Chapter Fourteen of Suggestive Amusements has become the literary equivalent of a cat trying to catch a laser point. I’m concentrating on the story, I’m working at hitting my points and counts, the plot and characters and action is right there–
Oh, look! Pounce, pounce, pounce–damn you! Curse you, red light of death!
Some nights are better than others when it comes to focus; last night was not one. But the thing is I hung in there, and made my thousand, and I’m closer to the end of the chapter. Thinking about it last night, that end might come today, because I’ve made it through all the set up and the transformations and the start of the kink, and all that is left is to carry out the sexy sex.
I’m usually good with that part.
Part of what I was dealing with during writing time was trying to find the right words. I didn’t want to say the same things over and over, so I was heading to the thesaurus constantly to find a word that wasn’t used, or hadn’t been used. If there is one weakness in Scrivener, it’s the lack of a functioning thesaurus, because having to jump out of what you’re doing with a copied word so you can leap into an online dictionary and check all the synonyms can break their hell out of your flow.
(Yes, I know there is a very easy way to do this in Scrivener, but this is the one thing I miss from Word that I wish I had in this package, where I could get that similar word right then and there. Today is maybe a good day to see if I can set up a template that does this for me . . .)
Fantasy has taken over my chapter, and it’s as I knew it would be. Nothing wrong with a little crazy fantasy, and if you don’t know where it’s coming from, you haven’t been paying attention. (Hint: eight thousand year old preternatural people can do strange things to reality when they decide to have a little fun.) Lots of turning into things you aren’t suppose to be, ending up with body parts that you weren’t born with, a bit of mind-churning excitement that leaves you a mess . . .
Yeah, it’s fun. No, really, I wouldn’t lie.
The story slides into its conclusion over the next four chapters, and then it’s on to my next project. I do figure that there are maybe twelve to fifteen thousand words remaining in the story, very few of which deal with latex covered women dreaming of submitting to their dream girls. No, none of that–just a lot of pain.
Which is how I’ve seen this story from the start: a painful journey of acceptance, with a bit of heartache near the end, and . . .
I know what comes after the “and”, but no one else does. At least not yet.
Maybe by the end of the year they will.
After all, I can’t keep this story to myself forever . . .
All that I seem to have these days is writing. Oh, man. It’s all about the story these days, it seems. That, and getting ready to head to the Undisclosed Location.
Yes, that moment in time is looming for me. I haven’t talked about it much, because . . . frankly, I haven’t wanted to talk. But situations have arisen where I have to leave my little cocoon of comfort and strike out for another city for a while. It’s not forever; it’s really all about paying the bills–which is coming to a head finally, as we started overdrawing one of our saving accounts horribly the other day while buying stuff for my move.
Irony, as some might say.
I’ve been a bit on the freaking edge for a while about this move, but, Saturday evening, after I returned home from a trip to get things arranged, I more or less calmed myself and put it in prospective:
There was a time in my life when I used to travel on business a lot. And I don’t mean like going from Chicago (the city I live very close to) to, say, Denver–which I have visited on business, but that’s another story–but more like going to Chicago to Hong Kong. Yes, I’ve been to China. Yes, I’ve visited there for many weeks at a time.
I’d pack up my stuff, head for the airport, fly to Minneapolis or Detroit, then fly to Tokyo, then fly to Hong Kong, and roll into the Sheraton Hong Kong Towers on Nathan Road almost 25 hours to the minute after I rolled out the front door of my house. After that I’d head for my final destination, just up the river in Shekou (where I’d see this as I approached my hotel, which is on the far right of the picture), and I’d settle in for a stay.
I’m looking at this move pretty much the same way. I’ve settled in for what looks like a 6 month stay at the moment. I may re-up for a year, may not; it really depends on how the position goes.
But after 25 years in IT, I’ve decided I don’t want to stay. I’m creeping up on 55, and that means I maybe have another good 10 years in IT before I’m told to call it quits again. It’s not the way I want to go, and I won’t go there.
Ergo, the writing thing.
I’ve been on a writing jag since the end of July. At this point I’ve written about 145,000 words for stories, and close to another 70,000 words just within the confines of this blog. For me, that’s quite an accomplishment. Not because I’m writing, but because I’m finishing.
The newest story, Couples Dance, is moving along well. I wrote another chapter yesterday, 1,270 words for the day and bringing the story total to 6,435 words. Now I’m moving into the “erotica” part of the story, a chapter where the sexual relationship between the two main characters is explored. It seems with this story I’m going an “every-other” flow with the chapters: there’s sex, and then there’s exposition. Get off, then get information.
