dim the lights and tune your radio to "sex," because you're about to ride the rollercoaster of sexual tension that is my very first erotic story:

Sex, With Words
by Downtown Darrell Woolery

CHAPTER 1
“He’s doing it again,” Jane thought to herself. This was the 4th time she had caught the same man sneaking peeks at her from his place in line. The 5th time, their eyes fixated on each other. Jane turned a particularly sexual shade of red. As the line crept forward, Jane made sure to know sexactly where the man was. When the mystery man’s turn came up, Jane lustily removed the “CLOSED” placard from her desk and sensually moaned aloud, “I can help you, sir.” Everyone stared at her awkwardly while she licked her lips, also sensually and lustily.

The man walked sexually to the counter. As he stared straight into Jane’s eyes he said in a deep voice, “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Is that so, big boy? And just where would you like to make this…deposit?” Jane replied as she gave the man a clear view of all the erotic cleavage she could muster, which was a considerable amount, all things considered (consider this: Jane has considerably small breasts).

“My checking account, please.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a bank.”

“Oh. Sorry…then in that case I’d like to withdraw from this conversation!” the man said sexually embarrassingly.

Jane responded quickly. “No that’s okay…honest mistake. I’m Jane.”

“I’m Dick.”

Jane gulped. Dick extended his thick, veiny arm for a handshake. As soon as their hands locked, Dick turned his middle finger inward and began quickly stroking her palm with it (this move, famously known as the Crane-Henderson Suggestive Palm Tickle, is a killer with the ladies).

When they broke their handshake, Jane scribbled something on a piece of paper and walked hornily around the counter. She stopped right next to Dick, reached out, and slid the piece of paper into his pocket. After removing her hand from his trousers, she went about her business.

Dick pulled it out and read: “413 Main Street. 7:00 p.m. tonight.” He looked at Jane and stated matter-of-factly, “I think I’m going to come.”

CHAPTER 2
Dick rang the doorbell. He had condoms in his wallet, sex on his mind, and a little bit of ketchup on his shirt.

Jane hurried to the door wearing an oversized trenchcoat. She paused just before opening it (the door, that is) and took a deep breath to help gather herself. As she struck her sexiest pose, she sensually shouted innocently, “Who is it?”

Dick yelled excitedly, “IT’S DICK!”

Jane attempted to answer, but her throat was so dry that she could only whisper back, “I bet it is…come on in, handsome.”

“WHAT?” shouted Dick.

Jane ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“HELLO???....................... JANE?????” Dick yelled. Jane chugged the water and ran back to the door.

Dick called out again, “JANE, ARE YOU OK?”

“IT’S OPEN,” she breastily responded.

As Dick handled the knob, Jane’s phone rang. She wrapped her hand around it.

“Hello?” Jane said in much the same style as a phone-sex operator.

“Jane?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, mother,” Jane replied, still talking like a phone-sex operator.

“Why are you talking like that?” Jane’s mom asked.

“Oh, *ahem* sorry, what is it?” Jane answered as her voice returned to normal.

Dick came inside her apartment and sat on the couch, listening erotically to Jane’s side of the conversation. After a few minutes, Jane hanged up the phone and turned towards Dick. She stared, whore-like, into his eyes and said “I’m sorry, I have to go. My sister is having a baby.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Talk about titillating! I didn’t know I had it in me (Note: Save that line for an erotic story).