Apparently there's a thing, called StoryADay, that takes place in May. It's kind of like NaNoWriMo, only with short stories instead of a novel, and it takes place at a much more convenient (for me) time of year.
Anyway, there's a site and all, just like with NaNo. I'm not going to formally sign up, as too much cheerleading tends to get on my nerves. Plus there's the whole talking too much about your smutwriting thing amongst the vanillas and prudes. But I am going to commit to writing a story a day for the month of May, and loosely tracking my progress here. Because my muse has been a lazy ass git lately, so this will be my way of laying my cane across her backside and getting her back into proper form.
Write on!
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Kinky States of Mind
The erotica challenge Remittance Girl posted has given me an excuse to revive my own poor, neglected blog. RG's challenge was to write the exact same sex act, using nothing but the tone of language and the
POV of the narrator to present it as either kinky or vanilla.
Details are available here.
Here's my take.
Take 1: Vanilla
Details are available here.
Here's my take.
Take 1: Vanilla
It was like something out of a porno. Erin’s body hunched on the bed in the doggy position with two of my well-lubed fingers buried in her asshole. Her own dainty hand reached between her legs and diddled her clit. I stretched forward, so my head was next to where hers lay on the pillow, and kissed her. Her pale blue eyes locked with my dark browns, like she was searching for something.
“You doing okay?”
She nodded.
“You sure about doing this?”
She nodded again. “I want to be able to give you something only we’ve done, share part of myself with you that no other has had.”
I kissed her again. Her lip gloss tasted like watermelon. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I positioned myself behind her, on my knees, and withdrew my fingers. Her heart-shaped ass was beautiful by any objective standard, but more so because it belonged to the woman I loved. I couldn’t believe she was giving me this gift.
With my unlubed hand I picked up the condom wrapper off the bed, tore it open with my teeth, and unrolled the rubber over my erection. I squeezed some more lube onto my sheathed cock, rubbed it around, and positioned the head at her entrance.
“Let me know when you’re ready.”
She nodded.
“Remember what your article said. Push back against me while I’m going in.”
“Just take it slowly, okay?”
I pressed against her asshole, felt it resist, then give way. When the head was inside her I paused until Erin nodded she was okay. Her fingertips continued their dance on her pussy, and soft moans escaped her lips. From my position on my knees I had the perfect view of my cock burying itself in her ass, very slowly, inch by inch. The image burned itself into my mind. Finally, I was buried all the way in.
”Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“You all right?”
“Yes. Just don’t start yet, okay?”
The grip of her ass on my cock was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, tighter than any pussy, mouth, or the grasp of a hand. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to thrust, to fuck, to take my pleasure from her body and empty myself inside her. Somehow I held off. I was the luckiest guy on earth, and I was not about to screw it up by acting like a selfish jerk.
She reached for the pocket rocket on the nightstand, twisted the handle until it started to buzz, then placed it against her clit.
“Fuck me!”
Take 2: Kinky
Such a pretty pet, hunched on the bed in the doggy position with two of my well-lubed fingers buried in her asshole, offering the gift of her submission. I had not been gentle about it either, thrusting both fingers in at once. The point was to make sure she knew I was worthy of the gift she offered, that I was up to the task of topping her.
Her own dainty hand reached between her legs and diddled her clit. I stretched forward, so my head was next to where hers lay on the pillow. Her pale blue eyes locked with my dark browns, awaiting my next instruction.
“Your ass is mine now, whore. Just another hole available for my use.”
“Yes, sir.”
I positioned myself behind her, on my knees, and withdrew my fingers. Her perfect heart-shaped ass was a blank canvas awaiting my marks. I couldn’t wait to color it in with the pink glow from the flogger, and the cane’s cruel red lines.
With my unlubed hand I picked up the condom wrapper off the bed, tore it open with my teeth, and unrolled the rubber over my erection. I squeezed some more lube onto my sheathed cock, rubbed it around, and positioned the head at her entrance.
“Beg for it, whore.”
“Please, sir, may I have the pleasure of your cock in my slut ass?”
I pressed against her asshole, felt it pucker in resistance, then give way. When the head was inside I paused, waiting to see how she would react.
“More please, sir?”
“Good girl.” With a single stroke I pushed the rest of the way in.
“Oh fuck.”
