The Safeword Is . . ..

I semi-told this story once when I did a post about calculating women’s menstrual cycles.  And because I woke up with this story semi-on my mind, I thought I would relate it again.

At one time I hung out on a political webpage and spent a lot of time chatting on all things political.  It wasn’t a bad place: I not only met a lot of good people, but for the few years I was there I was able to exchange a lot of ideas with people who wanted to see things “go forward”, so to speak.

However, as time went on, the board became less and less about politics and more and more about just hanging out and not doing a hell of a lot but comment on shit.  Of course you had your unmoderated trolls who came on and had the difficult job of setting up straw men for the few suckers to knock down.  There was our house environmentalism who berated everyone for not being as green as him, but who had a very strange habit on pissing on any technological efforts to create “clean” energy, and pretty much turned out to be another Luddite who loved his Internet while not thinking about how he had the Internet.

And there was this one guy . . . he never had anything to say.  Oh, sure, he posted, but he never said anything.  He’d throw out comments in 100 character strings like we were his own private Twitter feed.  I didn’t pay much attention to him, because he wasn’t worth the attention, but it was impossible to ignore him, because you’d try to follow a discussion on the 2008 Elections, and there he’d pop up, bitching about his lack of a love life.

But what this guy used to love to do is play what I call Citation Troll.

A Citation Troll has only one purpose: they find posts where, when you are stating a position and mention a person or article in said post, point out that you didn’t supply a link to said person or article, therefore your post is bullshit.  This guy was famous for jumping onto your comment and telling you, in no uncertain terms, that you didn’t supply a link to that article you quoted, which means your argument is completely irrelevant and spacious–haha, you got p0wned so you can go away now!

So there finally came the day when he was lambasting someone for not supplying a link, and me, being the loving and cuddly person I am, jumped in and said, “Hey, I’ve read that article, the guy you’re ripping apart knows what he’s saying”.  So now it was time for Citation Troll to jump on my back and lament, “Where’s the link?  Since you have no link your position has no merit.  Therefor you are wrong.”

Well, now . . . I just couldn’t let that go.

I was very polite in my response, which was something along the lines of, “Hey, there’s this great tool called Google, so why don’t you take the information given and look it up yourself, you lazy, worthless fucker?  Do something besides bitch and tell people they’re wrong because they won’t make your life easy and do a little work for yourself, you stupid assclown.  I’m not your monkey, so kindly piss off and die.”  See?  I’m really a sweetheart.  If I’d wanted, I could have been mean.

So what does Citation Troll have to do with today’s post?

It’s all about doing your research.  Again.

No, not really.  It’s about teaching, I think.  It’s about imparting knowledge to others and watching it stick.  For example:

Last night Trusty Editortm and I were going through my erotic story, and they had a few questions.  Trusty Editortm is a “visual person”; they like to be able to see what it is happening in the story, and while I’m good at doing descriptions, there are times when they need to “see” something in all it’s glory.  And Trusty Editortm loves to push me to get that visual out there, so much so that there have been times when found myself getting a bit frustrated because they, and I gotta do something to let them “see” said thing.

So one of their questions had to do with a bondage position in which one of the characters found themselves.  Yes, Trusty Editortm had an image of how this character might have looked in the story, but . . . say no more, I know where you’re coming from.  With a quick Google search I managed to find a sit that, believe it or not, showed all sorts of different positions that a submissive could adopt, and right there: booyah!  I found the exact picture I needed.

And a little while later they asked about a type of vibrator one of the characters was using.  So time to fire up the Google search, and there you have it: the sort of vibrator I had in mind when I started writing.  Once more Trusty Editortm was happy, and trust me: I like keeping Trusty Editortm happy.

But it was their last question that I liked the best.  We were getting deeper into the action, so to speak (if you hadn’t figured out by now that said action involved someone being tied up and having a vibrator being used on them, you’re only skimming this post) and at this point the character in question had one more piece of “equipment” use on them–

And that was when Trusty Editortm asked, “Shouldn’t she be thinking about a safeword?”

See, this is where I’m kept honest.  This is where Trusty Editortm keeps me thinking and makes me realize I better not get lazy, ’cause sometimes they are seeing something in the story in a way I don’t see it.  And, of course, they are right: at that point in the story I should have had just a line, one little like, where the character in question should be thinking, “Do I need to drop the safeword right now?”, because, was was pointed out, the character in question was going through some mildly heavy shit.

