6.0 Aiden's Art Of Writing An Erotica

4.2K 336 159

Wide grey eyes and flushed dimpled cheeks, she sits in the passenger seat of my car and stares unseeingly out of the window

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Wide grey eyes and flushed dimpled cheeks, she sits in the passenger seat of my car and stares unseeingly out of the window.

As for me, I'm still emotionally vertiginous from the realization that Scarlett Henderson kissed me. I'm high, kind of excited, and definitely thrilled beyond words. So even when she looks like she wishes she could go back ten minutes and prevent herself from making the silly mistake, I couldn't be happier.

"You regret your impulsive decision?" I judge from her silence, wishing and hoping she'll respond in negative to my question and make me feel better.

"Who wouldn't regret kissing a stranger?"

My gaze snaps in her direction, my smile vanishing. So she does regret it.

"Stranger?" I repeat.

Scarlett shrugs. "I barely know anything about you."

"Okay ..." I nod thoughtfully, trying not to take her words to heart. "Well, you know my name is Aiden Black. I have an intellectually disabled younger brother Owen. I dropped out of college and work as an assistant producer with Ideas production company. My parents are close to splitting up and that I think I have anxiety. And oh, you know I don't like rain."

"I didn't know you have anxiety."

"I'm not diagnosed but I think I do, and now you I'm telling you. That's more than most people know," I conclude, forcing a smile.

After a few moments of thick silence, she begins chuckling. Shaking her head, Scarlett rolls her eyes.

"As for me ..." I continue, turning the key in the ignition so that my car comes alive. "I know you're kind to children; that you're a psychology graduate; are an intern psychologist working with disabled children and youth; have a secret, hidden life of abuse you don't want anyone to know; and that you love to roll your eyes whenever I'm right."

A gentle smack to my shoulder sends me laughing as I pull the car onto the slippery road, trying to make out the road from behind the rain-splattered windshield.

"Gosh-darn-it, Aiden."

I can't help but laugh harder. "Gosh-darn-it? Don't tell me the kiss turned you British."

"Brits don't say that," she reminds me.

"Oh, right. They say blimey instead."

She gasps exaggeratedly and I sense her turn towards me in the car.

"You're a Harry Potter fan?"

"Not really," I lie. "But it's a better read than all the erotic stories available on Amazon for $0.99 each."

"I won't even ask you how you know that."

Flipping the switch that sends the wipers cleaning my windshield, I smile, turning onto an empty and relatively traffic-free road. I had known the rain might disrupt our date but hadn't planned to be on the road. The café had been a perfect resort while we waited for the weather to clear. Unfortunately, that option is no longer valid, calling for a plan B I never formulated. Improvising seems to be the only solution.

The Art Of Loving A MessWhere stories live. Discover now