Janelle was big in so many ways. Real tall, nearly six foot. Big, blonde hair. Big tits. She wore big boots and had a big laugh and an even bigger personality. I met her at a party. I couldn’t help but hear her laughing at some joke clear across the room. The laugh was loud and open. It was really quite captivating. You couldn’t help but want to know a woman who laughed like that. And when you looked at her, you couldn’t help but wonder what other kind of big sounds she might make. Perhaps in bed.

I found the nerve (after four tequilas) to introduce myself. I was Beth. She was Janelle. I wondered how her breasts would feel in my hands. Glad we got that out of the way. Okay, so I didn’t really say that to her, but I wanted to. I did the normal non-stupid thing.

“Hi there, I’m Beth.”

I kept just missing her in the coffee shop. She was a short, anger-edged Wicker Park hipster with apple-red dyed hair cut in a bob, a little silver stud on her left nostril, and freckles. She always looked up and smiled, already throwing things into her backpack and on the way out the door. The other day I managed to brush her shoulder in the doorway as she was heading out and I was heading in. She almost stopped. But she just said "Sorry," surreptitiously and bolted for the train station. Yesterday though, I caught her.

The alleged Vincent Diamond (vincentdiamond.com) is a Central Florida writer who once drove from Tampa to Anchorage, Alaska in the days before the Alcan Highway was paved. Once. Like many writers, Diamond has had an odd assortment of day jobs that included being an inventory auditor, a pet sitter, a graduate student in Criminology, and a data entry drone. For the past few years, Diamond has written, edited, and proofread for various publishers. Time away from the keyboard is spent trying to pick up the correct diagonal at the trot, collecting caladiums, and pondering the beauty of tigers.

Diamond’s erotic short fiction has been finally collected together under one cover in Rough Cut, a book of sensual encounters between real men that will leave readers feverish to turn the next page. I was fortunate to have the chance to speak with Diamond.

When I awoke in our sunny hotel room, my wife was reading a travel guide in a large, comfortable armchair, her bare feet together on the seat and her knees bent out from her body. Seated in this position, wearing a mini-dress, she was giving me an intimate view. Her narrowly-clothed crotch took center stage, framed by the creamy curtain of her thighs and the cushion of her bottom. I noticed how the slim gusset of her lavender panties lay clingingly in the center of her slit, leaving the outer parts of her femininity visible. The lewd effect was crowned by the cute, straw sun-hat she had put on, in preparation for the day's tourist activities.

When the wind suddenly changed direction and the weather vane on top of the roof rotated a full ninety degrees, the man walking along the deserted street turned his head the other way and shielded his face with his hands. The wind was frigid, blowing down from the north. It was late at night. He had been working late as he usually did, partly because he loved his work, partly because he didn’t like being alone in his apartment, except to sleep. His name was Robert Black. He was a research scientist in one of the large pharmaceutical companies. He was working on the development of new drugs.