But I had to comment, “I’m surprised you remembered that!” meaning they remembered the concept of safewords, which was something we’d once spoke about.  I was very happy when I saw the reply:  “I’m new at this, but I’m learning.”

Trusty Editortm isn’t a Citation Troll.  They like to listen, and they enjoy learning.  And they help me out considerably, because they keep me honest, sometimes taking what I’ve given them and giving it back to me.  They make me think and even look things up when I might not want to, because . . . well, that’s what you’re editor does.

They are your partner in this game calls story telling.

What more could one ask for?

In the Cold Kanvian Rain

It’s been raining here for most of the night.  Not one of those downpour-type rains where it’s pounding against the house, but rather one of those steady drizzles that maintain their constancy and volume through the day and night.

And it’s also chilly outside; it was down in the 40’s last night and it’s going to be like mid-50’s with a lot of wind today.  It’s dark, it’s crummy . . . so what else comes to mind but–


Oh, yeah.  I know you thought I was gonna say something else, but no: gaming came to mind.  In particular, the title of this point relates back to a game I ran so very long ago, and that makes me think about something else . . . no, not sex–


Allow me to elucidate.

For the longest time I’ve been a gamer.  It really all started in 1974 with war gaming, but 12 years later I was getting into role playing.  It wasn’t long after that I started running games–or “GMing” for you non-gamer types–and I quickly discovered that if you wanna have a good game, you have to learn to get inventive and imaginative pretty damn fast.

I also learned that when you spend 6 hours with 4 or 5 other people, all of whom are coming up with all sorts of crack-pot shit about what they want their characters to do, and you’re trying to keep of that while remembering where you had their characters go and who their character ran into, I had to figure out a way to keep all this straight in my mind.

Thus began the creation of my game logs.

I needed these to keep my own sanity, because I knew somewhere along the line one of my players would say something like, “Oh, yeah, my character got that Warhammer from so-and-so, and it already came with that Ultimate Badness Weapon.”  And naturally, if I didn’t have any way to disprove his claim, I could find myself in a situation where I’d spend most of an hour arguing that fact.

With my log, however, I could just go to the computer, pull up the session where said player got the Warhammer (it’s a mech, Jim) and tell the player, “No, you’re wrong.  See?  You got the Normal Crappy Weapons, so sit down and be happy.”

My game logs became something more than just a way of seeing what happened.  Because I didn’t want bore myself with a lot of cold, hard facts, I tried to write my logs in a way that were, shall we say, entertaining?  Now, sure: I would be the only one looking at them, but why not be a little inventive when describing the sort of crazy hell that is a role playing session?  I mean, if you’re a writer, you gotta entertain yourself as well as your audience, right?

And while I was writing I decided to extend that into the world of the characters.  During the 2 1/2 year run of my MechWarrior game I wrote 6 articles by one Winslow Duke, who had a very unique outlook on life, politics, and war in that particular 31st Century universe.  When I ran Cyberpunk for nearly the same amount of time I was always doing little writeups for the players, giving their characters a bit of a personalized window the events of the world.

And when things started moving more onto the Internet, my logs went there as well.

Eventually I started running a couple of games based off 0f TV shows, Farscape and Serenity.  Both these games had established online communities, and as I wrote up my logs I began posting them for others to see.  Why?  Because I wanted people to see what I was doing, but also because I wanted to entertain.  By this time my logs were getting more detailed, but they were turning more into semi-stories than simple explanations of what had happened during a game.

There was some great writing in my logs, and I feel it helped me at the time learn to be not only descriptive, but it helped improve my imagination as well.  Running a good game is like creating a good story: they are both one in the same in my mind.  And so, when you write about what happened during that session, you want to try to impart the feeling of what happened to the people who are reading.

I’ve lost my logs to my early games, but I still have my last two.  To say I keep detailed recording off all that happened would be damning those logs with faint praise.  My Serenity logs ran 108 pages and 64,200 words, while my Farscape logs ran 150 pages and 89,900 words.  And I have to say, I have some great writing in there, ’cause at the time, I really needed to entertain myself.

