Catelyn was bent over the couch as I fucked her from behind. I pounded at her feeling lucky that I fucked her first. She was leaving to go to work shortly and that meant she would be fucking her boss. I had to fuck her before work or she might not feel like having sex when she got home. When we finished she stood up and laughed, “You’re making me late for work!”
I groped at her tight body, but she managed to wrestle away. She cheated a lot but at least she was hot. She went to the bathroom to get ready and I turned on the radio. The announcer was raving about the new movie, The Silence of the Lambs. I thought that might be a good movie if I could find some time to see it. I was working a lot and there was so little time for things like movies.
I worked a lot, but today was my day off. I was happy because I was going to be drinking all day and writing. I was living in Florida and trying to be an author. It was an exciting time. I was working as a cook at two different jobs and writing, drinking, and fucking whenever I could. I got dressed and Catelyn yelled as she ran past me heading to the door, “I will see you tonight.”
I imagined her fucking that boss of hers. He was an overweight cock and I believe she was fucking him because he was the boss and had some money. I think she thought of him as a fallback position or security. Trying to be a writer and working as a cook does not inspire a lot of faith in your girlfriend. I considered breaking up with her, but I figured as long as she was still fucking me- why give up a steady piece of ass? Eventually, I’d break up with her or she’d come home one night and tell me the relationship isn’t working out. No reason to rush into celibacy.
I walked out of the apartment to go check the mail. There was a stack of letters from agents and publishers waiting for me. I was really excited because I started mailing my book to publishers a few months prior and now the letters were arriving.
I raced back to the apartment and grabbed a bottle of cheap vodka and a plastic cup with some ice. I sat on couch and began opening my letters. The form letters began piling up on the table as I read and discarded them:
I drank vodka smiling while staring at the rejection letters. I knew this was just the beginning. I knew that at some point soon, a publisher or agent would recognize the quality of the writing and publish my book. I grabbed my notebook and happily started writing and drinking. I was sure I was on the right path trying to be a writer.