And I like how this is working. Of course, I have two more chapters set up, and I know there will be more chapters after that. I just haven’t figured that part out yet.
Actually, just now, I went down to get coffee . . .
While getting a cup I had this post in my head, and I realized after the last chapter I have listed, there needs to be one where the couple in my story realizes something is happen, but they don’t know what; then one more bit of exposition, then one last really hot sex scene (and, yes, I know what that scene will be, because I’ve thought about it for a while), and then the coda, and ta-da! Story over.
Funny how I do that.
So, there. I have the story plotted out, and I just need to set up the note card chapters in Scrivener, and I’m ready to rock.
This is the sort of thing I want to lean on as I approach 60. Work as I knew it is over. It’s a dead end.
Pouring out my imagination to others . . . that’s where it’s at.
Just a reminder, I’m getting interviewed tomorrow, as I pointed out in this post. Bernadine Feagins from Phillybookpick’s Blog will interview me on Blog Talk Radio, and it’s gonna be a good time. Tomorrow, 18 January, at 1 PM EST, Noon CST, and 10 AM PST. Be there or be square.
Well, now, the weekend is over, a lot of crazy things are about to happen this week, and I’m still writing. This is the life I wanted, so I shouldn’t complain when it becomes a lot of work–
What’s that they say about being careful what you wish for?
Couples Dance took a turn that I hinted at yesterday. It wasn’t just a moment of additional erotica–I mean, I’d already come up with a couple of scenes that involved some interesting sexual situations–but it was a moment for the characters to suddenly change . . . and I got through it pretty quickly.
And if I got through it, then they did, though not completely intact. The follow up I’m doing now, with the main male character off to the library to look for some reference material–and where he’ll start to find out more about things around him–it really flowed nice when I was doing it last night. Yes, there was no sex, but getting down the character’s internal feelings . . . I feel like I hit on something with him.
The story is 5,170 words now, and I’m guessing it’s going to be another of those 20,000 word deals, maybe a little more. I realize that will limit my ability to sell this story; then again, it’s erotica with a bit of the paranormal thrown in, and that might draw in people who want to read something just a bit “off”.
Really, though: if something picked up my current WiP expecting to see sexy vampires, they’re going to be disappointed. For that, they’re going to have to read my NaNo Novel when it comes out, for one of the main characters is a very lovely lesbian vampire, and she more or less came to be in her current form because I was busy ripping the hell out of someone on my blog because they were mean to a friend of mine. Yeah, I’m like that: tell a close friend they’re stupid, and not only will I jump on you with both feet, but I’d get my character down pat.
The truth is, I had some trepidation with my current story. It was an idea I’d had for a bit, and I knew I wanted to do it at some point. I didn’t see myself writing it now though; it just didn’t seem to click with me, not at this moment in time.
But not that I’m into it, there seems to be a connection. It’s easy, and it doesn’t seem to be forced. It’s just . . . there. I sat down yesterday, finished one chapter, did some running around, came back last night and got into another chapter. Before you knew it, I was 526 words into Chapter 4, and almost 1100 words for the day.
It felt like I’d gotten through something–not unlike what I’m doing to my characters.
When I started this current story, there was a part of me that whispered, “This is gonna be strange for a lot of people; you sure you wanna write it?” Now I look at the story and think, “Yeah, screw it. I do want to write it. And anyone who wants to read it can.” Because, once again, when it comes right down to it–
You’re writing for yourself. You’re suppose to take chances. Someone doesn’t like it, so what?
Please your muse and she’ll make you happy. And if you aren’t happy writing, then why bother?
Well, things are progressing right along. Not with the story; no, that’s another . . . story. No, I’m gearing up for a bit of a move to a place I’ll be calling The Undisclosed Location. I’m hoping this is going to be something temporary, but who knows? As my muse always says, “That’s the thing about life, you never know what it’s bringing you tomorrow.”
I’ve never been one for facing my fears, and it’s done more than a little to hold me back throughout life. That’s something that’s been with me since I was a kid, and I’ve done little to get past it since. Oh, I’m getting better, but still: there’s a hell of a lot of room for improvement.
My writing is one area where there’s improvement. The output in the last five months has been very good. Oh, sure, I know there are writers out there doing a half a million words a year: I’ve seen their posts on the NaNo groups on Facebook. I’ve also seen a lot of “Help! My novel is a mess and I need a good editor!” I think what you mean is you need a good re-write, ’cause before you can get a good revised draft on that sucker, you need to get it a tiny bit cleaner.