I’ve told people that one day I’m going to publish these logs, because they do show how I was developing as a writer–and they’re damn fun to read.  Or at least I think so.  Maybe people who aren’t into gaming would find them interesting.  I would hope they’d look at the writing and examine the creativity that went into the story behind the writing, and understand and enjoy what I was doing.

And if you, the reader, like what I was doing, then I succeeded.

Because, in the end, it’s always about being entertaining.

The Crazy Writer Sings Songs of Love–

Yesterday was a time for reliving.  No, not in the sense that I died and came back to life via some combination of magic and/or alchemy.  Nor did I shamble around the house doing my best Walking Dead lurch, mumbling “Brains” the whole time.

No, the reliving I did was in the form of going through my latest work in progress with Trusty Editortm and correcting all the boo boos I did when I was creating my intimate erotica story.

There is something very satisfying about sitting on one side of a computer with your story before you while someone on their other end of their computer is reading through it, looking it over, getting into the feel of the story, and finding little things here and there than either feel wrong or need to be corrected.

And it’s a very good feeling.

I’m really good when it comes to creating my first draft.  I used to think my first drafts were near perfect, and when we went through the first 4500 words yesterday, even though I hate finding stupid little mistakes here and there–I like to make “her” to be “here” for some reason, or use an “ing” instead of an “ed” and vice versa–I have to say that it makes me feel good to know how “clean” I am.

And with Trusty Editortm on the job, I know my work is gonna come out really, really good.

Now, the other thing I have to say about Trusty Editortm–and if this seems like I’m talking them up a lot, you’d be right–is that my erotica isn’t chasing them away.  Now, no one is losing body parts in the story, or being flogged with a puppy, but there are a few scenes that might drive someone away (and this is the part where I tell you what those parts might be, so Run Away if you don’t want to read!).  There is one extended scene involving my female character being masturbated while she’s trying to keep from urinating, and later there is some rather good bondage (trust me) followed by anal penetration and stimulation with a vibrator . . . or, as I like to call it, Saturday night.

And Trusty Editortm reads this and goes, “Yeah, this is really good . . . and you did this–“.  Well, sure, they read it before they began editing and found it all pretty hot, but I like how they can shift gears and put on their editor’s hat and help me out without getting all hot and bothered with weighted nipple clamps.  (Oh, did I say that?)

I’m happy to have their help, ’cause without them I wouldn’t have turned my last story into what it is today.  (And if you want to know what that last story became, then read Kuntilanak and show me some love for this blog whoring.)  And they’re going to do the same thing for this story.

‘Cause with their help it leaves me with more time to find pictures of people in bondage that I can use for a book cover.  I know: tough job . . . but someone’s gotta do it.

And I know when I start my NaNo novel they’ll be there with me, helping me out when I need it.

I love my editor Trusty Editortm, and I think that’s the highest complement I can pay them.

And for you reading this–you should only be so lucky.

Putting the Gear Away

I did something last night I’ve not done in a long time–no, not that.  Boy, put “erotica” in a hashtag and people begin thinking you’re Oscar Wilde setting off getting a load on and lashing rent boys.

No, last night I added about 600 words to my little erotic story I’ve been working on for a few weeks (folder was created on 20 September, so, yeah, a few weeks) threw in a virtual “The End” and there you have it: 10,000 words for an almost short story (a Novelette, if you will) in a completely different genre than the one I’d ripped off at the end of September.

So what is this thing that I did last night?  By finishing this story, it became the first time in a very long time that I cranked out two stories, back-to-back, and finished them.

That was my second “The End”, and it came only 21/2 weeks after I put my story Kuntilanak for sale on Smashwords.  (Yes, that was a double blogwhore; leave the money on my PayPal dresser, if you please.)  In the past I’ve done stories back-to-back before, but there has always been a . . . call it a reason why I never finished anything.  Sometimes it was due to the story getting away from me; sometimes I’d simply lose interest and give up; sometimes I’d work very, very hard at convincing myself that whatever it was I was doing sucked big time, so why bother?

No matter the reason, it didn’t happen in the past.  It happened last night.

And I feel better for the fact.

