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This is the LitNet archive (2006–2012)
Visit the active LitNet platform at www.litnet.co.za

Leefstyl | Lifestyle > Hygliteratuur | Erotic literature > Straight > Fiksie | Fiction

Sweet Dreams

Brett Beiles - 2011-12-05

Hierdie blad bevat erotiese literatuur. Indien jy jonger as 18 is, verlaat die blad asseblief onmiddellik. | The following page contains erotic literature. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this page immediately.

In the Mood for a Quickie? Write an erotic short story … maximum 120 words. Send entries to … So said the invitation to readers of LitNet.

Jeez, I’d written quite a lot of stuff but never an erotic story. Unless you count Axe deodorant ads.

Along with a lot of okes, I had the hots for a tidy woman in our ad agency. So I threaded together a little tale about her and me, fantasising as I went along. Hard to do in 120 words, even for a copywriter who has to write to the point. On the other hand, fantasising is an adman’s strong point.

I sent it off and got a reply the next day: Thank you for your submission. It will appear by Tuesday … Regards …

And there it was on Tuesday:

Dream On …
by Brett Beiles

All the blokes at the ad agency have the hots for Sarita, although she’s a suit. Even gay guys, and some women too.

The next day I was presenting a big campaign with her.

I got home late, took a shower and caught a kip. Sarita slid into my bed. She was wearing only briefs. I slid them off and slid in.

At the same time I dreamt she was having the same dream. I took another shower, a cold one.

We arrived in the car park together. Over coffee I showed her the campaign.

“God, you’re great!” she said.

“You give great briefs …”

I wondered if she’d really had the same dream. Some things are best left unsaid.

When I saw my name there I got the grils. Wondered if I should have used a pseudonym. Some of the other stuff on the site had obvious pen names. Not surprising, they were pretty close to the bone.

I soon found out. “Hey bru, who the fuck is Sarita?” a designer called Jayson confronted me. Yes, that’s the way his name is spelt.

Shit! “Sarita? What do you mean?”

But there was no getting out of it. “Ja, the chick in that kif story you wrote.”

“Fuck, d’you read LitNet?” I couldn’t believe it, he’s a Neanderthal. It’s in his genes – his folks didn’t even know how to spell the leader of the Argonauts.

“Only for the hot stuff. Is it Miranda … Katie … Sarah … Inge …?

That slimy shit got it first time. Of course I wasn’t going to tell him. But he went and told everyone else in the agency about the story. He emailed it to all 85 of them! Wished I hadn’t used my name.

I started getting emails from the okes. They just chaffed me about it, and I chaffed them back. Even my boss got into the act: “Don’t you know Sarita is a pink drink!”

But the women! They really made me skaam with stuff like this: “I wish I’d known before you felt that way about me … I’ve always thought you were kind of cute too … Why didn’t you just come out and tell me how you felt …?” And so it went.

Although they were taking the piss, I could tell they all wanted to know who the woman in my dream really was.

Then came THE email. From Miranda herself. All it said was: “Yes, I did have the same dream. It was bliss. Let’s do it again tonight. Sweet dreams – x”

Strange thing is, I didn’t have that dream at all. It was just a story I concocted for LitNet.