The one good thing about being involved in NaNo is that I’ve meet some wonderful writers. People who struggle; people who have a good idea about what they’re doing; people who are almost “there”; people who have even “made it”. I’ve had similar experiences with the group of erotica writers I hang with as well. It’s a good time to hear from people who are sort of just like you, who face the same issues you’re facing.
It’s a struggle, this writing thing, always doing your thing alone, having to come up with ideas, working out how the story will run, getting all those crazy words to make sense. And the scenes! Right now, for my current story, Couples Dance, I’ve gone thought a scene with my main characters doing it on the table in the breakfast nook, and now . . . yeah, now I gotta push the envelope and take it to a place that I know is going to turn off a few people, but at the same time, it’s gotta be there. It’s gotta happen because, as I see it in the story, it’s a progression that will take the characters to the next level.
Seriously, for them, it is a point of no return. And in the end it’ll change them completely.
There is a point of no return coming for me–probably several, if I give it a lot of thought. I’ve already stated to some people, and stated it quite clearly, that my current profession, Information Technology, is a dead end, and I’m going to put it behind him as quickly as possible. I’ve had others tell me that my writing is good, they enjoy the stories . . . so when I keep hearing this, I know I need to push in that direction. This is really want I want in my life; to be honest it’s what I’ve wanted for a very long time.
So even with my current push to my Undisclosed Location, I have my other plans. I’m mapping; I’m planing. I’m trying to make this real.
As for my other Rubicons? I’ll reach them in time. And when I do, I’ll test the waters–
Perhaps I’ll even look for a shallow spot to ford.
My dreams are really something of a crazy miss-mosh of what-the-hell anymore. The last month and a half–maybe even two months–has seen them just go nuts. There are all over the road, making less sense than a GOP debate. And there doesn’t seem to be any reprieve coming soon.
I wish I could say why. Well, I probably can, but to do so means going into places in my mind that I don’t like to go. Or, making admissions that I’m not ready to make. True, at the moment I’m going through some rather interesting times; my life has decided to take a couple of twists and turns I hadn’t expected for some time, and it’s playing heavy on my psyche.
Let me see if I can rope this sucker together and have it make some sense . . .
My current story is proceeding nicely. Couples Dance hit 3,350 words yesterday, and I’m getting ready to spring a hell of a surprise on my main male character–lets say, when one comes home for dinner, what they’re going to find isn’t what one would normally be served.
I have a certain detachment to the story, but then, I’m usually that way when I write erotica. I get caught up in the story, but the sex is usually not a big thing for me. It’s there, yeah, and it’s integral to the story, but I tend not to get caught up in it; I end up viewing it rather clinically.
When I was writing fetish fiction years before, I used to freak people out when I’d tell them this. I know a few writers of erotica, and once in a while they’ll come online and go, “Oh, I need to be cooled off!” ’cause they just finished a sex scene, and they’re a bit overheated.
I’m almost never like that. To me, I’m trying to get it right, and when I do that I’m so into the now of the writing that I don’t have time to get turned on by my own writing.
This story also has a very unusual genesis, because the whole thing almost instantly came to mine during a conversation I was having with a friend, a very Sexy Lady with whom I chatted a lot over the summer. During our conversation the opening scene of the story instantly flashed into my mind’s eye, and began to gestate and grow.
And now I’m writing the damn thing.
Now, last night my Sexy Lady friend was on my mind. Oh, sure, there were a lot of other things on my mind as well, but she was there for sure–you can even say I took her to bed with me. I was tired, so I was out pretty quick–
There she was, in my dreams, waiting for me.
She was laying next to me in bed, smiling. I hadn’t seen her smile in a long time, it seems. She touched me and whispered something; I never actually heard it, but I know it was comforting, because the feeling was there. She slide up next to me, pressed against me–
Just like that, she vanished. It was as if she was never there.
And then the dream became one of those where I’m always in a dark space, trying to find my way around, seemingly all alone, and even when there is light, I can’t see more than a few feet through the gloom that’s almost impossible to penetrate.
I do get this a lot, the feeling that I’m all alone in a dark space, and I can’t see where I’m going. I can’t find what I’m looking for.
It’s madding, I’m telling you.
Sexy Lady is out there, I know that. Somewhere she’s sitting, working on something. I would venture to say that she’s even thinking of me when she gets the chance.
I see her in more than my dreams. I see her in my writing, and it’s her that’s bringing this story out. In a way, she’s my muse for this story, and a number of others.
