I am about to dive into a final round of revisions on my women's fiction, THE FANTASY LIFE OF A MIDDLE-AGED WIFE. So, in that spirit, I thought it would be interesting (and nerve-wracking, natch) to see what y'all thought of the opening words of this manuscript:
We’d been having sex for approximately six minutes, according to the alarm clock on my nightstand, which meant it would soon be over.
My husband groaned as he moved against me. I was in the position Jason usually preferred—on my hands and knees, facing away from him, with no opportunity for kissing or eye contact. He shifted his hips and pounded into me and I moaned in pleasure and frustration, knowing as good as it felt I wouldn’t be able to get there in this position, at least not as fast as I’d need to.
Concentrating hard, I clenched my eyes and sorted through my trusty catalog of erotic fantasies and settled on the image of Jason moving over me, cradled between my thighs, arms clutched around my shoulders and his body hunched over mine as he devoured me in a kiss and ground his pelvic bone into mine again and again.
“Mmm, Jas,” I moaned. Closer…
The fantasy shifted. Jason had me pinned against a wall, arms under my knees holding me open as he stood and thrust between my thighs. His muscles bunched and rippled between us as I held tight to his thick shoulders. Oh, closer. Then he was sitting underneath me on the couch, big hands guiding my hips up and down as his pubic bone rubbed my clit and his hot mouth tormented my nipples.
So close. Gonna work this time! Just a little more. Jus a little—
With a grunt, Jason stilled and his erection pulsed inside me.
Damn, damn. Double damn. I groaned and hung my head.
He patted my bottom. “Mmm, Sasha, that sounded good.” He squeezed my hips and pulled out.
Huh? Does he think? Nooo. Really?
I flopped down onto my stomach, still panting and aroused—and definitely not satisfied—and pulled the sheet up over me. Part of me wanted to yell, “Hey, Clueless Joe, my turn!” But time constraints always chased the big O away, and we were already pushing our morning schedule. Not to mention, my asking would burst his I-just-satisfied-my-wife bubble. I didn’t want to risk a fight.
As he walked into the bathroom, my thoughts cycled through to my to-do list for the day: defrost the lasagna for dinner, remind Lily to take her P.E. clothes to school, hit the gym for 45 minutes on the elliptical, dry cleaners, bank, work—we were still doing inventory today. I sighed. Maybe O could find a spot on the list this evening.
Ten minutes later, Jason walked out of the bathroom showered, mostly dressed, and looking fine as always. Tall and trim with brown eyes and light brown hair, Jason’s athletic body still appealed to me the way it did when we’d met twenty-two years before. He was less toned in the middle, and had just a touch of grey at the temples and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, but somehow it all made him even sexier. Why do men wear age so much better than women? (504 words)End Excerpt
So, thoughts? Accolades? Rotten tomatoes? Advice not to quit my day job? Damn, my finger nails are not going to survive this blogfest, are they?
Thanks for reading, and be kind kthxbye,