This is why my fanfiction is so porn-free

I start work at 10, which is a perfectly sensible time to start work, I believe, even if everyone around me insists in starting at 9. I live a 15-minute walk from work, so as you can imagine, there seems little point in me getting out of bed before 8.30. This morning was running a bit late and at 9.05 I had just splashed my face with cold water when there was a pounding on the door.

Thinking it was the postman, I grabbed a large towel and wrapped it around myself in a manner that was far more decorous in result than what half the fashion mag kids wear to work, and answered the door, positioning most of myself genteelly behind said door in expectation of needing to sign something and be given books.

It was the water man.

'I've come to read the meter,' he said. (It is in our back garden for reasons known only to the lunatics who built this house.)

'Oh,' I said. 'Could you wait a minute while I put some clothes on?'

He blinked. 'Um, I can come back in 15.'

'That would be perfect!'

Off he went, I shut the door and ran to find clothes. Dressed, I brushed my teeth. Then did my hair. Then slathered on sunblock. Then contemplated make-up before deciding it would just melt off in the sauna that was today's heat. Fifteen minutes had come and gone twice, then three times.

I rang work. 'I'm running late,' I told my friend. 'If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I will be there asap, I am just waiting on Sydney Water.'

'Oh, what's up?' she asked.

I recounted the story.

She burst out laughing.

'What?' I said, confused.

'Sweetie, one of three things has happened: a. he's decided you're a fiendish cougar after his young blood and fled; b. he is at the chemist buying supplies even as we speak; c. he is at the Catholic church down the road repenting his lustful thoughts.'

I gaped at the phone. 'Why would you say that? I'm lovely and proper!'

'Replay it in your head,' she said.

'It's all ... oh. Well, a perverted person could possibly misinterpret that ... but he's probably just been delayed at another house.'

'If he's not back within ten from now, or if he's back and eager ...'

'Shut up.'

He reappeared just as I was about to give up on him and go to work. He was a professional credit to Sydney Water and did not even blink an eye at our giant pet spider by the back door. My friend at work admitted that she had been wrong and that meter readers must be used to dealing with the dozy. I, for my troubles, was attacked by a rose bush in the back garden and now have twin puncture marks on my arm that look as though I have tangled with the world's tiniest vampire. And I was late for work!

This is why my fanfiction is so porn-free

I start work at 10, which is a perfectly sensible time to start work, I believe, even if everyone around me insists in starting at 9. I live a 15-minute walk from work, so as you can imagine, there seems little point in me getting out of bed before 8.30. This morning was running a bit late and at 9.05 I had just splashed my face with cold water when there was a pounding on the door.

Thinking it was the postman, I grabbed a large towel and wrapped it around myself in a manner that was far more decorous in result than what half the fashion mag kids wear to work, and answered the door, positioning most of myself genteelly behind said door in expectation of needing to sign something and be given books.

It was the water man.

'I've come to read the meter,' he said. (It is in our back garden for reasons known only to the lunatics who built this house.)

'Oh,' I said. 'Could you wait a minute while I put some clothes on?'

He blinked. 'Um, I can come back in 15.'

'That would be perfect!'

Off he went, I shut the door and ran to find clothes. Dressed, I brushed my teeth. Then did my hair. Then slathered on sunblock. Then contemplated make-up before deciding it would just melt off in the sauna that was today's heat. Fifteen minutes had come and gone twice, then three times.

I rang work. 'I'm running late,' I told my friend. 'If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I will be there asap, I am just waiting on Sydney Water.'

'Oh, what's up?' she asked.

I recounted the story.

She burst out laughing.

'What?' I said, confused.

'Sweetie, one of three things has happened: a. he's decided you're a fiendish cougar after his young blood and fled; b. he is at the chemist buying supplies even as we speak; c. he is at the Catholic church down the road repenting his lustful thoughts.'

I gaped at the phone. 'Why would you say that? I'm lovely and proper!'

'Replay it in your head,' she said.

'It's all ... oh. Well, a perverted person could possibly misinterpret that ... but he's probably just been delayed at another house.'

'If he's not back within ten from now, or if he's back and eager ...'

'Shut up.'

He reappeared just as I was about to give up on him and go to work. He was a professional credit to Sydney Water and did not even blink an eye at our giant pet spider by the back door. My friend at work admitted that she had been wrong and that meter readers must be used to dealing with the dozy. I, for my troubles, was attacked by a rose bush in the back garden and now have twin puncture marks on my arm that look as though I have tangled with the world's tiniest vampire. And I was late for work!