Her fingertips continued their dance on her pussy, and soft moans escaped her lips. From my position on my knees I had the perfect view of my cock buried in her ass. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to thrust, to fuck. The beast inside me—the one that longed to hear her whimpers and cries, to take pleasure from her pain—strained at its leash. I held it back. If she was going to code, now was the time.
“Status?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Green, sir.”
“Good girl. Now take the vibe off the nightstand and use it on yourself.”
She picked up the pocket rocket, twisted the handle, and placed it against her clit.
“What do you say, whore?”
“Thank you, sir.”
I let the beast fly.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Men and erotica
I'm going to preface this by saying I don't really know anything. I've never worked in publishing in any capacity, and I don't have any supersekrit inside information. It's just the opinion of one (as yet) unpublished smutwriter.
I've taken part in several conversations lately about whether men would (or do) have any interest in reading erotica. And they kinda make me laugh, because I'm old enough to remember when erotic fiction was something that was written primarily by and for men. It was taken as self-evident that women had no interest in reading about explicit sex. Romance and love stories? Sure. Explicit details about what was taking place behind those closed doors? Y'all were supposed to be too delicate to have any interest in reading about stuff like that. Yeah, right.
The thing is, though, I think us guys kinda screwed up. Or maybe it was a necessary social contract given the times. Because the deal was, we could enjoy our smut in private, as long as we kept it private. Those books were kept under the counter at the bookstore, and we had to explicitly ask for them. And they never ever ever got left out on the coffee table, or discussed in polite company.
Fast forward to the 1980s, when it first seems to have occurred to anyone in the publishing industry that women might be interested in reading sexually explicit fiction. From what I can tell, that radical (for the times) idea seems to have been conceived partly by the queer press, and partly by the sex-positive contingent of the porn wars being fought in the feminist movement back then. As a straight guy I was no more than a distant spectator to the whole thing. But it appeared to me to be good.
And I think you did it right. Because you insisted on your interest in sex being acknowledged. You owned it. No hiding under plain brown wrappers for you.
Moving on into the 90s the whole thing went mainstream. Starting with Susie Bright's Herotica anthologies, and later the Best Women's Erotica series from Cleis Press. Sure, there were a few wrong turns along the way. Don't get me started on what I think about the late Black Lace imprint, who wouldn't even consider stories written by male authors. Because a man couldn't possibly write about sex in a way that women would want to read. They were there to keep female fantasies safe from us icky boys, who might corrupt them, and turn them into porn. *rolls eyes*
Which brings us to today, when it's taken as an article of faith that the audience for sexually explicit fiction is largely female, especially for longer works. I've lost count of how many times I've heard that men are more interested in watching sex, in porn, while women are more interested in reading about it on the written page. Except I don't think it's any more true than the earlier idea that women weren't interested in reading erotic fiction at all.
What I think is, publishers in the 21st century put more effort into marketing erotica to women. Because somewhere along the way, the erotica and romance genres seem to have gotten hitched, and now all the smut ends up in the pink aisle of the bookstore where the guys aren't looking for it. Except I don't think we ever really went away. I've certainly been here all along, reading erotic fiction, and more recently writing it, and I strongly suspect I'm not alone.
Recently, I've been seeing signs that the pendulum is starting to swing back the other way. Writers, editors and publishers are taking notice of the fact that we're here. I think e-readers are partly responsible for that. Because on a Kindle no one can see what you're reading. But I also think there's a certain amount of natural self-correction going on.
As one example of that, the fine women over at gee/k/ink have taken notice of the fact that they've been getting male readers lately. And if you haven't checked them out, you totally should. Because they rock. And now Ellora's Cave are getting in on the deal, launching a new line targeted specifically at men. To which I say welcome to the party. Glad you finally noticed we were here.
I've taken part in several conversations lately about whether men would (or do) have any interest in reading erotica. And they kinda make me laugh, because I'm old enough to remember when erotic fiction was something that was written primarily by and for men. It was taken as self-evident that women had no interest in reading about explicit sex. Romance and love stories? Sure. Explicit details about what was taking place behind those closed doors? Y'all were supposed to be too delicate to have any interest in reading about stuff like that. Yeah, right.
The thing is, though, I think us guys kinda screwed up. Or maybe it was a necessary social contract given the times. Because the deal was, we could enjoy our smut in private, as long as we kept it private. Those books were kept under the counter at the bookstore, and we had to explicitly ask for them. And they never ever ever got left out on the coffee table, or discussed in polite company.
