Hey! It's Mailbag Day at the MIKE HUNT offices!
Here's an interesting e-mail from Pornmerchants.com. They want to know if I want to join their service which would make readers use 'e-nickels' to download my stories.
M1KE: No. Bad smut should be free. I don't even like paying the part of the electric bill that goes toward keeping the modem warm while I'm downloading.
**** The next message is from jwJakelski.historydept.room8561@BostonCollege.edu. He says, "Please keep my identity secret. The uptight jerks who run this school would freak if they knew I was getting pornography from MIKE HUNT. Is there any way you can send me the stories in another format to be more discreet?"
M1KE: No. HA HA HA.
**** Here's one from BadMeat8243. He must be on AOL along with me since there's no domain name. He asks "I'm trying to get started writing dirty stories. Have any advice for me?"
M1KE: You don't say what kind of advice. Legal advice? Writing? Marketing? Taxes? Learn to be specific. Then read this story. I've sprinkled some tips for beginning writers throughout. Hey! Everyone else is giving advice - on how to write, on grammar, even on how to post for chrissake! I might as well put in my two scents! New writers undoubtedly will want to print this out and save it for reference. Established authors and casual readers can just skip over the Special Notes to Authors, or come back and peruse them later.
If you insist on scrolling back and forth, click your cursor in the [Note] brackets, then scroll down and read the note. Then hit an arrow key and you'll pop right back to the [Note] cursor. But it'll still make you crazy.
One last piece of advice, BadMeat8243: Get a real ISP. AOL is fucked up. You can only post in itty bitty segments, and it's a pain in the ass. I only do it cause I'm broke and I'm using a friend's account.
My last message comes from GreatDisclaimers@disclaimers.net. They want to sell me disclaimers to be used at the top of each story. They offered a free sample.
M1KE: I'll try it and let you know. Hey, if it's free, I'll try anything!
Sample: #### YOU MUST BE AN ADULT TO READ THIS. OVER 18 ONLY, PLEASE. ####
Think I'll stick to doing them myself, thanks.
For those readers who missed the first installment:
First, PAY ATTENTION. I'm working my ass off writing this shit and you're off somewhere getting laid or going to the Spring Auto Show or something. Get your priorities straight. Second, you need a synopsis, which means I have to write the whole fucking story over again and bore the shit out of people who've already read Part 1. Have a little consideration.
SYNOPSIS: Shelly was an uptight bitch who was married to an investment banker. Their marriage was on the rocks; sex problems, don't you know. Seems she bit his dick during a blow job and he reacted badly. Go figure. Anyway, she needed someone to talk to, and after spending a few hours with my wife decided to get a male perspective and talked to me.
We had one brief encounter at a bar where I tried to break down some inhibitions during our two hour tete-a-tete. Then I visited her at her house and jerked off on her.
The story was better the first time I told it. Honest.
The last time I had seen a courtroom was at least 10 years ago. I tried to fight a speeding ticket but lost. Big surprise. Courtrooms hadn't changed much, apparently. This one was very big and very dark and very official looking. I was intimidated.
Of course I was here in the worst of circumstances. I was named in the Shulman divorce proceedings. Edward Shulman's lawyer had subpoenaed me to testify. So I sat meekly in the back, dreading the moment when my name would be called, anxious to get this over with and get back to my life. And my wife. If she would have me.
I had made a full confession to June. She knew about Shelly and Edward's marriage, naturally. She had practically given Shelly permission to talk with me. June didn't know how Shelly and I had fallen together, of course, until I got the subpoena. Then I had to tell her the whole story, at least up to that point. More would follow, and even June wouldn't know all of those sordid details. Ever.
I heard Edward Shulman on the stand, testifying about how he had discovered his wife's infidelity. It seems he noticed a change in her behavior that made him suspicious. Like she started dressing sexy. Started grabbing at his crotch in the morning before he woke up. Using foul language at inappropriate moments. All things I had suggested to her to perk up her marriage. All bright ideas from my very own mouth. And now I was in court. I was 'hoist by my own petard', to quote the Bard.
"For instance," said his attorney.
