Sunday, September 2, 2007

CJ Maxx - Coming Back a Virgin (Rating PG-13)


Coming Back a Virgin is an erotic novel. Excerpts from Chapter 1 are posted here to maintain a PG-13 ratings.

COMING BACK A VIRGIN

Excerpts from Chapter 1


Walter Riggins moved the cursor to Send and clicked the left mouse button just as the doorbell rang. Frowning at the interruption, he walked to the front door and opened it.

A woman stood there in a black sequined dress; its most notable feature a mesh-covered cutout around the waist. The dress displayed her ample cleavage, accentuated her large breasts, small waist and prefect hips.

His mouth fell open as he stared at her.

She looked at him, frowned, and said, “Move, Walter!” and she pushed by him to enter his apartment.

Startled, he turned and continued to stare at her. “Who are you?” he stammered.

She ignored him and continued to look around his living room. What a mess! The residue of numerous fast food meals was everywhere. Piles of books and magazines had fallen from] the coffee table and the entertainment center onto the adjacent floor. The rug hadn’t been vacuumed in months. A thick layer of dust coated the untouched flat surfaces of his furniture.

“Clear off a chair, Walter. I want to sit down,” she demanded.

He quickly moved to his best chair and swept the pizza box and empty soda cans to the floor. “Here, sit down.”

“Thank you.”

Walter pushed aside the empty chip bags and dip containers then sat on the sofa “Now, who are you?”

“You know. I’m Lorraine .”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know any Lorraine . What’s your last name?”

She looked at the Playboy centerfolds on the walls. “Don’t know. You never gave me one.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

She gestured towards the glossy pinups. “What’s with the walls?’

He looked up at the centerfolds and grinned. “I didn’t have anything else to put up. Looks good for a bachelor pad, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” Lorraine said. “It looks like some teenager’s idea of a bachelor pad.”

Not liking the rebuke, he asked again, “Who are you?”

“I’ve been in four of your books. I’m probably in the one you’re working on now.”

He studied her for a few seconds. “No. No you’re not. Lorraine ’s fictional—I made her up. I didn’t base her on you, whoever you are.”

“Oh, I’m not real. I’m the character in your books.”

Walter didn’t do drugs and rarely drank which made it hard to believe what he was hearing. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Even in the unlikely event one of my characters was sitting in this room, in that chair, I would recognize them. Don’t you think?”

“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,...”

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.”

*****

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.”

“Help me?”

“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.”

Lorraine stared at the unknown substance growing in the carafe of his coffeemaker. “Not in this. You drink anything from this you’re going to die. If I were a Genie I’d get you some, but I’m not. You’ll have to go get it.”

He wearily got up from the table. “I’m going to get something to eat, too. You want something?”

“Nope, don’t eat. Go ahead, I’ll be here when you get back.”

He gave her a puzzled look, then turned and headed out the door.

Lorraine went into the bathroom where she found piles of moldy towels on the floor. She picked up a washcloth off the counter and saw it was stuck together. Oh God, she thought, I hope he’s not using this for what I think he is. She dropped it and opened the medicine cabinet. Surprisingly, it was neat. Cold medicines, aspirin, cough drops, Visine, box of band-aids, several tubes of KY Jelly. Hmm, wonder what the KY is for? Looking in the bathtub she could only shake her head. Disgusting.

Lorraine left the bathroom and headed into the living room. The mess had distracted her from the furniture when she first entered the apartment. Now she took a close look. He must be color-blind. This color scheme was a decorator’s nightmare. She stared in horror at the blue chair, an orange sofa, a black recliner, a colonial coffee table, and two modern chrome and glass end tables. She supposed it was the d├ęcor of a bachelor pad. The centerpiece seemed to be the sixty–five inch High
Definition TV with surround sound. This is better than what we have up there. She picked up the remote and deftly hit the right buttons bringing up his favorite listings. Just what I thought, he has all the porno channels. She opened the cabinet and found a row of XXX rated videos. She shook her head. “He’s hopeless.”

The front door opened as she headed back to the kitchen. Walter came in carrying a bag from Subway, a container of coffee and two Cokes.

“You still here?” he asked, disappointment in his voice.