Fast forward to the 1980s, when it first seems to have occurred to anyone in the publishing industry that women might be interested in reading sexually explicit fiction. From what I can tell, that radical (for the times) idea seems to have been conceived partly by the queer press, and partly by the sex-positive contingent of the porn wars being fought in the feminist movement back then. As a straight guy I was no more than a distant spectator to the whole thing. But it appeared to me to be good.
And I think you did it right. Because you insisted on your interest in sex being acknowledged. You owned it. No hiding under plain brown wrappers for you.
Moving on into the 90s the whole thing went mainstream. Starting with Susie Bright's Herotica anthologies, and later the Best Women's Erotica series from Cleis Press. Sure, there were a few wrong turns along the way. Don't get me started on what I think about the late Black Lace imprint, who wouldn't even consider stories written by male authors. Because a man couldn't possibly write about sex in a way that women would want to read. They were there to keep female fantasies safe from us icky boys, who might corrupt them, and turn them into porn. *rolls eyes*
Which brings us to today, when it's taken as an article of faith that the audience for sexually explicit fiction is largely female, especially for longer works. I've lost count of how many times I've heard that men are more interested in watching sex, in porn, while women are more interested in reading about it on the written page. Except I don't think it's any more true than the earlier idea that women weren't interested in reading erotic fiction at all.
What I think is, publishers in the 21st century put more effort into marketing erotica to women. Because somewhere along the way, the erotica and romance genres seem to have gotten hitched, and now all the smut ends up in the pink aisle of the bookstore where the guys aren't looking for it. Except I don't think we ever really went away. I've certainly been here all along, reading erotic fiction, and more recently writing it, and I strongly suspect I'm not alone.
Recently, I've been seeing signs that the pendulum is starting to swing back the other way. Writers, editors and publishers are taking notice of the fact that we're here. I think e-readers are partly responsible for that. Because on a Kindle no one can see what you're reading. But I also think there's a certain amount of natural self-correction going on.
As one example of that, the fine women over at gee/k/ink have taken notice of the fact that they've been getting male readers lately. And if you haven't checked them out, you totally should. Because they rock. And now Ellora's Cave are getting in on the deal, launching a new line targeted specifically at men. To which I say welcome to the party. Glad you finally noticed we were here.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Reading, Writing, and Smut
There was a thread on Absolute Write recently about which you'd give up, if you had to choose between never reading erotic fiction again, or never writing it. One of those purely hypothetical questions, thank God, like those internet polls about if you had to choose between never again having intercourse, or never again receiving oral sex, for the rest of your life.
For me, reading is such a necessary precondition for writing, that my answer was obvious. It's like breathing and eating. Without air, food isn't going to do you much good. So I was shocked by the number of people who said they'd give up reading smut before writing it, and even more shocked by those who said they don't read much original erotic fiction to start with.
To me, it's self-evident that if you're trying to write in a genre, and not reading what else is being done in that genre, you're writing with one hand tied behind your back. Heh. Bondage pun. Like you didn't see that coming.
I read a fair amount of erotic fiction. And let's be honest, after a while much of it does start to sound the same. And I'm not just talking about the tab-A slot-B descriptions and purple prose in the free stuff that's splooged all over various sites on the internet, but quality erotica. Something an editor thought was worth paying for. There are the thinly fleshed out characters, who it seems like we've met a hundred times before, the plot whose main function is providing an excuse for the characters to get it on, and the same old (albeit well written) in-and-out. Been there, done that, reached the climax, and probably never thought about that story again.
Then, every once in a blue moon, I read something made of pure awesomesauce. Something that takes my breath away. Those are the pieces that keep me going, and keep me growing, as a writer. Not just to be able to write the stories that are already in my head, but to be able to write something like that.
Thus endeth today's rant. Read the shit in the genre that you write.
For me, reading is such a necessary precondition for writing, that my answer was obvious. It's like breathing and eating. Without air, food isn't going to do you much good. So I was shocked by the number of people who said they'd give up reading smut before writing it, and even more shocked by those who said they don't read much original erotic fiction to start with.
To me, it's self-evident that if you're trying to write in a genre, and not reading what else is being done in that genre, you're writing with one hand tied behind your back. Heh. Bondage pun. Like you didn't see that coming.