She’ll always be there.
Travel day today. Talking about great leaps into the unknown, today just might be the one where I stand at the edge of the chasm and make the move to jump . . .
Early morning, and there’s snow all over the place. Was out at 5:30 clearing the drive, and man, I didn’t miss that at all. Now with a 3 Above wind chill out there. The only thing that was good is that it’s all light, lake effect snow, and not the heart attack-inducing wet snow that Chicago usually gets.
Today I was suppose to be on the road . . . not going to happen. Not with snow all over the place, and down to the south of me is where I have to go–or was suppose to. Calls to be made to let people know I’ll be in their town tomorrow morning, because with the weather the way it is now, I’m not going to travel 300 miles for something I’m not very excited about.
The writing was good yesterday. Couples Dance moved onward, hitting 2,350 words yesterday. Ended a sex scene and then proceeded into a discussion of old houses in Massachusetts and eating disorders. Did I mention that even though this is erotica, there’s a story here? See, that’s the one thing a lot of people don’t get: just because it’s got a lot of good sex in it–well, only one scene of good sex so far–that doesn’t make it smut or porn.
As pointed out in a discussion I had yesterday–and this is something I like to bring up a lot–if there’s sex in the course of the story, and it plays a part in the story, it’s erotica. If it’s just sex for the sake of sex, just to watch people get off, then it’s porn. Frankly, porn is boring: I stopped watching it in the 1970′s when I realized I should be out having sex rather than watching a lot of obviously stoned people having it. And I saw a lot of porn, because I grew up in a town where the local drive in showed porn flicks every weekend, and getting in was about as difficult as pumping gas, so I knew what I’m talking about.
The story is interesting, because I’m really not viewing it as erotica, per se. I’m looking at it as a horror story with a lot of sex in it, which is probably why I’m thinking of it as “Paranormal Erotica”. This might make it difficult to market, but I’m hoping that the story is going to carry the day, and people will enjoy the story, not because it’s paranormal, not because it’s got great sex, but because it’s a good story.
I spent part of the day thinking up another story as well. It revolves around the role playing character I created, Kerry, and how, after he begins teaching back at the same school he graduated from, he deals with a student who is transgender. Kerry feels strongly for the boy–mostly because there are many issues in his life that allow him to identify with the student–and he’s also very good when it comes to transfiguration magic. I’d actually looked at his story here before, months ago, and yesterday was pretty much a retelling of it in my mind, my way of getting all the lines finished the way I’d like them.
Like I’ve said before, Kerry is a character I’ve developed and grown with over the last 9 months–yeah, it’s been almost that long. And I know as an adult, he’ll go through some crazy things. But for him, helping this student is an important thing for him, because as time goes on he’ll find himself in a position where he feels the need to want to help. Help those who are upset, who feel as if they have nothing going on in their lives . . . who feel like they are different.
After talking about it for a few days, I’ve done it: I’ve started another story. But let me tell you, I had to get there in my own way.
And that way is filled with stupid.
Yesterday was a day filled with boredom. These days if I’m not writing I’m . . . I doing little. If anything. Fooling around online for the most part. Though I did have the chance to help out another writer with a puzzle box they’d locked themselves into, but other than that . . . nada. I put up yesterday’s post and kicked back.
Never good, not these days. Because in the end I start roaming about trying to find something to do. I rolled out for lunch, but didn’t take the computer because . . . I didn’t have anything to work on. I’m not editing Echoes, not yet, because I want to give that some time to marinate, more or less. Her Demonic Majesty–aka my NaNo Novel–is off being edited, so there was nothing to do.
Oh, sure, I was running things around in my head, but nothing that was really making me go, “Hummmm”. So I got my food, sat, started to eat–
And that was when I had this image. Library, two guys, one of them the librarian, and another guy asking about the former owners of a house he’d just bought a couple of months before. The discussion turned to taxi dancers and rumored lesbian relationships and a fraudulent insurance policy in 1928, with it all ending in a murder before . . .
Before we came back to today and lots of sex.
So when I was able Scrivener I started making notes, and I looked up thing on Google Maps, figured out where my story would happen, started to put named together–I recommend Baby Center for finding name because the Baby Name Explorer is really cool–looked up some Romanian family names, and I was off . . .
And before you know it, I had the beginning of Couples Dance.
Here’s the strange thing: while I view this story as having scenes of sexual congress, it way it feels to me is more like some kind of horror story. Maybe erotic horror? Because, to be honest, I don’t see this as the sort of thing that going to evolve non-stop, um, “dancing”. (If you aren’t sure what I mean by that, you need to spend more time in the 51st Century, or London during The Blitz–or both. Your choice.)
