Over the last few weeks, the postman has been quite busy, coming to my home with all sorts of packages (ahem) for my pleasure. Two of the latest packages include my author copies of A Week in the Snow and The Green Room, both now in print. I'm so excited!
I started writing erotica back in the mid-90s. My first published works were in anthologies. This was when ebooks were just a glimmer of promise on the horizon, and the Internet was still a toddler. Seeing my published work meant going to the mailbox every day and hoping to see a package there from a publisher, ripping it open right there in my driveway, and squealing with enough delight to make my neighbors wonder what the hell did that postman bring her this time?
These days, that thrill of being published often comes first in ebook form, and it's just as sweet. But there is a nostalgic pleasure in going out to the mailbox and ripping open that package to hold the print copies in my hands.
To celebrate, here's a little short story, one about anticipation and the thrill of knowing what might be coming very soon. Enjoy!
A Hard Day’s Work
By Gwen Masters
The sound of machinery was completely out of place in the tastefully decorated offices of Parker and Parker, Attorneys at Law. The men just outside the window wore hard hats and dirty jeans. They worked with one small machine after another, each one making more noise than the last.
Sally should have been working. She should have been writing reports and taking notes, but she was too busy watching that man. The one who worked hardest, whose muscles stood out in strong relief against the fabric of his shirt. The one who had lifted one of those machines from the back of the truck all by himself.
Tiny rivers of sweat ran down his temple. He was covered in concrete dust and five o’clock shadow. His shirt was soaked with sweat. She wondered if he would smell good when she peeled that shirt away. Would she find the honest smell of hard-working man?
The thought made her cross her legs for a little relief. When he lit up a cigarette during a quick break, Sandy sighed along with every exhale.
He was there every day. On Friday the crew left early. She watched him walk around the side of the building and let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
She was startled to see him in the elevator thirty minutes later. His hard hat was gone and so was most of the concrete dust. His eyes were a piercing blue. He smelled just like she thought he would. The scent of virile man hit her right between her thighs.
“You’ve been watching me,” he drawled. “From your window.”
Sally’s voice was level despite the blushing. “Going down?”
“Very soon,” he said.
Sally took a deep breath. She smiled as she pressed the button for the garage.