I was fortunate that Trusty Editortm happened to be on last night, so I combined all the parts into one document (Hail, Scrivener, for allowing such ease!) and sent it over to them for a quick read.  I think they liked it: actually, I think they got a little steamed up over the story.  And that’s even better, because the intention with erotica is to titillate, to arouse, to take the reader to that special place, as we might say.  And maybe I’ve done that, after so long away from actually writing anything in this field–

I should say, though, that this story is very much unlike anything I’ve written before.  Yes, I’ve written fetish fiction before, and while this had a lot of BDSM elements in it, this story was way different than the pieces I wrote before.  This was more real, if you can understand that.  It’s something that could happen.

And it feels real good.

So, 24,300 words on one story, 10,000 words on another–yeah, I’m getting up there in terms of putting out the tales.  And now that NaNoWriMo is starting up in a couple of weeks–50,000 words of madness, people!–I’ve laid the ground work for getting into my daily writing habit.

It’s all coming together.  My NaNo novel is plotted out; the notes are ready.  I’ve got two weeks to get into the mindset to write like a mad man.

What should I do until then?

Maybe . . . it’s time for another story.

Not So Strange Bedfellows

Here we are, plowing into the second half of October, and actually feeling pretty good.  Yes, things can go better economically, but beyond that I have this general sense of well being that seemed to keep my running.  It’s all leading up to something wonderful coming–or maybe it’ll be a good time to crash and burn.  We’ll see, won’t we?

I was out driving around last night, my mind doing strange things–like that’s a surprise.  Once, long ago in the month of May, I was out driving at night and came up with an idea for a story, but like a lot of other ideas it went nowhere.  I mean, it’s still there, but right now that idea is sort of dormant, and when I get a little more of an urge to write about college students playing around with being lesbians, then I will.  (Though there is a scene from that story that takes place in a theater–yeah, I still get that–)

I have no idea where my mind was last night.  I was tired–I still am–but not so tired I couldn’t spend 40 minute behind the wheel late at night safely.  I think my mind was just in that mode where anything that seems normal could turn sideways on you at any moment.

I think part of this came out of a group I’m in on a certain social media network.  Initially the group was suppose to be about “adult discussion” of things sexual.  I’m all for that, ’cause if there’s one thing that seems to be missing from a lot of discussions on the more, shall we say . . . intense aspects of human sexuality, it’s adults.  And, yes: they do state that anything goes in the room, that it doesn’t always have to be discussions about sex, and I’m fine with that, because you can’t really go sexy talkin’ day and night.

However . . ..

For a while now what’s been posted are a number of bad jokes, bitching about things like “my car got dented!” and a few pictures here and there of people being tied up.  And when there was a sexual discussion, it involved a few of the group’s women bitching about penis size.

Disappointed much?  Yeah, I am.

There was one discussion that got to me thought, and it was about using BDSM to spice up your sex life.  Sure, it always goes there eventually, because whenever discussion on bondage come up, it’s always cast in terms of how does this affect your sex life.

I was very much in the minority of the discussion, however, when I stated that people shouldn’t get BDSM confused with sexuality, because they are very much two completely different things.  To me, I don’t see something like bondage having a component that automatically leads to sex.  I can see it as being something that goes beyond sex.

But for a lot of people it’s all about getting to the orgasm, and since being tied up or spanked or wearing fetish clothing can lead to an orgasm, BDSM = Sex, and how can you use the former to spice up the later?

Since I’ve been slowly getting back into erotica, the notion has come to me that sex really isn’t a big part of erotica.  Oh, sure, all roads can lead to Roaming Fingers, but of late some of my discussions have involved situations where a couple can actually transcend sexuality, and turn even the simplest act erotic.  Part of yesterday’s musings were on this subject, and my mind was going there last night during my trip home.

Could a couple really become so in tuned with each other that they are not only instinctively aware of each other’s needs, but they have moved beyond the bonds of sexuality and exist upon another a level of eroticism that is almost impossible for others to understand?

I feel the answer is “yes”.  I’m sure a majority of people will say “no”, but I’m not one to go with what others say here.  ‘Cause I’ve encountered a few things that lead me to believe that, yes, when you are totally in bed with another person (and I don’t mean that literally) who is clicking on the same frequencies as you, then it’s not about sex or orgasms or even what one thinks of as erotica.

It’s gone to a level of sensuality that will redefine everything.

The only issues I have now–and what I was going over in my head last night–is how do I write that?

Because there is a story there.  It’s inside me.  All I gotta do is whip it out.

And I mean that in a good way.