When I started thinking about what would happen in the story, I understood that I was going to have to do a lot of explainin’. I mean, it’s not gonna be enough to have a lot of things happening in the bedroom–or even the dining room–I’m gonna have to get into some history . . . gasp!
Oh, noes! What does he think he’s doing? I’ll tell you what I’m doing: I’m writing a story.
I’m going to write this sucker the way I want to write it. I know how I’ll start it out, and it’s going to come out of the gate storming. Then into the fantasy, and the history, then . . . we’ll see, won’t we?
After all, if I’m not writing this for me, for whom am I writing?
Hey, at least I didn’t tell you about how my dreams last night seemed to deal with me being some woman shot into space for . . . I never did figure that part out.
Strange things, I’m telling you. With Echoes done and sort of out of the way–I’ll likely start the first edits on it at the end of the month–I decided to run it through The Gender Genie and I Write Like to see how is stacked up. Gender-wise it came out female by a long shot, which I think had a lot to do with the last few chapters–though strangely enough, the longest chapter in the story involved a long chat between two men and that came out as very female-like.
But now I get to how I write and I’m bummed. The individual chapters all come up looking pretty well, but when I threw the whole shebang into the editor and ran it . . . it said I write like Dan Brown. Really? I write like a fucking hack? I write like a guy who couldn’t cut it as a musician and decided writing would be an easier way to generate coin?
I gotta work on that, ’cause that’s sort of embarrassing.
Yesterday I did more work on a little thing I’m doing on the side that I call The Salem Project. This is really nothing more than me taking the stuff I did when I was role playing at the Salem Witches’ Institute and putting it in a Scrivener project, so that if I want to see something, I have it right there where I can see it without having to search through a ton of threads.
I seemed to be doing this more out of a sense of melancholy than anything else. Late in the evening of 10 April will mark the 1st Anniversary of the “founding” of the Institute by the lovely Annie, and to put it bluntly, I miss the days when I helped create this place and then ran with Annie into the adventure of our characters.
Right now it sits quiet and empty, and perhaps one day Annie will find the time to return and continue our story. Right now I dream of what might be–as I was doing last night–and think about how this adventure did a lot to keep me from falling into the abyss. And I catalog everything so that I’ll have it. Oh, yes: I’ll have it all.
Last night was a time for reflection. I was a little bummed, I won’t deny that, and when I went to bed I had a lot of conflicting things going on in my head. That’s not a strange thing: my mind is my own worst enemy: it’s this fracking pain in the ass that does nothing but grind me down when I least need said grinding. So I ran a few scenes through my head–well, actually talked them out as I sat looking out the window–and drifted off to sleep.
My dream was, for once, pleasant, one where I was sitting around the house with someone I know, and we were chatting about nothing in particular, and there was a bit of touching and hand holding, and it ended with a cuddle that made me feel warm and protected. I still remember it as I write. It was nice. It was simple.
It was something I needed.
But then I started waking up, and I was in that crazy half-sleep state where you don’t know if you’re awake or dreaming. And it was then that I started having vision, and it was related to a story I talked about some time ago–in particular one scene that has sort of stuck with me–and in the vision something came to me: the end of the story. In a matter of, I don’t know, maybe 5 minutes, the way the story should ended was right there. The vision told me, “You have it all now”, and then sat back and laughed its ass off, as if it were taunting me to do something.
Yeah, I know how you work. Make me feel like a schmuck and browbeat me into writing.
This story has been with me for some time–at least the opening scene has, because it came about when I was talking with a friend and they told him it was something they would love to have someone to do them. The way I was hit this morning, I get the impression that I should do this. Because it’s prodding me to get to work. And it’s going to keep prodding. And if I don’t do something, eventually it’ll just whip out a big stick and club me over the head.
Last night was sort of “I’m relaxing here” night for me. I wasn’t editing; I wasn’t writing. I’d just spent the day getting an article finished and didn’t really feel like getting into editing mood. It was time to sit and think about what is coming next for me.
And in doing that, I started going back over what I been doing here, in this blog.
In fact, it wasn’t just this blog I was going back over, but I was sort of my history of writing that was under review.
I’ve been doing this blog for about 6 months now. I started it at the end of April mostly because I thought have a blog would be a good exercise. As you writer, you get better. As you get better, you learn how to figure out styles and plots and characterization.
In short, the more you write, the better you get at being a writer.
