I hate how unrealistic most erotica is. I mean, I'm a typical guy: married, middle-aged, regular office job. And none of the stuff I read about could ever happen to me.
For instance, I have this really hot co-worker. She's a blonde with big, perky tits, a great ass, and legs up to her neck. I have to admit that, even though I'm married, I'd love to screw her. Now, in an erotic story, she'd come on to me in some really obvious way and we'd have wild passionate sex right there in my office. But does that happen? No. She's only interested in me as a coworker and friend. Like, today she knocks on my office door. I hurriedly put away the pornographic inter-racial lesbian sado-masochistic foot fetish photos I like to look at during break, and told her to come on in. (And, by the way, if you know where I can get some more inter-racial lesbian sado-masochistic foot fetish pornography, let me know. It's surprisingly difficult to find.)
My hot coworker smiles and says that she wants my opinion on this "story" she's written. "Oh great," I think. "It's not enough that I have to work with her, now I have to proofread her personal fiction too." But, I didn't want to be rude, so I read it over. It was some story about a hot blonde woman with big tits who wants to fuck this married, middle-aged guy in her office. The woman in the story is too shy to ask the guy directly, so she just waits until he asks to kiss her, and then they end up screwing in like eight different positions right there on the floor of the guy's office. As I read it, all I could think was, "Oh yeah, like THAT would ever happen!" When I finished the story and looked up, she gave me this expectant smile and says, "So what do you think?"
"Do you really want me to be honest?" I asked her.
"Oh, absolutely!" she gushed. "Please tell me WHATEVER you're really thinking right now!"
"You misused a semicolon here on page two," I observed.
"Is that all you have to say?" she asked, giving me this surprised look.
"Well, frankly," I went on, "I don't think anything like what you wrote about could happen in real life."
She just said, "Oh," very quietly, and then she started to tear-up and ran out of the room! What was she so upset about? She said she wanted me to be honest about the quality of her writing! Sheesh!
Here's another way in which real life isn't like erotic fantasies at all. We have this really sexy eighteen-year-old babysitter. Even though she's less than half my age, I wouldn't mind haven't her take care of ME, if you know what I mean. I picked her up tonight to sit for us, and I was thinking how, if this were a sex story, she would be coming on to me, and we'd be doing it in the back seat. But did that happen? Of course not! In fact, this bimbo was so stupid she couldn't even pay attention to my directions. I was telling her about how Cindy, that's my daughter, will need her ear medicine before she goes to bed, and in response the babysitter said, "You know what I'm wearing underneath my jeans? A new red thong I just bought today. That's all."
"Terrific," I think. "Another woman who's obsessed with clothes shopping." So I ignore that comment, but a couple of minutes later she says, "My nipples are so hard they ache." This time I get the hint: she's saying she's cold. So I turn the heater on. But before the temperature even starts to change, she blurts out, "I get so hot when I'm in the car with you that I can't stand it!" First she's too cold, then she's too hot -- what is wrong with this girl? So I shouted, "Look, I can't help you, okay?" And she looked at me like *I* was the one with the problem, and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood." After experiences like this, you can see why I can't believe any of these hot-sex-with-the-babysitter stories. Sheesh!
Lemme give you one last example of how reality is so much more boring than fantasy. At the end of the evening, I came back home from dropping off the babysitter. (And she seemed in a pretty sour mood with me for some reason.) As I walked upstairs, I thought, "You know, if this were an erotic story, my wife would surprise me by wearing some sexy lingerie and proposing some kind of kinky sex game I never knew she was into." Now, given how boring my life is, you can guess what actually happened. I come into the room, and she's not wearing any lingerie at all -- she's just standing there naked. (I guess I caught her right in between taking off her clothes and putting on her pajamas.) And instead of either proposing sex or at least letting me rest, she starts going on about her personal problems.
She says , "I've been a really bad girl today. Maybe you should do something about it?" I know I should be more sympathetic when she wants to share her feelings of inadequacy and be reassured, but it had been such a frustrating day that I was all out of patience. All I could manage to say was, "No, you're not bad, sweetie. You're a great person." But she wouldn't give it up. "No!" she insisted. "You don't get it! I've been really baaaaaaaad today, and I need to be punished by some big strong virile man!"
"Honey," I said in a tone of desperation, "this is something you need to talk to a therapist about, not me." So she gets a big frown on her face, stomps off, puts on her most unsexy pajamas, and gets into bed, facing away from me. Sheesh!
In conclusion, you can see that real life is nothing like the fantasies you read about in erotic stories. Real guys like me never get a chance to screw their sexy coworkers, or feel up their hot young babysitters, or get surprised by their wives' secret kinky fantasies. In fact, if I weren't regularly screwing my niece and all the other girls in her sorority, my twelve-inch cock would hardly get any use at all. Sheesh!
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