How about the Rooftop?
Music Is The Voice Of The Soul
I have been asked many times whether I prefer writing in complete silence, or to the sweet sound of music. It's an interesting question! For a long time I could only get inspired by the singing of birds, and the amazing (and calming) sounds of nature, but the past year brought so much change with it, that this habit of mine needed to alter, too.
Now, I can't imagine creating something special without music playing in the background. Although I wouldn't exactly call what I listen to 'sweet'. Not by far, to be honest (but then again, what I write isn't exactly sweet, either). My taste varies, as does my mood. Sometimes the story dictates the genre of the song, while other times I get lost in it without even realizing that the original track got sidetracked and is now something totally different. Oh, well, I have always loved that aspect of writing.
Even back then, when I was into reading only (I still am, but that's beside the point), I could get lost in the world of words. Music or no music. Whenever I got hold of a book, and whenever that happened, I was enchanted. And, as I mentioned in an earlier post about being careful where we write (or read) erotica, this soon became an interesting aspect. Do I indulge while on the train? How about at the bus stop? While my best friend is in the room, sleeping? What will people think if I start to voice my opinion, or my reaction to the particular story? I could get carried away (and that's an understatement, as you already know).
Soon enough, the same happened with music. I found myself humming quietly while I scribbled down some naugthy words. So, I thought, why not combine the two on a more intimate level? I found that music isn't only the voice of the soul, but also the voice (and sound) of lovemaking.
Making Love to Music
And here comes the basic idea of this erotica short story. So many times we put in a sexy song while waiting for our date, setting the mood. Why not use the same, to set the mood in the story? And what if we turned it up a notch and said that there was some hot dancing involved, too? With a stranger? I always found that arousing. I guess there is a viable reason behind people saying that if someone is good on the dancefloor, they will be equally satisfying in bed (or wherever you choose to give in to your passion).
And what better way to find the perfect partner for the night, than sharing a passionate dance with them? Except, in How About The Rooftop, our heroine doesn't exactly want a new partner (not for life, neither for the night). But Fate is unpredictable (and, in this case, my imagination). I like to make sure that nothing goes as planned - and occasionally that means that the story takes some unexpected turns (even unexpected by me). Okay, you got me, that happenes quite often.
Why Sway? And Why Michal Bublé?
Honestly, because five minutes before I wrote the story I had the song on loop, along with one of his other songs, 'The Last Dance'. I know that they are not originally by him, but still, I find his voice very sexy. And yes, I was in the mood for a kinky story. It was a nice 'coincidence' that he happened to 'help' me. Well, thank you Mr Bublé! My gratitude will haunt you for ever (um, no, this isn't a threat).
And Sway? Can you think of a sexier song than the one that encourages you to move to the rhytm of the music and let go of your inhibitions? I guess not. Okay, there are many other songs out there, true, and I would love to know your opinion, but this always lures me in to the web of passion. Which song does it for you? Sway always does the trick, for me at least. Oh, yeah, sway me smooth, baby, sway me more!
How About The Rooftop?
The idea for the rooftop comes from many things. A few years ago, I watched Beauty and the Beast (the series). It was about a guy whose DNA got altered during a classified experiment, and he became a beast with superhuman strength. I know there are thousands of movies like this out there, but it included so many elements from the Disney classic that it was enough to draw me in (I am a sucker for anything Disney - who would have thought?).
But anyway, the hottest thing in the story was the beast who could jump up onto the roof, and of course have sex with the damsel in distress. Yep, that moment the idea got stuck in my head, gently simmering beneath the surface. And now voila, Michael Bublé brought it out with Sway, which resulted in How About The Rooftop. Perfect.
A Tiny Bite From The Story
Two strangers share a dance - and a passionate night on the rooftop. But can they sway to the music, when only they can hear it? Or is that the part when it all becomes fun? ~o~ “Hey, watch out!” Too late. I scowl, smoothing down my coffee-stained T-shirt, trying to hold on to the little dignity I have left. I look up to see who my assailant is. Of course, today of all days I had to bump into a stranger who would pour steaming brown liquid all over my bruised ego. When was my life going to stop being a total mess? I am momentarily distracted by the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, but it doesn’t last long. He is a man, and therefore he can’t be nothing else, but a total ass. My brown eyes shoot poisonous daggers his way, hoping they kill him on the spot. Well, they don’t, they just make him smirk, while he looks me up and down, making my blood boil. But before I could say something snarky, he takes a step closer, fingering the spaghetti strap of my white (slash coffee-coloured) T-shirt. “Well, well, I did warn you. But you know, you could always take this off.” I gasp, raising a hand, before I could even think about what I was doing. How dare he? But of course, he catches my wrist, and it never connects with his handsome face. Yeah, right, this guy might be God’s gift when you look at him, but when he talks he confirms what I thought: he is an egoistic jerk, just like the rest of them. I glance around quickly, scanning the room, in case anyone saw what happened. But luck is on my side, at least in this tiny instance. Everyone is busy dancing with their partners, swaying to Brahms. Typical. I clear my throat, returning my gaze to the jackass, while smiling at him indignantly: “I could, couldn’t I? I guess that’s the only thing guys like you can think of, right?” Catherine – asshole 1:0. I take a mental note to tap myself on the shoulder when I get home. Maybe I will even eat a box of chocolate, or some ice-cream. Oh, yes, I can do that now. I can do anything. And that includes slapping any guy who plays the jackass card on me. Who am I, some kind of a trophy? I realize too late that the annoying guy is still holding my right hand in his iron grip. He pulls me a tad bit closer, and I’m forced to look into those piercing blue eyes again. There is a storm raging behind them, and I’m not sure if I’m more pissed off now or he is. God, I don’t even know this asshole, and he managed to make all the nasty memories of last night come back in an instant. Will this ever stop? He leans in towards my left ear, and a shiver runs through me, despite the heat and the steaming coffee still burning my stomach. And not from the right side, either, being stuck on my shirt and all. “Guys like me, huh? You clearly have no idea what you are talking about. Well, I’m more than happy to show you…” He lets go of my hand, running his fingers up my arms, awaking goosebumps on their way. But I ignore the electric shocks that try to grab my attention, and focus on my anger instead. This can only be happening to me, especially today. I must have it written all over my forehead: assholes hurry, here is a girl who just got dumped at the altar. Yeah, well, not exactly at the altar, but what difference does that make? I push against the guy’s chest, trying to stifle back my tears. Somehow I lost my will to come back with a witty response, so I just whisper before turning on my heels: “You know what? I couldn’t care less. You are all the same.” And with that I leave him near the canteen, mouth agape. That served him right. I don’t need this right now. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to behave, nor do I need to be seduced out of pity... ~o~ An Erotica Short Story in 5300 words. Contains adult content, strictly 18+!
Although the gorgeous male specimen in my erotica short story isn't a beast, nor does he have the ability to jump from one rooftop to the next, he definitely is a treat. Pleasing to the eye, and of course, other lady parts. So, if you enjoy my stories where the passion of the moment takes over rational reasoning, then this story is for you. Meeting a handsome stranger can be fun! Oh, yeah, SO much fun... Enjoy!
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