Pillow Booking

My Nano work is shaping up nicely; every day I’m getting more plotted out as well as bringing in the characters that will act as the bedrock for the work.  And it’s all a process that becomes give and take, because as I do one thing in one area of the story, it makes me look at another area to see if something needs to be changed there.

For example, I plotted out the story the other day.  I created all the scenes I believe I’m going to need to turn the story into a viable dialog.  It was something I’d never done when I was coming up with the idea for the novel; then, it was just something of an exercise in how to plot something out in a three-act method and come up with a workable story.

But all that gave me was the bare bones–I knew I needed to add some meat.  So I started setting up scenes, and I realized that in my third act–the one where all the fancy action takes place–I was going to have to bring some other supernatural players into the game, and the moment I did that, I needed to put some names to faces that were pretty vague.

So up came my list of secondary characters, people who will help drive the story along, but who aren’t the ones who make it work.  There are still a couple to add, though I might put those in another folder called “Mooks”, because they’ve gonna probably die.

Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.

So that’s where I’m at, bring my words along nicely and getting ready to hit 1 November running–though the Mythbusters proved that hitting the ground running really doesn’t do much for you.


Now for something completely different–

Yesterday was time for another in a long line of discussions about things that make you go hummmmm.  In other words, certain types of erotica.  I was speaking with something and she–yes, she again!–began speaking about those things that she said she would find very exciting.  And as the discussion went on, she mentioned one particular thing that she would like very much–

She wanted to feel someone writing upon her.

Now, lets back up for a moment, because I want you to follow this train of thought before it bucks the tracks and cascades down into some chasm of bizarreness.  We are not talking sex here.  We are not talking about some fetish where one person gets off by having another write things upon her flesh.

Because, as the discussion progressed, it became obvious that what we were discussing went way beyond anything that could be considered sexually erotic.

And it touched me in a way that went beyond any discussion I’ve ever had that dealt with something that could be considered erotic.

For I could see where this was going.  It wasn’t just about getting out a Sharpie and inking “Do my Butt!” on her ass.  Oh, no.  It was about a special someone being with her, and writing things that had real meaning.  Writing words that would be important to her.

In reality, having someone leave an imprint of their soul upon her flesh, and allowing that imprint to seep into her very being.  And we’re not talking about tattooing here, because this really isn’t about permanence.  It’s about actually being a living tabula rasa and being an outlet for the creativity of another.

It was something that stayed with me last night, and even today I can’t get the image from my head.  I recounted that it sounded a little like the move The Pillow Book, only without the sex and drugs and Ewan McGregor’s large dong sticking out there for all to see.  It was something far more personal, more sensual, more–dare I say it?–erotic in a way that went well beyond anything to people could share.

I can imagine it would be extremely difficult for most people to understand how intimate something like that would be, to have your special someone sit before you on the sofa, shrug off their top, expose their naked back to you and say, “Place your inspiration upon me, love.”  I can see it because I’m not most people.  I’m out there.  I’m really, I believe, well into something else that moved beyond just “getting off” and into something that’s a great deal deeper.

What would you say if you could use your significant other as your writing tablet?  How would you feel if someone close to you carried your words upon their body for weeks at a time, keeping it hidden from but you.  Because we are talking about intimacy here: we’re not talking about getting inked up and then letting everyone else see those words.  At one point I said, “I could see someone writing upon your calves and then making you wear boots when you’re in public so no one else can see the words.”  And, yes: that was what she was realizing.  That was the idea, that the words formed an intimate bond between two people, and could not ever be shared with others.

Because, frankly, who else but the author and their tablet would ever truly understand the emotions such actions bring?

For with this sort of interaction, you move beyond anything most people would consider intimate–

We are talking about transcending the act of simply touching another.

This is all about the binding of souls.

Time For the Writing Magic

Reading through other blogs this morning–yes, I have blogs I follow–I came across one where the person spoke about their writing habits, and one of the things they related is that they have to schedule their time to write.  The reason being, if they don’t, they don’t write.  Gotta have that time laid out or the ideas won’t get put on paper.

Now, I don’t have a set time for writing, but I know when I write best and that’s first thing in the morning.  Once the computer is up, once the coffee is brewed, once the tunes are selected, I’m ready to go.  Given the right mood and weather and whatnot, I can crank out 1500 words in no time.  I often do a blog post first thing in the morning as well, much like right now.

