Madam Momus and Her Dirty Diaries.

Chapter 1 - Doctor...Who?

"Have you ever...had sex before?"

"Excuse me?" Maybe I hadn't heard her right. Did my publisher just ask me if I've ever had sex?

"I'm sorry." She definitely did not sound sorry. Jean removed her red-rimmed glasses and pinched her nose. "Perhaps that was a bit personal but...it's missing something."

And by it, she meant my manuscript. The manuscript which was sitting in front of her with vicious red notes all over it. Did she know how long I slaved over that? Only for her to litter it with her ghastly handwriting and rainbow-themed sticky notes.

"I don't think I follow..."

"It's good, there's just something holding it back from being brilliant." Her green eyes popped open when she said brilliant, coupled with some jazz hands. As an ex-drama teacher, I expected her to be a little theatrical. What I didn't expect was her to be the embodiment of the drama teacher stereotype.

But she was. Messy dark haired updo, large prescription glasses with a brightly coloured frame, an awful floral scarf, cheap earrings and even cheaper bracelets clanking together every time she waved her hands around.

"If we're going to sell this as work from Madam Momus, people will be expecting toe-curling smut! A romance that will leave them dripping!" She clutched her scarf and looked at my manuscript as if it had said something offensive. "Right now it feels like it was written by a virgin."

That's because it was.

But she didn't need to know that. For the past seven years, I have been running a successful confessional for sexual deviants called Dirty Diaries. At first, I started it out of curiosity, in high school I became painfully aware that everybody was having sex except me. I knew that because no one in high school would come near me with a ten-foot pole and because they really liked to talk about it.

So I started a page where people could anonymously share their sexual exploits. What I didn't expect was for it to blow up the way it did. Or that people would enjoy Madam Momus' witty and slightly judgmental feedback. Sometimes I would recognize the emails sending stories in, and let me tell you in a small town like ours, that got really uncomfortable for me. My dentist, Dr Craig was a trichophiliac, meaning he was sexually attracted to hair. I have never been to an appointment with my hair out after that. It made my skin crawl knowing the 53-year-old could possibly go home and wank off to the thought of my hair.

Anyways, I decided to write a romance because I've always loved romance and I've always loved writing. I thought if I sold it under the name Madam Momus, it would be a hit. Problem was, that she assumed Madam Momus' sexual experience would be evident in the story. As Jean said, people were expecting hectic smut.

Speaking of Jean, the small bird-like woman was staring at me expectantly.

"I'm sorry what?"

"I said." She picked up her glasses and balanced them on the tip of her nose and peeked at me over them. "Maybe draw on your own experience Madam Momus."

Right. Jean was probably the only person, besides me, who knew I was the mysterious Madam Momus. The Lady Whistledown equivalent of my small town. Just like everyone else, she thought Madam Momus was some kind of sex god...

My consultation with Jean took longer than expected and I was running late for work. Arthur Edwin was going to kill me, but I knew if I got him coffee he would go easy on me. The man would scream high and low about how bad cigarettes are for you, but then would turn around and consume coffee like some crazed addict. I shook my head with a small smile, I will never understand that grouchy boomer.