I read a fair amount of erotic fiction. And let's be honest, after a while much of it does start to sound the same. And I'm not just talking about the tab-A slot-B descriptions and purple prose in the free stuff that's splooged all over various sites on the internet, but quality erotica. Something an editor thought was worth paying for. There are the thinly fleshed out characters, who it seems like we've met a hundred times before, the plot whose main function is providing an excuse for the characters to get it on, and the same old (albeit well written) in-and-out. Been there, done that, reached the climax, and probably never thought about that story again.
Then, every once in a blue moon, I read something made of pure awesomesauce. Something that takes my breath away. Those are the pieces that keep me going, and keep me growing, as a writer. Not just to be able to write the stories that are already in my head, but to be able to write something like that.
Thus endeth today's rant. Read the shit in the genre that you write.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Flash Fiction: An Unexpected Guest
Chuck Wendig has a Flash Fiction Challenge going on his blog. The theme is "An Unexpected Guest". Here's my entry.
An Unexpected Guest
by CJ Lemire
An Unexpected Guest
by CJ Lemire
I’ve known Mike for about five years. He rented the place two houses up from where I lived at the time, through some deal with the landlord where he stayed there for free in return for renovating the kitchen. I was going through a bad breakup. He drove a Camaro, and worked outside, with his hands. I drove an Accord, and worked in a cubicle, on a computer. We drank a lot of beer that summer. He moved on after that, but we stayed in touch, and once every blue moon his number shows up on my caller ID.
I was at work when he called. “I’m passing through. Gonna be working a job about 20 miles north of you. How about we get together for a beer, grab dinner, shoot some shit?”
“Come on by the house,” I said. “Meet Darla. Have you found a place to stay? We have a guest room.”
Darla was pissed. She denies it, but she has this double standard thing where her friends and family are welcome to drop by the house any time. Mine, not so much.
That night, they fucked. Darla got over being put out once she saw what a charmer Mike was. And Mike wasn’t one to let a thing like friendship get in the way of hitting on a woman he found hot. Dick takes priority, he’d say.
Another man might have been angry. Hit him. Hit her. Kicked him out. Kicked her out. Another man wouldn’t have lain awake half the night in the guest room like I did, jerking off to the sounds of my friend fucking my wife, my dick made hard by her moans, much more vocal than when I fuck her myself.
Mike made himself at home. Darla pretty much stopped wearing clothes around the house. I’d get home from work, and he’d be on my couch, watching porn on my TV, drinking my beer, my wife on her knees sucking his cock. “What’s for dinner?” he’d ask.
He made her show me her asshole. How stretched it was getting, from their fucking. She’d never let me have her there. “That’s an exit, not an entrance,” she’d said. Different rules for different dudes, apparently. I didn’t question it.
I spent every night in the guest room, stroking my cock and listening to them fuck. And every morning, getting up and making them coffee and breakfast, serving it to them in bed. On the third morning, and every day after that, she made me lick her pussy while they flirted and ate. Usually, it was still full of his spunk. He laughed at that.
After two weeks, I came home to find her in tears. Apparently the job was done. Or shacking up with Darla was starting to seem too much like responsibility. Either way, it was time for him to move on.
I held her that night, in our bed, while she sobbed. She rolled over on top of me, knelt up, and sat on my face. I licked her pussy to a couple of nice orgasms, which made her feel better. After, she let me fuck her. She read her magazine while I did it. Told me she could barely feel me inside her. Asked if I was done yet, so she could turn out the light and get some sleep. I lasted about thirty seconds.
After a few days, things settled back to normal. Almost like he’d never been there. But I know, six months or a year from now, I’ll get a call.
“I’m passing through,” he’ll say.
“Come on by the house,” I’ll reply. “Darla will be excited to see you again.”
When I tell her, she’ll get all girly girl, and put on her frilliest undies from Vicky’s. And I’ll move my things into the guest room, knowing that for however long he stays, I’ll get to enjoy the sounds of my wife getting off like she means it.
The things we do for love.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Looks like I'm back!
Oh, hey... hi! Looks like Blogger is gonna let me back in to my own blog. Finally. Grrrrrrrr.
Just in time for the long weekend, too. Which just happened to coincide with the arrival of the nice weather. So, outdoor grilling, and lots of family stuff on this weekend. But also, luxury of luxuries, an extra day to write!
