My eyes drifted from one sentence to the next. I seethed as I glared at the word choice, flow and structure. They were…perfect. How could somebody write so majestically? Moreover, it bothered me that her writing was significantly superior to mine.
After years of writing, I believed that I had honed my skills. Yet, the red lines slashed all over my manuscript, coupled with magnificent rewriting, made me feel like an amateur. It puzzled me, infuriated me and made me feel hollow.
I carefully drafted an email to Lucia, nitpicking each word to try and impress her, requesting a video call.
She agreed to speak to me in half an hour. A whirlwind of thoughts swept through my mind. Interrogating, threatening and belittling her seemed like the most appealing ways to get back at her. But what had she done that was so awful? She edited my novel to ensure that the characters bled their emotions and the adjectives painted the picturesque scenery so vividly that it made the reader feel like they were there—far exceeding my expectations.
That stupid bitch. How dare she humiliate me like that?
She exposed my insecurity of not being a polished writer, which I had convinced myself to believe. She’s getting a piece of my mind. That’s for damn sure.
A notification in the corner of my screen popped up. Lucia requested to join the meeting. She wasn’t on time; she was early. Ugh! Of course, she was. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a notepad and pen ready.
With my head perked up and my tongue itching to give her a lashing, I froze as her face appeared on the monitor. Her white teeth sparkled and her creamy face was smooth and delicate, not a single spot smudging it. Her silky black hair flowed to her shoulders, the tips twisting into an immaculate bun. Not a single strand was out of place.
How? How could somebody look so perfect?
“Uh, um. Hi, Lucia.”
Smiling and her eyes glittering, she said, “Hi, Frank. Nice to finally meet you face to face.”
Her voice was gentle, yet high-pitched enough to demand attention. Her tone pulled me and made me feel safe, as if it would never dare to belittle me. If anything, it would serve as a cushion filled with feathers that would soften my blow if my rage spiralled out of control and I collapsed because jealousy had exhausted me.
“I went through the edited manuscript,” I said.
Her lips curled further. Just when I thought she couldn’t get any more beautiful, she did. I wanted to hate her. I really did.
“Your work is outstanding,” I added.
“Thank you, Frank. I’m glad I was of service.”
“You went above and beyond the call of duty, that’s for sure.”
“Great. Thank you. I enjoyed working with you. Your writing is really good.”
I felt she said that because she pitied me. Just wonderful. Apart from my writing not being up to scratch, she threw me a small bone that a puppy would skip from one paw to the other while waiting for its master.
I dropped my head and nodded.
“Something the matter, Frank?”
Her repeating my name made me feel that she was completely present and attentive to my needs. Wishing for both of her hands to be chopped off so she could never write again seemed like it would make me feel better. But I felt that would be flirting with the petulant behaviour I displayed in high school when the good-looking guy got the pretty girl instead of me.
“How did you become such a great writer?”
“Thank you, Frank. I appreciate the compliment. It took years of practice.”
Yeah, well. I’ve also been practising. Apparently, not as much as you. “Huh. Interesting.”
Her smile remained. A part of me itched to express my jumbled-up feelings, but I refrained from doing it. She was my editor, not my psychiatrist.
“Was there anything else?” she asked.
I desired her company for longer. Words were unnecessary. Staring at her glowing face was enough. But I knew it was unfair to keep her away from work any longer. At least nobody could call me selfish.
“No, that’s everything. I wanted to finally meet you and thank you for the outstanding work.”
“It was my pleasure, Frank. If there’s anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.”
My jaw loosened, and I managed to crack a smile. I felt silly for wanting to make myself feel better by knocking her off her pedestal.
Lucia logged off. I felt worse. The special moment we shared had vanished. She had robbed me of the little pleasures that life had gifted me.
I read the edited manuscript again, hoping to realise that it actually wasn’t as good as I had given her credit for. No such luck. The truth had completely drowned my denial and flowed up to the surface. I had to face it whether I liked it or not—better writers than me exist.