Originally I talked about things slightly political. Why? Because at the time I was into that. Back at the end of April and the start of May, yeah, I was there. I was big into politics.
But in time that changed. By June I was fed up with a lot of things. Politics (same old shit), writing (I couldn’t bring myself to do anything), life . . . it was all a very big bore for me. I didn’t write much of anything in June. In fact, I nearly gave up this blog because I felt I had nothing to say–and even if I did no one was listening.
Then came an idea for a story . . . and an idea for another . . . and one for a novel. I started writing my story, and decided I’d talk about what it was like to write. So I blogged about writing, what I was writing, what I felt about writing. Sure, some times I’ll get off the beaten track and talk about other things, but I’ve usually stuck to the point of talking about writer, or those thought relating to writing, and how it affects me.
And that brings me to my old writing. My old life, so to speak.
Long, long, time ago–we’re talking maybe 10, 12 years ago–I wrote a lot of strange fiction. To say it was fetish fiction would be a bit of an understatement; it was straight up fantasy wank material. I didn’t always think that, but I knew that it would likely be used that way.
I didn’t care, however, because I was writing. At the time it was the only way I knew to express myself; to do anything else would have been far too difficult because, frankly, I just didn’t have it in me to return to trying to write a novel. I was far too emotionally and mentally scared.
So I wrote about things that weren’t your normal stories. It pleased me because they entertained people. But I never actually took them seriously.
However, I’ve spoken at length about this. But speaking and showing are two different things. I’ve shown Trusty Editortm some of my work, but the majority of it . . . not a chance. It’s been a part of my life I’ve never wanted out for others to see. Oh, sure, she’s asked, but every time I’ve said no.
Because that’s not been something I wanted people to see.
However, over time, I’ve grown softer. I’ve begun to allow parts of me that I’d never let out before come out.
And today . . . maybe Trusty Editortm gets a present. Maybe they get to see what I was like back then.
You know, if I’m lucky, they won’t run off screaming. they’ll read them and go, “You were strange, but you were also good.”
It seems like when things can’t get any different, they do. Now, I don’t mean I have something different going on in my life at the moment: no, it’s the same old, same old. But it’s these strange discussions I get into with other writers and where they go.
For example . . . yesterday was a discussion day. I wasn’t doing a lot of writing–scratch that: I wasn’t doing any writing other than this collection of electronic musings. I was speaking with one of my writer friends who also has an interest in erotica, and we had a conversation on different methods of couples pleasing each other. And, yes, you can read this as, “How can you get kinky with each other?”
Because that’s pretty much what it was.
The ideas we came up with rather simple things: it wasn’t like we delved into things like bondage and heavy submission and domination topics. No, this was rather like a, “You wake up and you want to have a little fun,” discussion.
And fun in this instance involved toys. And I’m not talkin’ Tonka trucks.
The idea we had involved starting out with a nice rubdown–for her. Women love getting a massage, and when you do it with warm oil, be it baby or scented, it’s heaven. And guys shouldn’t feel afraid to go there because the lady friend you can have just as hard, or harder a day, than you.
So you get them on the bed, in a various state of undress, and you give them a nice rubdown. All over: back, neck, arms, fingers, back, butt, legs, feet. Just work that all in and take your time doing it. Let them feel every single touch. And don’t go for the sex part right away: this isn’t sex, this is sensuality, and it goes beyond sex . . . which my friend agreed with right away. After all, you shouldn’t have to go into anything with the expectation there’s going to be an orgasm waiting at the end.
Especially for the guy.
Of course, when you get near the end, that doesn’t mean you can’t go there. But how I explained it, while I have her on her tummy, all relaxed and happy, I’m going to go somewhere that’s probably really stressed. And in the process of getting rid of that stress, you give her an orgasm.
I mean, stuff happens, right?
But why end there? we said. And that’s when it was suggested that maybe what this moment needed–besides a shower–was to roll her over slowly, smile, get a sex toy–preferably one that’s going to fit very nicely in a particular part of her anatomy–and as you please her that way you show some love to her lips and neck and tummy and breasts.
Now, I can see where this might lead. One, some guys just can’t do this. It’s “romantic”, and it involves something that going to give them competition. Put that shit right out of your head, dudes. If your relationship is all about sex to begin with, then you don’t have a relationship with a woman, it’s a relationship you should be having with a Real Doll. Also, it’s not about your pleasure, it’s about hers, and you should be willing to go there–a lot. Why? Because you should, that’s why.
