I’m not Phillip Guston. I’m not a t-shirt entrepreneur from Sweden. I’m not Tom Cruise. I’ve claimed to be all these people in previous posts because I’m doing research, trying to get inside their heads. Actually, I’m a professional writer from New York and my name is John Mercer. I write erotica for a living but in this blog I’m trying to explore other points of view. 
   But every so often I like to return to erotica…


     Nancy steps through the door with her hands held up in a paused clap beneath her chin. Jessica is familiar with this kind of Monday morning entrance and she cocks a grin as she stretches out behind her desk. She’s in for something lurid.  
     “I had the most fucked up weekend,” Nancy enunciates slowly, savoring each word.
     “Why does that not surprise me ?” Jessica turns her desk nameplate down onto its face. She doesn’t have any appointments until nine-thirty at which time Aubrey Black will be in to complain about their western distributor. 
     “Okay, so I was out with Melanie and Serena Saturday night and we were all slutted out to the tits.” She sits down in front of Nancy’s desk and flattens the lap of her skirt. 
     Every Monday morning, Nancy has some tale of weekend debauchery. They’ve both been working at Smithson and Macintyre for almost a year. Jessica has worked her way up into distribution and Nancy has worked her way into acquisitions, erotica and the pants of several clients.
     “We started the night at that shitty club on Snowden Street and then we ran into Keith who was going to this party in the Latin district so we were like sure.”  Jessica listens but can’t help thinking more about Aubrey. He’ll present her with arguments for another distributor, more than likely friends of his but she tries to listen to Nancy because she does like the Monday ritual of her trashy weekend adventures. She doesn’t drink coffee or smoke. Nancy is her wakeup vice.
    “So just around the corner from El Toro’s we went into this back alley and entered through this door that almost fell off its hinges. We walked through this hallway into this place that was huge. It was a beautiful loft with 16-foot ceilings and this satellite type dish suspended from the ceiling where the guy who owned it slept. I mean it was this real funky playground.”
    “Sounds pretty clean so far.”
    “Keep your skirt on. I’m getting there, well that’s when we met the guy who owned the place and then the coke came out and then he was like, “Do you want to try something really weird ?” and we were like how weird ?”  Nancy is beaming with a perverse smile that she slowly shakes back and forth like she’s airing it out. “He rolls out these giant gerbil balls that come up to your waist and there are these couples curled up inside them. 69ing each other. You know really going at it. He rolls out three of these balls and opens the top of one of them to sprinkle in some coke.”
    “And he tells us how he’s renting these former Cirque du Soleil performers to do these sex shows in giant gerbil balls.”
    Jessica imagines doing business with Aubrey in the confines of a giant gerbil ball. She wonders if they could take each other’s clothes off inside the ball or if they’d have to get into it naked. If she were a former Cirque du Soleil performer she’d be able to take her clothes off within the ball. She’d take his pants off while listening to his voice that rustled like autumn leaves. It was a weird voice that stretched out of the length of his body, blew out of the length of his body.  She wonders if his shape is straight or curved up like a banana. Does it feel different inside her ? It wouldn’t matter in a giant gerbil ball. The whole premise is stupid. As stupid as fuck. In a giant gerbil ball she’d win Aubrey over to faith in their current distributors. She’d point out their current streak of bad luck as cause for the sluggishness in their work. Things would improve. She imagines saying all this in their giant gerbil ball that 69s them around and around. He orgasms with a shout of “yes of course you’re right.”
   “And then he rolled out an empty one,” Nancy says, with a smile that threatens to explode.
   Jessica’s Monday morning fantasy fuck is her one vice. The rest of her life has become business. Business that’s her pleasure.