Mack Margo could hardly believe the letter he was reading. It was a notification that a story he had written and had submitted to a publishing company had been accepted for publication, and that he would be sent five hundred dollars upon publication of the story that would happen within the next month.
He reread the letter a couple of times. It was simply hard to believe, but there it was in print.
Mack was only sixteen, but he had been writing for a couple of years, and he had concentrated upon a certain form and subject. All the things he wrote were erotic in nature, and they generally involved stories concerning a teenage boy and an older woman in her thirties. He went the route of submitting his stories only to publications that published erotica and that paid money to publish. After two years of writing and submitting things he had written, one of his stories had finally been accepted.; not only for publication, but for five hundred dollars! He still found it hard to believe, but the letter was tangible proof that could not be denied.
"Mom!" he called out. "Mom, you won't believe this!"
His mother came into the living room from the kitchen. "Believe what?" she asked.
"This!" he exclaimed, holding out the letter to her. "Read this. You won't believe it! I'm going to have a story published—and I'm going to get five hundred dollars for it!"
"What!" his mother's exclamation almost matched Mack's. "Let me see that. What is it, what does it say?"
"Read it for yourself," Mack said, handing her the letter.
She scanned the letter, her eyes widening as she read it. Then she looked at him in wonder.
"This is amazing," she finally managed to say. "I knew you wrote and submitted things but I never thought that anything..."
She stopped short, not wanting to give him the impression that she doubted in any way his writing ability. She just smiled and wagged her head instead. "This is just great, honey," she said. They both gave out a laugh of pure joy. She instinctively hugged her son. He hugged her back, making sure he pressed his crotch between her legs and wrapped his arms around her waist. He hugged her tightly, pressing his chest upon hers. He felt her poking breasts, and his cock immediately began stiffening, growing hard.
He wanted to fuck his mom so much he couldn't stand it.
She was in her mid-thirties, with long sandy-blonde hair, deep gray eyes, a fair complexion, and full pink lips. She kept herself in shape. She worked out and belonged to a health club where she exercised a number of times a week. Although she was thirty-five, she looked as if she were in her twenties. Her body was in great shape, and she was so pretty in the face. Mack had lusted for her since he had undergone puberty. He had masturbated numerous times with her in mind as he stroked his cock. To say he was infactuated with her would be an understatement.
His mother Ann had been divorced for two years. She had married young--when she was eighteen, mainly because she had gotten pregnant, but the marriage had lasted for fifteen years before she was divorced. Mack was the only child she and her husband had had. She worked as an ad/rep for a newspaper. She did a great deal of her work at home on the telephone and the comp.
"Satyrican?" she asked, looking at the letter again
"Yeah, that's the name of the publishing company," Mack said. "They publish a number of different things, but "The Satyr" is its main publication, and that's the magazine my story will be published in."
"The Satyr?" his mom raised her brows "It sounds like a..."
"What?" Mack asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "It sounds kind of..."
"Erotic?" Mack said.
"Well, yeah, I guess, but it sounds rather classical too."
"It's really one of the few major magazines left that publishes erotica —and pays. What with the proliferation of the internet and e-printing," Mack explained, "there aren't many left that pay."
"It says here your story "A Boy's Best Friend." Is that the title of your story?"
"Yeah. It may give the impression that it's an animal story, but it's not."
"What is it about?" his mother asked, sitting on the sofa.
Mack sat down close beside her. "Well, in general it's a story about this boy and his relationship with an older person. Would you like to read it? I have copies of it."
"Yes, I'd like to read it very much. It must be a good story for it to be accepted for publication and for them to pay you five hundred dollars for it."
"I'll be right back. I'll go get the story. I've got copies in my room on both the comp and in print." Mack hurried to his room to get a copy.
When he reached his room, Mack went to his desk and picked up a copy of the story. He glanced at it, and then lowered his hand down to his crotch and stroked. This is going to surprise Mom, he thought. For sure.