"One time she said she was wet for me," Edward parroted. "Right in the middle of a restaurant. Now if you knew my wife, you would know that she would never do something like that. Never."
"Then you knew something had changed," the attorney said with conviction. He knew the answer to his own question, of course. They had rehearsed this for hours.
"Absolutely. That's when I called Johnson Video and had them install pinhole cameras in several rooms in the house. It wasn't long before I had the proof of her infidelity."
"Which I offer to the court as exhibits A, B, C, D, E, and F, your honor," Mr. $500-an-hour said. He handed a stack of videotapes to a clerk.
"So noted," said the judge.
"Didn't your wife wonder about the cameras in the house?" the suit asked.
"No, the cameras are tiny. And I told her I was putting a new satellite dish on the roof, one of those small jobs. She never even thought about it, apparently."
"And what do the tapes show?" the attorney asked.
"My wife having sex with another man. Sex in the living room. Sex in the bedroom. Sex in the den. Sex on my pool table. Sex under my pool table. Oral sex. Anal sex. Straight sex. Sometimes sex twice in one session."
Shelly and I had really gone at it, all right. Once her inhibitions broke she turned into a virtual sex machine. Well not a 'virtual' one, a real one. [Note to Authors: I was using "virtual" in the older sense of the word, as in "a powerful effect" not the more trendy computer use of the word as in "not real." Don't you just hate it when words change their meaning? That's why it's so hard to read fucking Milton anymore.]
"And how did it make you feel, knowing that your wife was having sex with another man?"
"Outraged." Sure. Like Mr. Investment Banker hadn't fucked hundreds of people in his climb to the top. [Note to Authors: I'm using "fucked" in the sense of betrayed, swindled, or abused, rather than in the sexual connotation of inserting a penis into a vagina. Perhaps you probably already knew that. Maybe I'll put the rest of these author's notes at the end of the piece, OK? They're a little distracting here.]
"And you took what action?"
"I contacted you and instituted proceedings for divorce."
Shelly, seated at her table with her attorney at the front of the courtroom, let out a sniffle.
Shelly's attorney had told me there wouldn't be much to the trial. They had us on videotape. Hours and hours of it. Perfect focus. Perfect light. The schmuck had popped for the top-of-the-line equipment; he even had infrared in one room! He could afford it. The best we could do was try to get a decent settlement for Shelly, which would be hard because there was a pre-nup and we didn't live in a community property state.
I had hoped for a settlement, of course, to avoid the embarrassment of a trial, but Edward the Schmuckhearted was trying to take her to the cleaners. So here I was. It was about 3:00. I heard my named called.
I was sworn; I sat down.
"Now Mr. Hunt, would you summarize just how your illicit relationship with Shelly Shulman began?"
I did. And it was a lot better than that shitty synopsis at the top of the story, I'll tell you. Of course, I had more than two paragraphs to work with. I told the story in about 10 minutes, without interruption. I wasn't really graphic though, since I didn't know what the boundaries of decorum were in a courtroom. When I was nearing the climax of the story, so to speak, I guess I got carried away and said, "So I was standing over her jerking off and my cum went all over her tits and..."
"Mr. Hunt!" the judge snapped angrily at me. "Please."
I guess that was a reprimand. I backed off. "Well, I relieved myself while she held her skirt up, and, uh, we just sort of got started from there. It certainly wasn't intentional. I was only trying to help her with her marriage. She was doing everything she could to keep it together..."
The Armani suit interrupted me, "You mean like sleeping with other people?"
"No, no. That just happened. Her husband was neglecting..."
He cut me off. "Describe for us some of your other sexual experience, please."
"I don't know what you mean," I said.
"Are you a recognized expert in the field?" he asked me.
"Oh no. Just a normal guy."
"More experience than average?" he wanted to know.
"Well, probably. I played the field pretty well when I was young." I didn't want to get into the details; I'd gotten laid a lot back then. Of course I had a lot of testosterone, so I had a good excuse. Still, it wasn't a period I was particularly proud of, although I had some vivid memories. "You know, like a lot of guys, I guess."
"No I don't know," he said. "Please tell me."
"Well I went out with a lot of girls."
"How many?" He was insistent. I was getting pissed.
.... There is more of this story ...