Morning isn’t the only time I do my posts.  Usually at night, say after 8 PM or later, I can sit down and do another 500 to 1000 words.  Like last night.  I had the last scene to do in my erotic short story, and I started on it.  I don’t always have a good feel for the words there, and it’s usually slow going: as such, I was only able to do 500 words somewhere in the vicinity of an hour.

It’s funny, but the actual creation of stories seem to happen at the extreme ends of the day, while any editing I do happens during the later parts of the day.  When I edited my story Kuntilanak (buy it, people!) I did all the editing during the day after I did all my first-time writing, and I see to be doing that with my upcoming NaNo novel.  Sure, I’ll do a little editing at night, but it is really editing when you’re laying out scenes that allow you to plot out your story, as I did the other night when I set up all 23 scenes for my upcoming novel?

It’s an interesting dynamic.  I have these creative spurts at opposite ends of the day–morning and late evening–and when I need to actually make a story “workable”, I spend the day time editing, or doing research, or whatever.

And that research stuff . . . yeah, that can go anywhere.  For my upcoming novel I’ve had to do a lot of research on the Holmes Castle, and if you know anything about serial killers, then you know the Holmes Castle.  And why did I need to know about it?  Because part of my story takes places in a modern version of the place, expanded and enhanced with all sort of things that will make getting into it a very nasty proposition.  Naturally, if I made the place bigger–a lot bigger–then I needed to know just how much bigger we were talking, what sort of footprint the new building would occupy.  So off to Google Maps, pull up the old address, get a screen print, head into a photo manipulation program, start erasing things and, Voilà!  I have the footprint of the next Castle.

And, boy, is it big.

I’ve read a lot about the habits of writers: how some always write in the morning and are finished by noon, how some write for 8 hours like it’s a normal job.  How some set a goal to produce 1500 words a day, or 10 pages in 6 hours, or only 500 words but editing those words the whole time so that by the end of their writing time the writer has created the final draft in that time.

I’ve found these days that the best time for me to write is when I like to write, when I feel the most comfortable cranking out words that will make the paragraphs that will, in the end, tell my story.

And I know that when I write my NaNoWriMo novel, I’ll stick to the time that works best for me.  Or maybe I’ll switch things up for the hell of it.

After all, who wants to make this writing thing into a job?

I just here to have fun.


Erotic Slave Girls of the Paranormal

Oh, yes, my morning has been an interesting one.  I finished up a call with a friend who is recording stories of the paranormal for the Halloween season.  Of course I had something happen to me: I’m a strange dude, and strangeness seems to follow me around.  And while I can discount 99% of the things that have happened around me–most of those happened early on in my life, and most followed the consumption of drink and drugs–there are a few things that have happened to me that I can’t explain away: in particularly, there were two events–the ones I just spoke on–that I can’t explain away, and that were, in some strange way, related.

When I get into it, I think my early exposure to the paranormal shaped me in a way I can’t describe.  I think it put me in a situation where I had one foot in the real world and one foot in a world that was very, very unlike ours.  And when you tie this into my interest in science fiction, it has sort of twisted me in a way that is good, but is, for a lot of people, very strange.

Some of this has shown up in my writing.  Body enchantment, conjoinment, objectification: it’s all there, and I’ve written about it for more than ten years.  Body swapping and changing: sure, why not?  BDSM and all that it entails: of course, silly.  And if you can take any of those and place them into a science fiction or horror genre, go ahead and do it.

I have written straight science fiction and/or horror.  I think it’s safe to say the novel I’m writing for NaNoWriMo is probably science fiction, but when you add in magic I’m certain someone would say I’m mashing up genres and I’m crossing over into fantasy as well.

And it goes a little deeper than that as well . . ..

Part of the plot of my new novel is that the protagonist isn’t who she appears to be–I’m not telling you why, you’ll just have to buy my novel when it’s completed–and the only way the cast of characters finds out for certain that she’s telling the truth is when they end up at the home of the main character’s best friend . . . who is also her lover . . . and who is also a vampire.  And once the protagonist’s vampire lover “tastes” her–well, now, all doors are opened.

To me it’s not a big deal, but I’m sure there are some who would read that and go, “Oh, gawd, what are you doing?  Vampiric lesbian sex?”  Yeah, right.  I’m so sorry to hurt your delicate virgin eyes, but that’s mild to me . . ..