I paced, trying to suppress the wrath that wanted to be unleashed from inside of me and prick everyone within distance. Fortunately, nobody was around. I could only imagine the kind of lunacy I would have displayed.
Instead, I opted for jerking off. That always took a load off, excuse the pun.
I envisioned Lucia smiling, dropping to her knees and admiring my cock, then complimenting its length. She stroked it slowly a few times and then pressed her full lips against the tip before parting and wrapping them around my cock.
I tilted my head up, eyes closed, feeling her saliva on my cock and her soft lips sliding up and down. God, it felt amazing. She got me harder and aching to stick it into her wet, tight pussy.
After sucking me off for several minutes and gently massaging my balls, Lucia opened up her pear-shaped ass as she bent over the desk. Oh, yeah. That’s what daddy likes. I felt like her pussy was staring at me, begging me for a stuffing.
I gladly obliged by moving closer to her and then running my hands down her back before clutching her shoulders. My cock pressed against her ass, shifting slowly towards a hole.
My tip slid into her pussy and then I nudged my cock in deeper. Lucia moaned as I thrust, and I exhaled a deep breath. Being inside her felt amazing.
I ramped up the pace. Her moans morphed into loud screams, motivating me to maintain aggressive thrusts. The louder she screamed, the faster I thrust my hips.
More than anything, I desired to unload inside of her. But that would soften my cock, and I felt that I would deprive myself of pleasure by cutting it short.
I pulled out my cock and slid it on the crack of her ass. She swayed back and forth, making me believe that she yearned for me to enter her again.
I shoved my cock in her and resumed the aggressive pounding. Her silky hair covered her face as she bowed her head to pant, trying to catch her breath.
A naughty smirk appeared on my face. I was proud of satisfying her to that degree and still having juice left in the tank.
She flipped over onto her back, opened her legs wide and smiled at me. Oh, God. She was absolutely stunning. I entered her, and she hooked her heels onto my shoulders.
Only a few pumps were necessary for me to climax.
She quickly kneeled in front of me and opened her mouth, with her tongue sticking out. My juice spilt out onto her tongue. She looked up at me with her big eyes as I scrunched my face, my balls loosening. That felt amazing.
Oh crap. I opened my eyes and saw that my load had shot onto my laptop. Owww, man.
After wiping my desk clean, I thought about Lucia. It would be foolish of me to despise her, though it would make me feel better in a strange way. The better option was to befriend her and gain her knowledge.
I searched for her online and discovered that she had left reviews for several writers on a freelancing platform. Huh. That’s strange. Why would she need to hire a writer? Maybe she was overloaded with work and needed somebody to unburden her.
I frowned while recalling our agreement before I designated her to edit my manuscript.
She agreed to a video call a few hours later.
“Hey, sorry to bother you again,” I said.
“No problem. How can I be of assistance?”
“Have you ever hired writers to help you out with your workload?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“I see.”
“Is something the matter?” she asked, noticing my gaze drop to the floor.
“Remember, I asked you not to use the Oxford comma?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s throughout my manuscript. I’ve got a feeling that you didn’t relay that to the freelancer you hired. You hired someone to edit my book, didn’t you?”
Her smile faded. She remained silent for some time before admitting the truth.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Lucia, I requested that you not share my manuscript with anyone. You went back on your word.”
Strangely, I felt slightly better at that moment because I realised that Lucia wasn’t perfect. Better yet, she probably wasn’t a better writer than I. But who was? Someone edited my book.
I needed to know who the real star was. I needed to be his or her friend to elevate my writing skills to the next level.
“Who edited my manuscript, Lucia?”
“I’m sorry, Frank. I can’t reveal my sources. All the best to you.” She logged off.
That damn bitch. I knew I was right to hate her.
I stood up and paced, contemplating my next move. Maybe I should call her again and ask her nicely to put me in touch with her writer. No, that’s not going to work.
I felt that I was at Lucia’s mercy and would never discover the writer who could improve my writing. I looked up and growled, feeling merciless anguish.
CHECK OUT MY NOVEL, MY WIFE AND GIRLFRIEND