“Yes, unfortunately, my mission keeps me here.”

They went into the living room and sat down at the table, Walter pushed aside some litter and took his sandwich from the bag and unwrapped it. “Sure you don’t want anything, I’ll share.”

“No, don’t need food, or sleep, for that matter. I’ll just sit here and watch. Tell me, what do you do for a living?”

Thinking for a second, he said, “I’m an engineer, an electrical engineer. Work for a computer company.” Knowing he was an electronics technician, she wondered why he was lying. Probably trying to impress me, she thought. “That’s interesting,” she said. “Why don’t you live in a house instead of this place?”

He bit into the sandwich and gave the question a few seconds’ thought. “Houses have yards. More work. I need all my spare time for writing. That’s why this place is a little messy. I don’t spend much time keeping it clean.”

“I can see. So how’s your latest book?” she asked.

He smiled proud of himself. “At the publisher. Sent it off right before you rang the bell.”

Lorraine got up walked over to the computer, woke it and quickly found the outgoing e-mail. Spending a minute or so, she wrote an e-mail and sent it to his publisher. Then she made a few more keystrokes and returned to the table.

“What’d you just do?” he asked.

“It’s coming back. That book doesn’t leave here until I’m satisfied with it.”

“What, you can’t do that?”

“Oh, I just did,” she said with a slight smile

Walter was exasperated. “What do you want?”

“Just want to make you a better writer. You have some problems. How many times were you turned down on your first book?”

“I don’t know, about ten, I guess.”

“Twenty-three! The only feedback you received was one cryptic note on a rejection slip, ‘strong start; went off the cliff’.”

He finished his sandwich. “I never could figure out what that meant. Since then I found this publisher that likes my books. They’re happy to print them. I’ve got four published.”

Lorraine went over to his bookcase, and picked up Wild Time in Vegas. Pointing to the publisher, she said, “Walter, you pay for the printing. Your publisher is a vanity press. Don’t you understand the difference? You pay money, they print.
That’s the definition of vanity press. Mainline publishers pay you royalties for each book sold. No money upfront from you. Get it?”

He looked embarrassed and mumbled, “Yeah, I know. It just wasn’t worth the hassle. It was easier to pay to get it printed.”

“The Big Guy said you have potential. That’s one reason I’m here.”

“What?”

“The Big Guy was passing through Dallas and he found your book Love and Betrayal in a Fishing Village in the waiting area for his connecting flight. Probably a copy you gave to one of your friends. He likes sea stories so he picked it up. It was interesting, up to page eighteen. You know what happened on that page?”

He lowered his eyes and spoke quietly. “I think it was a sex scene with you.”

“A slut scene is more like it,” Lorraine said. “Let me quote what you wrote, I know them all by heart:”

****

Feeling foolish now, he said, “I don’t know, I thought it was clever.”

“That trashy writing is what got me here. He was impressed with you up to that point. Good beginning, effective hook, clear narrative, well written dialogue and strong characters. Something happened when you got to me.”

He picked up he book and glanced at the text. “If books are going to sell, they’ve got to have sex in them.”

“He wasn’t objecting to sex, he was objecting to your total inability to put sex on paper in any meaningful or entertaining way.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” he said defensively. “I thought it was pretty good.”

She frowned, “That’s the other reason I’m here. I’m known as the ‘slam, bam, not even a thank-you, ma’am’ character up there. It’s affecting my love life. The next sex scene you write with me in it will be romantic, not erotic. Do you have a girl friend, Walter?”

“Well, not right now,” he replied with a disgusted look on his face as he rubbed his head.

“You’re how old now, thirty-five? How many girl friends have you had, literally and figuratively?”

“Hey, I like that line,” he said, smiling. “I’ve got to remember it.”

“Answer the question!”

Again rubbing his head, he said, “Uh, well, not many, really. Uh, a few.”

“You have sex with any of them?”

“Yeah, two of them,” he replied, smiling now.

“Well, did they like it?”

“They sure did, said I was a stud!”

“Were they beating down your door to get more?”

He frowned. “Of course… well, no, we broke up after that.”

“Okay,” Lorraine said, “I see the problem. You’re not getting your sexual scenes from experience. Where are you getting them?”