He rubbed his crotch harder. His cock was stiff and throbbing.
In a number of ways, Mack was an average sixteen-year-old boy. He was average in height and weight. There was nothing "outstanding" about his looks. He had black hair and dark eyes, which he supposed he had inherited from his dad. He wasn't what would be called good-looking, but neither was he unattractive. He didn't go to a regular school; his mom home schooled him.
By now his cock was hard as a rock; his balls tingled and throbbed. He thought about his mom, and his prick jerked. It poked a tent at his crotch. He hoped she noticed it
He went back into the living room and sat down beside his mother. He handed her the story and moved over closer to her so that his body brushed upon hers. He made sure he spread his legs enough so that his hard-on could be clearly seen if she happened to look at his crotch.
She began reading the story, and Mack watched her face as she read. He wasn't sure what her reaction would be. The story was more than erotic; it bordered on porn. It was nothing more or less than a sex story involving a teen boy and a woman in her thirties.
He noticed his mom's face turning pink and blushing at times as she read, and she blinked her eyes a few times and raised her brows.
When she had finished reading the story, she didn't say anything. She simply gave out a wry smile and wagged her head.
"Well, what do you think about it, Mom?" Mack asked.
"I don't know what to think, honey," she finally said. "It's well-written, no doubt of that, but, the story is..."
"It wasn't what I expected, to say the least," she gave out a small chuckle. "I didn't know that you wrote about ... well, about the subject, and the way that you wrote about it. It's an erotic story, no doubt about that. I'm just surprised, that's all."
"Surprised that I write erotica?"
"Yes. I assumed that you wrote I guess what would be called regular writing, regular stories. Is this all that you write? I mean, do you write other kinds of stories, other types?"
"No. This is the only kind of story I write. When I first started writing, I tried writing other kinds of stories, 'regular' type stories as you say. But I found pretty soon that this is the only kind of story I like to write."
She looked at her son quizzically. "You're a good writer, no doubt about that. And you have quite an imagination." She chuckled again. "How do you come by it? I mean, where do your ideas come from? I mean, you're sixteen, but you write like you're, I don't know, twenty-six? I'm assuming that this story is made-up, that it came out of your head, that you didn't really experience it."
"How do you know I didn't experience it?" he asked.
She gave out a small laugh and wagged her head. "Well, honey, for one thing, you don't know any older women—I mean like the character in the story. Do you? You haven't experienced anything like that, have you?"
"No, I've never experienced it."
"Well, that's what I'm getting at," she said. "I don't understand how you can write about a subject like this so ... realistically, when you haven't experienced anything like it. I guess you just let your imagination go, right?"
"Yeah, that's mainly it," he replied. "But it took a lot of work, you know. In writing, imagining something is really just the first step. After imagining something, you have to write it, and that's where the work really comes in. I spent over a month on this story—writing it, and then rewriting it, and revising it, and then revising it again." He looked into her eyes. "Are you upset about it? I mean, does it bother you that I write stories like this? Does it bother you that I imagine things like this, and think about them?"
"No, honey, it doesn't bother me," she replied. "I mean, you're sixteen, you've been writing for over two years, and you have a vivid imagination, and you're talented, no doubt of that. I just wonder why you write only so-called erotic stories. Why you're only interested in those types of stories."
He shrugged. "They're the most interesting kind of stories for me—to both read and write. They interest me the most. So I spend my time with them. I'm not that interested in any other kind of stories."
"Well, you know, far be it from me to tell you what you should read or write—or, for that matter, to imagine, or to think about. I know that you're intelligent and well read, and it's obvious you're a good writer. So, it doesn't bother me or upset me in any way. I just hope that you don't limit yourself to one certain kind or type of writing—or reading. But I'm not going to order you to read or write other things. I mean, when it comes to your free time, you know. Schooling is a different matter, of course."
.... There is more of this story ...