I’ve invented a new genre of literature. It’s called neurotica. I’m working on my first piece. I share excerpts of it now.
Zane eyes me with a look that can only spelll suspicion. “Those aren’t tweezers, are they?” he asks in a tone indicating his lust.
“Maybe,” I giggle.
That’s just just build up, but if you’re at all neurotic, you should find that arousing.
Here’s a good juicy bit.
But I cannot look him directly in the eye, lest he see I need a tissue. Damn these allergies! I sniffle as seductively as I can, slyly moving my left sleeve to my nose, but alas, it cannot reach, not with him pinning me against the wall like this.
“Loretta, my girl, you are behaving differently. Why won’t you look at me?” he pants.
“It’s simply, that (sniff) I’m so (sniff) overwhelmed. You’re so experienced, and I’m so (sniff) young and innocent.” I again delicately lift my arm, and thanks to a subtle shift in position, I am able to yank my arm to my nose and wipe it clean. My sigh is really one of relief, but I add a breathiness to it, so he knows that I want him and all of his manhood.
“Now now, dear! There really is nothing to it.” As he speaks, his body shifts in such a way to upset my lower abdomen and I fart.