Whiskey Creek Press -Torrid
Whiskey Creek Press - Torrid
A fictional character returns to help her author write romance in an entertaining and meaningful manner instead of his normal pornographic scenes. Available from Whiskey Creek Press - Torrid now.
Fictional character Lorraine is given the mission of teaching her author, Walter Riggins, to write romance in a meaningful and entertaining manner instead of the pornographic scenes depicted in his vanity-published novels.
Empowered by Papa H, the man that runs the fictional character haven in the sky, she takes charge of Walter’s life. Using excerpts from his previous books and personal attention to keep him focused, Walter finally masters the art of writing romantic scenes.
Delighted with her role in Walter’s life, she wants to make it permanent. She returns home, hoping to come back as a human.
Programmed with normal memories and knowledge, but little actual experience, she moves into his house, taking over his bedroom, relegating him to the sofa. Walter expected the old Lorraine, what he got was a new Lorraine, a virginal copy of the original. He knows what he has to do—seduce her.
“You know why you don’t recognize me?”
Walter hesitated. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. But you can’t be Lorraine, because—she’s not real.”
“You never describe my face, Walter. Not my hair, my eyes, my nose, nothing above the neck. The only time you mention my lips is—well, we won’t get into that. The only thing you describe is my body, specifically my breasts, my ass, as you always refer to it and another part of my female anatomy.”
He stared at her, a stunned look on his face.
Lorraine stood and told him to do the same. “Come here!”
He moved warily toward her, stopping in front of her.
“Put your hand on my breast. No, both hands, both breasts, that’s what happens in your books.”
He didn’t move. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts.
Walter, feeling real breasts under the sequined material, gently squeezed them and opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t. His eyes were focused on her breasts.
She let him gently fondle her until her nipples were hard. Smiling, she thrust out her breasts and squirmed against his hands, making sure he realized what he was feeling. The hungry look on his face confirmed that. A mischievous grin crossed her face and her body shuddered for an instant. Now he saw her but felt nothing, another second and he was standing there with his hands in the air, holding nothing and seeing nothing. The expression on his face went from sexual desire to confusion to incredulousness before he slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
Well, he didn’t take that too well, but it should convince him. She looked around while he lay there. I wonder if he has a girl friend? If he does, she doesn’t come here much.
Lorraine walked around the apartment and shook her head. No, no woman has been here. The bedroom floor was covered with dirty clothes. The nightstand was covered with cans and moldy cups. Yuck, men are such pigs. She couldn’t identify the original color of the bedsheets. They couldn’t be white. They must have been gray to start with. There was no discernable color to them now. My God, who would sleep in that? She carefully stepped over to the dresser and opened the drawers, one after another. They were all empty. Shaking her head she said aloud, “Well that doesn’t surprise me—it’s all on the floor.”
Walter was beginning to stir when she confronted the disaster in the kitchen. Dirty dishes were stacked on every possible surface. It looked like nothing had been washed for months and she doubted they could be cleaned now. She stared in amazement, wondering about his diet. Does he live on fast food?
She looked up as he walked in and stopped near the doorway, eyeing her suspiciously. “Okay, who are you? What are you?” he asked.
She smiled sweetly, “Lorraine, I’m Lorraine.”
Walter couldn’t say her name. “Okay, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve come here to help you.”
“Yep, that’s my mission. I don’t know what I got myself into though. What a mess. You’re a mess, this place is a mess, your writing’s a mess, everything’s a mess. If I had known things were this bad I would have stayed up there.”
Walter didn’t understand. “Stayed up where?”
“Oh, up there, where we live, I don’t think it has a name.”
“You’re not talking about heaven, are you?”
“Oh no, heaven’s where God is, angels, Mother Teresa. No, not up there. I live with the other fictional characters.”
He sat and cleared away the remains of his last fast food meal from in front of him. He put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. “I need some coffee to wake up. I’m having a bad dream.”