For me, erotica is everywhere, and it’s not just leather dresses and boots and keeping someone leashed like your personal pet.  Sure, that can be part of it, but if I look hard I can find it everywhere, in the simplest things.  And for me, erotica isn’t always about sex.  It can be about the relation between people, the looks they give, maybe something they wear and how it appears . . . anything.

It’s just that your mind has to be in that area to realize there is extremely sensual things surrounding us constantly.  It’s just a matter of how you take them.

I mean, what should I make of the following dream:

I wake up next to someone, and the first thing she does is roll over and slipped a nipple into my mouth.  I begin suckling and she’s lactating, so I feed from her.  And I feel things happening to me, but nothing of a sexual nature, just–change.

When I’m done draining her she leads me from the bed and takes me to the bathroom.  I look in the mirror and discover I’m a very beautiful woman, maybe in my 30’s, though it’s hard to tell.  The woman does my hair and makeup, slips in earrings, and then takes me back into the bedroom where she dresses me in a very feminine way, but nothing overtly sexual.

We find our way into the living room, and she puts a very pretty diamond necklace around my neck and tells me I’m to stay the way I am as I long as I keep the necklace on.  I’m happy with that; in fact, I’m very happy with everything.  It seems all so normal to me that I don’t mind that I’m this petite woman who is not only agreeing to everything my friend it telling me to do, but I’m loving it.  I’m loving the feeling that I have no control over any of this.  Sure, it’s a dream, but I feel this, and it’s all very natural.

As with most dreams things aren’t linear, and it seems like the end of the day comes and we’re resting on the sofa and I ask, so how much longer do you want me to wear this necklace?  And there’s a chuckle and a smile, and I hear, “Oh, love, I glued the clasp shut when I put it on you–”

I smile and look at her, and there is a look between us and I feel the love in that look, but also the desire we both have.  I slide off the sofa, get on my knees, and begin kissing her feet before I start sucking on her toes . . ..

So, do I enjoy the idea of becoming someone’s petite little girl who wants to please?  Is there any sort of erotic feeling there that can be mined for a story?

Does one have anything to do with the other?

You tell me.

Let Your Fingers and Anything Else Do the Talking

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.

It oughtta be fun.

Wonder Twins

My nights have been very strange of late, very strange.  Last night was no exception . . ..

Did the outline for my NaNo novel, and damn, are there a lot of scenes!  But by doing this scene-by-scene outline, I was able to see where the story should go, where the action is going to take place (Third Act, naturally), and I was able to add in all the “filler” stuff that I’ve wondered about from the time when I’d started putting this idea together a year ago.  Then I had an idea; now I really seem to have the beginnings of a novel.

And then it was late night talking with my friend about the characters we role play . . . and that, believe me, was a lot of fun.  It’s been a while since we’ve gotten into playing, and when we started discussing things that would happen to them years from now–things of a very personal nature, mind you–the feeling I had was one of excitement and anticipation.

Because I like creating characters, I like doing stories–and working like this with another person is like collaborating on a novel with someone who thinks the same way as you.  You get into each other’s head and you start to see where they are going, and they see where you are going, and before you know it you have both arrived at the same point with two different characters.

It’s a great feeling.  It’s one that I wish I could do on a regular basis with my writing, and produce works that are memorable.  While most people will never get a chance to read what we are doing, trust me: it’s going into great places.

And that’s what I’m starting to enjoy with the whole writing process: the art of creation.  When talking to my writer friend about her NaNo novel, you start getting into what they are doing and it opens you up: it makes you see things that you might not have ever considered before, and for those things that you have, you start to twist them around just a tiny bit to make them feel more at home in your world.

My world is sort of filed out, but only in the sense that I have a large canvas upon which to play, I’ve done just a touch of framing, and now comes the time when I need to fill it in with the details.  It’s like the feel of the city itself.  I’ve said the story is going to be a “paranormal steampunkish science fiction” mashup, and that’s putting it lightly.  I know how I want the city to feel, but now I gotta take all the stuff I just said and I gotta make a city that looks that way.  And I need to know a few more rules, and I need to add some players (this came up while I was putting scenes together), and before you know it I’m gonna have a real story on my hands.