“Well, I guess I get them from TV. I watch a lot of TV when I’m not writing.”

“What kind of TV shows were you watching when you dreamed me up?”

“I guess it was a combination of shows, I don’t remember any particular one.” He appeared embarrassed.

“Well, I can guess. How about ‘Horny Housewives’, or maybe ‘Sluts on the Loose’, something along those lines?”

“I’m kind of embarrassed to say this, but it was probably from some X-Rated movie.”

“Twenty-two people in your first four books, Walter. That’s the count. I wonder how many in your latest book. You’ve made me out to be the biggest slut in the world. I can’t get a boyfriend up there.”

“You can have boyfriends up there?”

She ignored his question. “And another thing. Your darling little Samantha, that sweet little teenager I’m always seducing? Well, I’m not a lesbian and she’s not a lesbian. She wanted to come down here to smack you. Papa H. wouldn’t let her.”

“Papa H.?”

“Yeah, the Big Guy.”

Taken aback somewhat, he asked, “Hemingway, Ernest Hemingway is the Big Guy?”

“Yeah. Samantha’s got something going with him. They’re always in his office.”

“The Big Guy is Ernest Hemingway!” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe it.”

“He got elected or something. He’s the boss.”

“He liked my writing. Wow, I’ve got talent, I can’t believe it, Hemingway.”

“Calm down. You being selected was a fluke, you’re the first vanity press writer that’s ever got a visit. After my report, probably the last, too.”

“I still can’t get over him thinking I’ve got talent. Wow!”

“Well, get over it. You’ve got problems to fix before anything else happens.”

The revelation made him giddy. “Okay, Lorraine , start helping me.”

“Let me explain something to you. Your idea of sexual situations is more suited for Penthouse or one of the Hounds of Hell magazines. Your stories require romantic settings and scenes that lead to sex. Not this garbage you write: ‘A fish sucking in the bait’. I still can’t get over that one.”

“Okay, I see your point. Let’s get started.”

“The scene, Walter. That’s what we fix first. Know what setting the scene means?”

“We go to a motel? My bedroom? I need to change the sheets, what?”

“This pigsty you live in. That’s the scene.”

“Can’t you just blink your eyes or something and clean it up?”

She stood and pulled him up by the hand. “Let’s look around the living room here.
First the good news, the ceiling’s okay—now the bad news, everything else sucks. The pictures go. The walls need painting—a neutral color, please, not this green. You need matching furniture. The carpet needs shampooing. Probably better to replace it.”

Looking hurt, he said, “All that?”

“Yes, if you’re going to bring me to your place for romance, this room starts the process. I’ve got to feel comfortable, amiable, wanting to see where this goes. Get it?”

A small speck of light began to form in his brain. “I think so. This sets the mood, your mood, right?”

Lorraine took him by the hand, squeezed it, and led him into the kitchen. “How do you think this should look if I happen to wander in here?”

“Like something out of Good Housekeeping?”

“Exactly. Let’s go to the next room.”

Entering the bathroom, she said, “You were in the service, right?”

“Damn right, I was a Marine.”

“Good. You’ll understand what I’m saying. This place must be spotless, remember what the Drill Sergeant said about eating off the floor?”

Snapping to attention, he yelled, “YES, DRILL SERGEANT!”

She smiled at his response and they headed into the bedroom. “You couldn’t get a twenty dollar hooker to come in here. You know that?”

He shook his head. “You’re right, this is pretty bad.”

She picked up a corner of the bottom sheet with two fingers, paused, and pulled it off the bed. “I don’t see how you can sleep on this.” She tossed it aside. “Well, at least the mattress is clean, you won’t have to replace it.”

Frowning, he said, “I don’t know about this. This sure seems like a lot of work for a piece of…”

Lorraine cut him off, “A lot of work to make you a successful writer, you’re right.”
He had has doubts. “I don’t know.”

She smiled. “The Big Guy thinks you have talent, remember?”

“You’re right. I’ve got to do this, this is my shot at making the big time.”

“It’s after eleven, you’ve got to work tomorrow. Go to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“I don’t sleep, remember? I might clean up a bit, probably watch some movies, read some.”

She smiled and vanished, reappearing in the living room.

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