The Book Worms
“Come on, Amanda. You’re going to love today’s topic. I promise.”
“But, Mother. I have a million things to do at home.”
Mother placed her hands on her hips. “Now there ain’t nothing you have to do that can’t wait until later. Lee’s out of town until tomorrow, and the boys are at the basketball game. You can spare an hour or two to be with your mother, young lady.”
Amanda knew when she was defeated and raised her arms in the air, admitting defeat.
Five minutes later, they sat in the den of Edna Peabody’s house, drinking coffee, eating cookies, and catching up on local gossip.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Edna stood in the middle of the room, tapping her spoon on the rim of her coffee cup. “Ladies, the ‘Book Worms Club’ is now called to order. Before we begin, I’d like to welcome Dotty’s daughter, Amanda Stetson, to today’s meeting. We hope you’ll enjoy our meeting and consider becoming a member.”
“Thank you.” Amanda set her empty coffee cup down on the table. She had to laugh at the little pink worm pins--they looked more like fuzzy caterpillars--that all the members wore on their blouses or lapels.
“Now shall we begin? Today’s topic is bad sex scenes. After last month’s foray into the world of bodice rippers, we found that some authors were very flowery and silly in their descriptions of sex and body parts. So we decided to compile a list of the worst of the worst. Remember, we don’t want to name any authors, so at the end of today’s discussion leave a list of the titles with me, and I’ll put them on the ‘not worth reading list.’ Who wants to start?”
“Hand me my purse, sweetheart.”
Amanda leaned over and picked up her mother’s purse, then handed it to her. After several moments of rummaging, Mother pulled forth several handwritten pages and laid them in her lap.
A soft voice came from across the room. “I will.”
“What do you have for us today, Lisa?”
Lisa stood and began to read from a typewritten paper.
“‘He could feel her tensing within, and then her quivering little flutters of satisfaction as she crowned the head of his manhood with her own sweet honeyed libations of pleasure. The warmth of it sent him out of control and his own love juices burst forth in greater measure, searing her hidden garden with an intensity of ecstasy . . .
I could not allow anyone else . . . to plow a furrow in your love fields, my darling.
Your love juices have begun to flow, sweetheart.’”
Lisa looked up from the paper. “The second is just one sentence.” She cleared her throat and continued reading.
“‘He shoved his turgid gear stick of joy into her throbbing tunnel of love.’”
Amanda giggled at the thought of her vagina being called a tunnel of love. Was the woman in the story a carnival ride? Although lovemaking could be like a roller coaster ride, with the ups and downs--the highs of being close to a climax and the lows being when one of the partners backed off, only to start that upward spiral again. And was the man into mechanics? His penis was a gear stick? She didn’t even want to fathom the word “turgid.”
“I stopped reading after that. I couldn’t finish the book. This was the very first book since I was teenager that I couldn’t complete. I’ve always prided myself on being able to finish any book I started.” Lisa sat back down, her mouth dipped into a frown.
“Well, I don’t think any of us blame you, dear,” Edna replied. “Do we, ladies?”
All the members nodded in agreement.
“Who wants to go next?” Edna asked.
“I will,” Sue said from the couch. “I was reading what I thought was a good Civil War romance, until I got to this part.
‘The rest of her words were swallowed by his punishing kiss. He pulled her against his chest of steel and plundered her sweet mouth. Valiantly she tried to seal her lips against his tenacious assault. She tried to think of her cause, and of the beautiful plantation home that bore her name, Magnolia Hill. But all too soon her vain protests became eager participation. His onslaught would brook no retreat. His firm lips and tongue became deadly weapons of desire. Their tongues intermingled in a passionate mating dance, a mimicry of what their loins would do if given free rein.
His body slanted against hers, and she felt the abundant evidence of his desire. His erection, as titanic as the ship that would sink fifty years hence, strained prodigiously against his woolen uniform trousers. The turgid tumescence pulsated with unfulfilled need. He ground his hips into hers with a rhythm not unlike the war drums his men marched to by day.
His manhood sprang forth, rigid and unyielding as the marble pillars supporting Magnolia Hill. Boldly he breached the sentinel of her desire, bivouacked between the dewy fold of her womanhood. After stroking the proud little nubbin, his fingers entered her love tunnel to check her readiness. Satisfied with his reconnaissance, he prepared her for the charge.’”
Sue sank down on the couch. “It doesn’t get any better. I finished the book, but I won’t read this author again.” She crumpled the papers in her hand.
Amanda’s mind reeled from the descriptions she’d just heard. Was that supposed to be erotic? That wouldn’t turn anyone on. Was the hero going to war or making love? Sounded more like a battle plan than a seduction. And how would the narrator of the story know about the Titanic, if the story was taking place during the Civil War? It made no sense whatsoever.
With a glance over at her mother, she saw her rummaging once again through her purse. What was she looking for? It dawned on her, and Amanda picked up her own bag and found what Mother needed.
“I found them on the kitchen counter, before we left the house.” Amanda handed her mother her eyeglass case.
“Thank you, dear.” Mother put her glasses on. “I’ll go next.” She began reading from her handwritten notes.