I think this is what comes of hanging with erotic writers and having an open mind: you can see how pleasure and closeness goes beyond just climbing into bed each night and hoping something happens–and that when it’s done one of you rolls over and goes to sleep.
Sensuality, to me, is all about the lead-up and not the act itself. It is about pleasure, but not just the pleasure that comes from getting off, it comes from all the little touches and the whispered words throughout a day between you and your special someone.
And if in the process of bringin’ the pleasure a vibrating sex toy comes into play, embrace what’s to follow, ’cause it’s likely to be lovely.
Now all I gotta do it write this up and turn it into a scene, because . . . damn.
I have to say the weekend was good from the point of writing and kicking around ideas. Now, I didn’t do a lot of writing. Mostly it was thinking, it was note taking, it was getting everything in line. I have a pretty good idea how my novel for NaNoWriMon is going to go, and the more I dig into the background of the world that my character, Jeannette Hagart, will exist, the more confident I feel it’s going to feel real.
The biggest hurtle I had was figuring out how magic worked. I had it laid out in my mind, but at best it was nothing more than an idea. Then I put it down on paper–as much as electronic media can be considered paper–and suddenly, yes, it all makes sense. There’s still work to do and things to figure out in the next, let me see the countdown clock . . . 21 days and change as of this post, but I’m confident I’ll resolve those issues. (Did you really think I was going to end with that three-word phrase that epitomizes everything one needs to know about being an ignorant hillbilly? For shame.)
But, hark! But at the same time I was involved in more world building with someone else. A friend who I’ve known for a year now–one who I met in a writing class was taking–and a past participant in NaNo, is getting back into the novel she started last year. So we chatted, and we kicked some ideas involving her story around, and she got into Scrivener and started noting things out. (Yes, I know I’ve already mentioned this in passing, but I can talk about it again–it’s my blog.) She’s got a great idea, and it’s highly possible our discussions about walking around in a very strange realm has led to some of the memorable dreams I’ve had of late.
(And even though I have it on my link list, check out my friend’s blog. Yes, you’re just be blog whored. Was it good for you? Now give me a kiss–and leave your like on the dresser on the way out–)
And now that all that’s out of the way, lets get to the real fantasies . . ..
(Just to let you know, some kinky stuff is going to happen below this line. If you don’t wanna read it, don’t go there. You’ve been warned!)
I was discussing my little erotic story (which, when I finish it this week will top out about 10,000 words) with another of my female friends, and the talk led into areas which were, to say the least, very erotic and sensual. I’ve found that when you write stuff like this and begin discussing it, something happens: the inhibitions come down and the imagination starts to work overtime.
And then the fantasies come.
Hers was one you don’t hear every day: she’s always wanted to watch a guy get himself off. I can understand that, ’cause unless you’re a woman who’s watching a lot of non-lesbian porn, you’re not gonna see that money shot very often. That part of the act is, for the most part, gonna finish up in her, um, Chamber of Secrets. (Yes, I went there: sue me.) So I can understand that, as a women, having a certain fascination at wanting to see that part of the act occur.
So we got to discussing doing just that, and as things progressed the discussion became a bit more graphic in turn–like we were laying out a scene for a story–and by the time we’d reached the almost end, she was imagining herself on her knees with a deposit of someone’s love offering covering her breasts.
I say “almost end”, because the coda to that was her standing, pushing her breasts together, and asking her partner to clean her off–
With his tongue.
As Hank Kingsley used to say, “Hey now!”
It’s very intriguing to go into these discussions, because you not only see how another person’s imagination works, but you see how far you can take yours. And if you can go to crazy sexual places with your imagination–
Just imagine where you can really take it when pressed.
Yesterday had a nice element of fun to it. I’m gearing up for National Novel Writing Month and a fellow writer who tried it last year is going to give it a shot against this year, and so she was bouncing ideas from her story off me and I was bouncing things back at her. I love doing that; I like the give and take that comes from hearing an idea and then coming up with your own that might complement theirs, and then how they take that next idea and make it into something else . . . creativity: there’s nothing like it.
While we were doing that I was also helping them with getting the noted they needed for their story set up in Scrivener, my favorite writing friend (next to Trusty Editortm, that is). The public beta is going live the end of October, by the way, and getting it is going to be the best $40 you can spend if you’re a writer, but that’s besides the point . . . my writer friend was going through the paces with it, and likes the interface, but then they’ve used it a few times before and they sort of know their way around. Still, I love helping people out, particularly when it comes to writing.