No erotica today–though I do have some naughty things in mind for a certain someone; no strange dreams–though I had one that was not only strange, it was extremely unpleasant.

Today I’m all about creating things.  I’m all about building characters.

I’m all about the story.

Fantasies Galore

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.

Taking the D Train

Last night was interesting: I tried, for the first time in a long time, to remind myself to dream, and to remember my dreams.  Of late I’ve only been remembering bits and pieces here and there, though what I have remembered has been short and vivid.

So I reminded myself, set myself a goal to do this.

And it somewhat worked out.  Congratulations.  Next thing you know I’ll be kicking Freddy Kurger’s ass around.

For one I remember being in a control room, handing out advice and help where I could.  The other one, part of it took place on a road in the town where I grew up, and part of it involved being on a train with someone and getting off at the wrong stop, but no one would believe that we were where we were suppose to be . . . it’s a dream, remember?  Oh, and a lot of the motif seemed right out of some strange Art Deco world.

Now, once more, an interesting face: everyone in the dream other than me were women.  There wasn’t a guy in sight.  Once more, ramp down the idea that I’m having some strange little party going on in my head where I’m the only guy in a world of good looking women.  Not like that.  In the first I was sort of like the friendly guy who helps out with everything, and in the second . . . well, I was traveling with someone I know.  Not a kinky feeling or sex toy in sight, just straight up being nice.

Very strange to go there, or so it feels.  I’m going to keep trying this, see what happens.  And you know, I might just get a good story out of one of these suckers.

Yesterday was more world building, and when it comes to figuring out how magic works–oi!  I know it’s been done before, but I have to, have to know how it works in the story I’m doing for NaNaWrtMo.  There is a certain elegance to world building, because it allows you to really fine tune things considerably.  I know that some writers just go lazy on you, start making up shit from the start and then when things seem like they’re going pear shaped, they give you the, “It’s all supernatural, dude” line like that should be cool, don’t worry.

I guess it’s the old programmer in me that says, “Hey, this has to make sense, there has to be some internal logic to the story, if a person is called a sorceress instead of a witch, there has to be a reason.”  And there is in my story, which means I have to work into the natural order of things why she’s a sorceress and not just a witch . . .  Yeah, really, it’s a lot of fun when it comes right down to it, because you have to work that brain of yours, you have to get the imagination rolling, you need to work that brain the say way you should be working out at the gym instead of typing away at the computer.  (Yeah, like that’s going to happen.)

Yesterday saw something else: I jumped back into the role playing game that I’d started a while back.  Between all the writing I’ve done and various other things, it seemed like myself and the friend I play with had to step back for a while and regroup.  The total time away was almost a month, and once we got back into it, everything seemed to flow smoothly–although my friend stated that she thought her character has “changed” while we were away . . .  It seemed her character had gotten a little more relaxed, a bit less stressed out over the way things were going.

This isn’t a bad thing, mind you.  You step away for any period of time from a game character and start looking at them, and then start looking at how you play them . . . and then start looking at your life, and suddenly you began to get a different feel not just for them, but for everything.

A lot of times a person will come back and go, “Fuck it; I can’t play this character any more,” because they feel as if they’ve hit the wall and discovered that if they keep playing they’re going to turn into a psychopathic killer who can only love a person they know they’ll end up disemboweling with a garden trowel (and in some games this is pretty much a standard life path), but with my friend that’s not the case.  We both know where her character and my character are headed (hint: it will involve a white dress and babies), so there’s no need to think about a huge amount of gaming drama.  It’s just that–suddenly her character let something slip away, and she not only noticed it, but I noticed it as well.

I feel, if you were to put it in some type of gaming vernacular, it happened at the right time.  Our characters were with a group of people–fellow students and the instructor–and we were relaxing after what could be described as a grueling class.  But the mood was cordial; the discussion wasn’t about what we’d just did, it was about ancillary things, about things people enjoyed, a little about the school . . . it was about us.  And with the examination of the character, I feel it fits well that all of a sudden, BAM!  She relaxed and develops something of a new outlook.

So there is more gaming to come, more to our character’s stories.  Eventually we’ll get older, we’ll begin to see things with the eyes not of children but of young adults . . . hey, who are we kidding?  We both know where they are going, and what is going to happen to them during the next few years.

The story of their lives is there; all that remains is the writing.