“‘His velvety blade pulsated gently against her thigh, and that painfully sweet ache inside her blossomed into something more. She couldn’t get close enough to the hard sinewy body of her lover, and she moved restlessly beneath him. Her woman’s place grew wet and warm.’”
Mother laid the papers in her lap. “Now my thought is, I wouldn’t want to get close to that blade. How sharp is it? Would it cut me? I really don’t understand where these authors are coming from? Why do they think this is sexy? Men do not have lethal weapons between their legs, even though they’d like to think that they do. Okay, here’s another one.” She settled her reading glasses on the bridge of her nose and picked up her notes.
“‘He lowered her on the bed and began his assault anew. When she began to groan from the back of her throat, he could no longer hold back. He had never felt like this with a woman before. At the sound of her excitement, he nearly lost control and rasped out. I must plant my man root in your fertile flesh, my darling. And without further ado, Adam’s throbbing man root plunged into the slick, welcoming folds of her steamy love tunnel, bringing not only the sun, but the moon and the stars, to Eve’s churning orbit.’”
Amanda burst out laughing. “Does that mean you bury it in the ground in order for it to grow? How deep do we have to plant it?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Mother giggled. “Reading scenes like this just makes me want to gag. I’m not turned on in the least bit by them.”
Everyone in the room snickered and nodded in agreement. After that, Edna called a short recess so everyone could regain their composure. Some had laughed so hard they had tears in their eyes, including Amanda.
“Okay, ladies.” Edna clapped her hands to get their attention. “We have time for just one more excerpt. Who’d like to go next?”
“I will,” Rita volunteered.
Amanda had met her when she’d brought a welcome-to-the-neighborhood basket to her house. She seemed like a nice woman, but missed living in the country. And she hoped Rita was adjusting to city living.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read this.” Rita started to read.
“‘As he laved the mounds of her delicate chest, Chastity’s nipples twisted themselves into erotic peaks, resembling Chinese pastry. She trembled as Steel’s turgid staff prodding the folders of her womanly shrine like a happy chopstick.’”
Amanda cringed at the thought of nipples twisting themselves. Ouch. That would hurt.
“‘Dearest! Something is poking me! She tried to twist her virginal body away from the swaggerly onslaught of Steel’s desire.
Hold still, my little lotus blossom. Let me take you and your lovely wanton honey-pot to new heights of feminine passion.’”
“I’ll never be able to eat Chinese food again,” Mother proclaimed.
Amanda made a mental note to think of something else for dinner tonight. Oriental food was no longer on the menu and might never be again. At least not until that scene had been erased from her memory.
“You’d think with a name like Steel, the hero in the story would be more . . . more . . . I don’t know. But I was expecting something else, I can tell you that, just from his name.” Rita plopped back down on the couch, frowning. “This crap would make fleas jump off a hound dog!”
“So, ladies, what have we learned from today’s discussion?”
“That authors should give us what we want. Which are not strange descriptions of a man’s cock, or a sex scene compared to oriental food,” Lisa said. “We want to see the action--play by play--and we know it’s a cock and it goes inside a vagina. Don’t call it a man root or a love tunnel. Keep it realistic. We want it hot, not cold. I could probably write a more erotic love scene than any of these authors.”
“Me, too,” Mother agreed. “The only place those pages deserve to be are at the bottom of a birdcage, to catch all the crap the writers are handing out to unsuspecting readers!”
“Why don’t the both of you try your hands at writing a short sexually explicit story for our next meeting?” Edna clicked open her pen.
“I wish I had the time. But I’ll have to pass,” Lisa replied.
“I’ll give it a whirl.” Mother raised her hand.
“I could help you brainstorm ideas, Dotty. I know I can find the time for that.”
“Thank you, Lisa. I’ll need all the help I can get.”
“Besides Dotty’s contribution next month, the Book Worms will be reading culinary mysteries. One heroine owns a catering service and the other a cookie shop. I think you’ll enjoy them both.” Edna handed out a typed sheet. “You’ll find two authors and the first titles of their series listed, along with where you can purchase them or which libraries have them available for check-out. The best part is, each book contains recipes. If anyone would like to try to their hand at making one or more of them, I’m sure we’ll all be appreciative. And please come again, Amanda. We’d love to see more of you.”
“Thank you. I had a very good time.” She really had, but she didn’t want to get involved with the book club on a monthly basis. She searched her mind for a plausible excuse. “I’ll have to check my work schedule before I can commit myself to anything.”
“I hope you can work it out.” Edna rapped a spoon on the coffee table. “Meeting adjourned.”
As the ladies congregated in the hallway, Amanda heard them all talking about next month’s book selections and anticipating trying their hands at the recipes. Mother and Lisa were huddled together next to the door, whispering back and forth.
On the walk home, Amanda saw the gleam in her mother’s eye. She could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. This coming month would prove to be interesting. Not only would Mother be writing an erotic story, but reading cooking mysteries and making the recipes for them to try.
Maybe she’d attend the next meeting after all.
The End
Story Notes:
Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King and its characters belong to WB and Shoot the Moon Productions. No infringement is intended. This is written for entertainment purposes only. Please do not redistribute or reproduce this story without my permission.
Thanks: Rita and Miss Edna, you make my stories readable by catching all my grammar and other errors
Thanks: Rita and Miss Edna, you make my stories readable by catching all my grammar and other errors