My own NaNo novel is pretty much finished as far as the world building is concerned. I know I’m probably forgetting something important (in fact, thinking about this right now I know I am), but I still have 20 or so days to get this thing to the point where all I have to do is write and not worry about some little niggling thing like is Milwalkee a part of my supercity (it is) and if it’s important enough to worry about in the story (it isn’t, so Hey Der, Ho Der, Ya Hey Hey). I’m doing time lines on one of my main characters, which really isn’t all that consuming since I’m not doing every event in her long life, but there’s enough there that as I fill it out for all the other books I’m going to write in these series I’ll keep adding to it as I go along.
I just realize the big thing I need to square away is how magic really works–I know I have the building blocks there for what is needed to pull it off–but I really need to put in something about foci. Yes, it exists. Yes, you can use it. Yes, it does bad-ass things for the right person, ’cause in one of my first scenes I have someone getting hit in the face with a whip being used as a magic foci and their face imploded. Rock me, baby!
At least I have a very good vision for the main character’s outfit. Yes, it’s gonna come across very fetish-like, but there are very good reasons for this. Most of the look comes care of Dr. Helen Magnus, who wrote the book What The Best Dressed Woman Wears When Kicking Ass, and I thank her profusely.
Oh, and I fired off the last completed scene for my little erotic story I’m doing to Trusty Editortm and got a very good reaction. So far in 4 main scenes I have just a hair under 9,000 words completed, and with then coda I’m thinking it’s going to top out at a neat 10,000. Then I’ll probably do a quick format on it and upload it to Smashwords (where you can find my latest masterpiece, Kuntilanak) and offer it up for the low price of $0.99. A steal for a some very sensual, sexy, somewhat intense erotica.
And with that I was off to bed . . . and off into my dreams.
Something to note here: for a while my dreams haven’t been all that great. Sure, every so often I’ll have a very short, very nice dream come to me that leaves me going “Hummmm” in the morning–and yes, I’ve had a few in the last month or so–but for the most part I can’t even remember the damn things. And it’s a bummer, because for a while I had the most vivid, lucid dreams you could imagine, and it was a great thing to have one and then remember all of it the next morning. Yes, they would be strange and wonderful, and they’d sometimes leave me wondering just what the hell was going on inside my head.
But last night . . . jeez, it seemed like I had a ton of crap heading my way and for no reason.
For some reason it started out with someone I used to game with calling me from across the street, and explaining to me that a ’72 Buick convertible filled with insanely hot early 20-something women seemed to have lost its brakes, and what was I going to do to fix it, and like right now? For some reason I was getting majorly bitched out over this, and it was driving me crazy.
Then there was a minor interlude which I will get to in a moment . . . but this was a lead-in to the following, which consisted of me running from a demonic smiley face. Yeah, you got it. It was something like a smiley face that would follow me around, and it would get closer and closer until all that would fill my vision would be this single black eye . . . and then I’d heard this low, frightening growl. This happened three times, and the third time I woke up, my head shaking, my breath starting to slow.
I was one of those clear, cool nights last night, and I don’t know the time, but I sat up and looked around the empty bedroom and thought about why I was having dreams like that, and eventually drifted back into something like a state of semi-sleep until the sun came up and I got out of bed once more and hopped onto this computer.
I hate freaky ass nightmares. I hate how they never make sense, how there serve no other purpose save to scare the shit out of you and wake up you panting and sometimes shaking, and leaving you wondering why the hell bad things are happening to you.
They could be more like the middle dream . . ..
In that I was young. I don’t mean “younger”, I mean like I was late tween or early teen. I was in my nightclothes, and I was wandering about a school late at night, and there were lots of pools of darkness and dim spots of lighting here and there, and it was very, very peaceful.
Oh, and I wasn’t alone. I was with a friend, a girl who was my age and also dressed in her pajamas, and I think we were playing some elaborate game of hide-and-seek, or we were looking for someone (I do get that feeling that we were looking for people)–or maybe we were simply wandering about an empty school building sometime after, say, a Midnight Madness was over and we just weren’t ready to head back home and go to sleep–
That was the best one. That was the one where I could feel, right in the dream, that I was happy and relaxed, and I wanted to spend the rest of the night walking about, hand-in-hand, with this girl who smiled and batted her eyes at me every so often, partially because it was funny, partially because I knew she cared for me and this was on of her ways of showing endearment.
No magic; no latex; no bondage; no sex–just something sweet and loving. I don’t expect every night to turn into The Dreamer’s Ball, but you know . . . why can’t I have more dreams like that one?
Why can’t every night find you hand-in-hand with someone sweet?
