Chapter 2: A meeting with the editor at the studio office.

In front of me was a man in his forties with glasses. His eyes were glued to his tablet. He suddenly broke the silence and said, “please excuse me I’ll be right back I need to use the toilet.”

Really? It’s that bad he can’t even finish reading it in one sitting?

“Okay.”

When he left, I dejectedly slumped back into my seat. I didn’t even know what I wrote so I had zero confidence right now.

While he was gone I figured I’d read through it and see what I’d actually written.

…

When I reopened my eyes next I found myself in front of my laptop. Why was I here? What happened to that woman? Was it all just a dream? No way, it felt far too real for that to be the case.

Whatever, even if it was just a dream I should just use it for my story. Just as I put my hands on the keyboard I realised something was very out of place. It was the same scent I smelled back in the dream. This time it was more pronounced though.

“Schloo schlur shru…”

That was also when I noticed the sound coming from below. I suddenly registered an unbearably pleasurable sensation, my back arched back on its own.

“What’s wrong, continue writing your story before you die.”

When I heard that voice in my head I looked down and found her there.

Her face was the last thing I remembered before my memories blurred into obscurity once again.

…

Holy shit. I wrote this? When the hell did I write all this? Wait, there’s still more? Are you serious?

I suddenly realized there was a bit of a bulge in my pants.

So embarrassing. What am I doing right now? I’m here for business. Business. I can’t let myself get turned on by my own story that I have no recollection of writing.

“Ehem. Sorry for the wait.”

The editor returned to the table and took his seat. He had a stern serious expression on his face like a true professional.

“It’s acceptable” he said without any warning.

“What? What do you mean it’s acceptable?”

“The story, we’ll be going forward with the first episode using this as the basis. It’s a rather interesting concept. Succubus x Writer that is.”

“It is?”

“You wrote it, don’t you have any confidence in your writing?”

“Well… if I had to be honest, I don’t even remember when I wrote this.”

“Haha. Are you trying to parody the story in real life?”

“What? Uh… yeah… I guess.”

Parody? I haven’t even read it all yet. What more can there be to the story? The story started off in a back alleyway of the red light district where the writer searching for inspiration in a character design for the succubus in his story actually encountered one. She got him off with her tail to the point he passed out. When he woke up next, he found himself in front of his laptop. He discovered the same succubus latched onto him with her mouth and he received unbelievable oral on the level of a god. She gave him a taste of a climax on the level of 100 for only a picosecond and the writer lost consciousness.

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That was as much as I knew about the story that I’d written. As for what came after that I had no idea. Judging by the page number, it was already a full length book though. How the hell did I write all that in a night. Just what kind of godly inspiration did I have last night? Was I possessed by the devil of lust himself?

“Is there anything that I should do for the story?”

“Well, you’ve actually written quite a bit. Much more than I anticipated you would. We didn’t ask you to write a book you know.”

“Haha. Right. Like I said I don’t even know when it got this long. I kind of just woke up today and realized it was done.”

“I see. Well, I’ve still got a bit to go through considering you only sent it to me past the deadline this morning right before our meeting. I called you a lot but you never answered. What were you doing?”

“Uh… my memories are a bit foggy. I’m not too sure. I think I was probably still writing.”

“Haha. So you were forced into a corner and were writing even past the deadline date?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Is that something you should really be admitting to?”

“Haha. Probably not. By the way, how much have you read from the story so far?”

“Well I only lasted till the end of the first oral scene.”

“Lasted? What do you mean lasted? Did you find it so bad that you couldn’t read any further? Did you just accept my story out of pity?”

“Oh that? Sorry, excuse me, I misspoke. I meant I only read till the end of the first oral scene. Also, I thoroughly enjoyed the story so far. I don’t really have much to say at this point so I’d like to schedule another meeting to discuss things further once I have thoroughly enjoyed… I mean, read through it all.”

“Uh… okay. I guess so.”

This meeting turned out to be completely unproductive because I didn’t submit the manuscript to him on time.

“I’m really sorry for wasting your time today. It’s all because I was late sending you the manuscript.”

“No. It’s fine. We actually considered the possibility that this would happen so we set the deadline early. We typically do this with newbies in the event they need a last minute extension. Don’t spread this around though. You didn’t hear it from me either.”

“Is that really true?”

“Yeah. A lot of first meetings turn out to be completely unproductive when it comes to newbies. How does two days from now at the same time sound? I should have it all read through by tomorrow. I’ll send my suggested edits tomorrow in an email so you have time to look over them beforehand.”

“Thank you very much for your time. It’s been a great learning experience today.”

“You’ve still got a lot more to learn.”

“I understand.”

When I exited the room I walked back downstairs. I was ecstatic. I had a spring in my step. I felt like a new man. I didn’t feel like the same twenty five year old virgin writer of the day before. I’d finally gained a slight bit of confidence in my writing. Ugh. Writing? I forgot, I’m writing a hentai, not a work of literature anymore.

I’m writing nothing but pure wish fulfillment for the sake of dudes fapping across the globe. Is there really anything I should be proud of here? I’m practically the lowest tier scum in the world of writing. I should feel dirty rather than proud or confident.

I’ve truly sunk to this level of depraved obscene writing.

I inadvertently made myself feel more depressed than yesterday. That small instance of happiness I felt disappeared when I came to terms with the reality of my situation. I’m a shit writer that can only write trashy stuff like this I guess.

“Haaaaaaah.”

I descended the stairs in low spirits.

“Oh? Did he get a harsh rejection? Poor guy. It’s a tough industry after all.” Those words came from a few people gossiping among themselves when I passed them by on the way down the stairs.

A tough industry? Is it really? I actually somehow got accepted by this so called tough industry you know. You’re saying I should be happy to get in? There’s no way I can be happy about it. I initially wanted to write a comedic story, but apparently I had no talent in making people laugh. They called all the stories I wrote childish, immature and unfunny.

On the way out of the building, right when I passed by the entrance to the women’s washroom I suddenly heard someone’s words.

“Hentai isn’t such a bad genre to write you know.”

It was a familiar seductive voice. One that I’d definitely heard before. Startled, I looked in all directions, but I didn’t see anyone around.

“In the women’s washroom dummy.”

What?

“Hurry up and come inside while nobody is looking.”

What happened after I entered was something that could not be spoken of. It was far too lewd an adventure. At some point I passed out in our little tryst together.