the journey to becoming a smut writer starts with a turkey

He beckons to her with a sweep of his arm.

He sits on the edge of the bed, wearing only an aura of confidence and a light spray of musk-scented perfume. He was a picture of sex with his hard member standing proudly at attention between his thighs.

No. He was sex personified.

She was drunken with the ideas of pleasure that awaits her on that bed. She takes a step. Two. She felt sexy in her heels as her slender hands made their way to her small, round breasts. Squeezing them slowly in her hands, her erect nipples showing through the gaps between her fingers.

She smiled. She winked.

Trailed her tongue down her lower lip in an attempt to turn him on even more - if that was possible.

He pulled her close against his body and breathed in the scent of her breasts. Slowly he fondled and licked at them, his eyes never straying away from hers.

She reached down for him and let a finger trail up and down his length before touching the bead of moisture at the tip of his penis. The finger she dragged to her lips with deliberation, her eyes too, never once straying away from his as each tried to tease the other into crumbling into submission.

Suddenly, Cucumber Man appeared.

"I is Cucumber Man: Cucumber Man! Cucumber Man! Laliho~ Cucumber Man! Cucumber Man! Cucumber Man! He shall save the day!" it bellowed, in what was believed to be a theme song of some sort of twisted parody of a children's animated superhero television series. (Read: Captain Planet. Or some other twisted variant.)

And just as sudden as his appearance, he disappeared.

And there ends the greatest smut fiction of the lifetime.