I've been struggling lately with finding time for that. Mostly, I know, it's been all the crap going on in my life, the changes in everyone's routines, and just dealing with it all. But it also seems like the later start and stop to my work day, that in theory should have given me a nice chunk of writing time in the morning, has just served to chop my day up more. It starts, I think, with having been sleeping better. Which is a good thing. But it also means a later start to writing. So I get up, put the coffee on, check what's been happening on the internet overnight, get the WIP open, start to get into a groove, and then the girl child is up needing to be fed, told to get dressed, brush her hair and teeth, and get her on the school bus. Then I have to get showered and dressed, and by then it's almost time for me to be leaving for work. And at night, with the later arrival home, I get maybe an hour after dinner for family time, getting a bit of writing in, and it's time for bed. It seems like I was getting more done back when I was up and out the door by 7:00 every morning.
Yeah, I know, I know. I'm making excuses. Butt in chair, fingers on keyboard, cupcake. Just power through it and git'r'writ.
The thing is, it's been getting better the past few weeks, though. Just a couple of thousand words a week. Which sucks, compared to what I was doing 18 months ago. But I need to stop comparing it to that. Because it's still a whole lot better than nothing, and the thing is, I've been doing it every week.
So, not back to where I was. But definitely back to being regularly productive. And hopefully a base that I'll be able to build from and improve upon from here on out. So, yay me.
Just in time for the long weekend, too. Which just happened to coincide with the arrival of the nice weather. So, outdoor grilling, and lots of family stuff on this weekend. But also, luxury of luxuries, an extra day to write!
I've been struggling lately with finding time for that. Mostly, I know, it's been all the crap going on in my life, the changes in everyone's routines, and just dealing with it all. But it also seems like the later start and stop to my work day, that in theory should have given me a nice chunk of writing time in the morning, has just served to chop my day up more. It starts, I think, with having been sleeping better. Which is a good thing. But it also means a later start to writing. So I get up, put the coffee on, check what's been happening on the internet overnight, get the WIP open, start to get into a groove, and then the girl child is up needing to be fed, told to get dressed, brush her hair and teeth, and get her on the school bus. Then I have to get showered and dressed, and by then it's almost time for me to be leaving for work. And at night, with the later arrival home, I get maybe an hour after dinner for family time, getting a bit of writing in, and it's time for bed. It seems like I was getting more done back when I was up and out the door by 7:00 every morning.
Yeah, I know, I know. I'm making excuses. Butt in chair, fingers on keyboard, cupcake. Just power through it and git'r'writ.
The thing is, it's been getting better the past few weeks, though. Just a couple of thousand words a week. Which sucks, compared to what I was doing 18 months ago. But I need to stop comparing it to that. Because it's still a whole lot better than nothing, and the thing is, I've been doing it every week.
So, not back to where I was. But definitely back to being regularly productive. And hopefully a base that I'll be able to build from and improve upon from here on out. So, yay me.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
No Quitting
Chuck Wending says it brilliantly. Finish the shit that you started. Don't abandon your children. Park your butt in the chair, keep your hands on the keyboard, and spill words onto the page until the only ones left to type are the magic words: "The End". You can't call yourself a runner if you quit every race halfway through, and you won't be much of a writer if your hard drive is littered with the remnants of half-finished projects because—ooh, shiny.
So why am I going off on this here, when Chuck has already said it so much better than I can? Because I had an experience last night that I'm sure many writers can relate to. I was laying in bed, in that semiconscious state between sleeping and wakefulness, when a new character barged into my head, with a scene fully formed, demanding to have her story written now. So what did I do about it? When I got up this morning, I wrote the scene down in my notebook while it was still fresh in my mind, and I told the bitch to wait her fucking turn. Because I am a writer, and I have shit to finish that's already been started.
So why am I going off on this here, when Chuck has already said it so much better than I can? Because I had an experience last night that I'm sure many writers can relate to. I was laying in bed, in that semiconscious state between sleeping and wakefulness, when a new character barged into my head, with a scene fully formed, demanding to have her story written now. So what did I do about it? When I got up this morning, I wrote the scene down in my notebook while it was still fresh in my mind, and I told the bitch to wait her fucking turn. Because I am a writer, and I have shit to finish that's already been started.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
