Audio Book Sample - Time To Move
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (Canadian-General) North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
time to move by J. M. Fry from the Secret Loves of geek girls. Redox, the man I used to write *** porn about, moved in next door. I am sitting on the sofa on my porch editing a novel, and I have just realised this. Okay, so it was more like plati slash victim porn and not about him, really, but a character he once played on TV. See, I live in a neighborhood with a lot of long term furnished rentals. It's got parks and great food scene and is easily accessible to the studio district, All reasons why I moved there in the first place. The house next to mine has been rented for the length of a standard feature film shoot before by people I pretended not to see or notice or recognize, because this is Toronto and we do this thing where we pretend we just don't see celebrities to be polite. But this man has blue blue blue eyes and a lopsided grin and, ah, heart shaped *** and gorgeous biceps, all of which I have described in lurid, steamy detail when his character, Bow chicka Wow wow's with shows other male lead in my stories, and he has moved in next door, and I didn't even know it. Last month, I held his garden gate open for him as he moved boxes, because it's the neighborly thing to Dio. A week later, I snatched his kid off the sidewalk and shoved the toddler back into the gated courtyard. When someone hadn't shut the latch right, I patted his dog on the head every morning on my way to work as he stuck his head through the bars for our customary scratch, Not recognizing his big, dopey grin from social media, I've tipped my wine glass at his wife while we both sat on our porches in the late summer sun with our vino. I have imagined his body, but not him in it. I've fantasized about how he makes love, or rather, how his character puppeteering his flesh would make love. I've masturbated to thoughts of his mouth and his hands and his eyes, and I've never even properly spoken to the guy. The day I figure it out, he's just home from a run. I try not to make eye contact. As he realizes he's locked himself out of his house, he looks around, annoyed with himself, pulling out his phone to call for help. I drink lower on my patio sofa, hiding behind the book I'm editing. Does he feel my incredulous gaze on him? Does he feel the moment that the lightning hits me? The fact that I am stunned that I am Onley realizing now who my neighbor is? Does he know that I know his wife and toddler and dogs name that I know what film he's here to work on? That he told me all these things, but not directly told me through his social media. Does he see me seeing him? Does he know? Oh, does he know? No. Someone answers his door. He goes inside. I catch a vague ****** of laughter, an admission that he's in desperate need of a shower. I firmly pushed memories of that scene with him in the giant bathtub out of my mind. As soon as he's gone, I gulped down the rest of my wine, ****** up my manuscript in red pen and dash for my own door. Safely inside, I deliberate, going straight toe live journal and deleting everything I've ever written. Just in case to your Lord, that sounds like a lot of work. Maybe it's just time to move