Brown round mounds of tit delight
Bra spilling creamy cleavage
Caramel nipple topping
Moans groans hormones in each lick
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Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Revenge of the Sinus Gods
Monday I somehow offended the Sinus Gods. Their vengeance is both terrible and snotty. I spent yesterday in a dark room chugging sinus medicine and trying not to move.
You have to be careful during this period. Ideas inspired by sinus medicine and pain seem like genius when you think of them. Island Princess versus the Snot Monster! Ex-Wife Swapping! Haunted Massage Parlors! I actually started writing notes for these stories but once the sinus pressure stops squeezing your brain, common sense kicks in. I think we are all better off by me putting those notes away in a dark, dark box.
Instead of a story, I will give me my own personal to-read list.
Six Days of Halloween are six sexy scary stories. Hey look, alliteration.
Submission and Metaphor is a new blog started by a friend of mine. Go take a peak and show a newbie some love.
Jay Geldhof has an art blog that caught my eye. Be sure to click on the Gallery link on the side to see more of his work. I am in love with his 'Spade' illustration and find myself wanting to do stories based on her.
I'm going to go back to bed and try not to think of really bad story ideas.
You have to be careful during this period. Ideas inspired by sinus medicine and pain seem like genius when you think of them. Island Princess versus the Snot Monster! Ex-Wife Swapping! Haunted Massage Parlors! I actually started writing notes for these stories but once the sinus pressure stops squeezing your brain, common sense kicks in. I think we are all better off by me putting those notes away in a dark, dark box.
Instead of a story, I will give me my own personal to-read list.
Six Days of Halloween are six sexy scary stories. Hey look, alliteration.
Submission and Metaphor is a new blog started by a friend of mine. Go take a peak and show a newbie some love.
Jay Geldhof has an art blog that caught my eye. Be sure to click on the Gallery link on the side to see more of his work. I am in love with his 'Spade' illustration and find myself wanting to do stories based on her.
I'm going to go back to bed and try not to think of really bad story ideas.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Erotic Fantasy
In my experience, readers of online erotica would rather read stories about college students and horny housewives over stories involving elves, faeries and robots.
Which directly contradicts all of the pseudo porn vampire, werewolf and fairy novels I find in bookstores.
This contradiction often gives me headaches. I grew up playing Dungeons and Dragons and reading Tolkien, David Eddings and any one else who wanted to stretch an epic quest into a trilogy. My teenage masturbation fantasies had equal parts of high school crushes with mermaids and slutty witches. I know I am a geek but I also know that I am not alone as television has managed to keep up with my interest. My generation has deconstructed our high school lives through the supernatural prism of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and indulged in hot AI love in 'Battlestar Galactica'. There is all sorts of geeky sex happening in televisions, movies and books, but online erotica deftly avoids it.
Again, this is personal experience from my own writing. My stories of house wives and college students are far more popular than my stories of haunted houses and erotic fantasy lands. This becomes a deterrent in the sense that as much as I would like to write a 16 part epic werewolf story, I know that my readers would prefer an 8 part story about a college student and be twice as happy. I know as a writer that shouldn't stop me but it does. It is why I treasure my Island princess and Dr. Von Madd stories so much because for whatever reason, people accept those.
It may be simply that I am a better writer of 'real' erotica than I am of fantasy. I can accept it though I find it a little odd because trust me, I think I know more about witches than I will ever understand about human women who date men that are bad for them.
So pushing away my experiences writing fantasy erotica, I turn to my experiences in trying to find it to read. I just can't seem to find it. I find highly specialized fetish sites like mind control oriented stories but I am surprised that when I open Sugasm, I don't see at least one story about a young wizard who gets seduced by a band of traveling minstrels.
It confuses me in the sense that when we blog, we can write whatever the fuck we want. There is no editor rejecting stories. There are no bills that need to be paid with popular stories. We can write whatever we want. For some reason, whatever we want appears to be endless stories about suburban romances.
And yet publishing companies keep filling my bookstore with more vampire porn.
I have a sad suspicion that I know where the online geeks erotica writers are. Those poor bastards are writing fan fiction. When I first started writing online, the web sites dedicated to slash fiction were insanely popular. Any permutation of characters from Star Trek were being written about in exhaustive terms. The same enormous output was applied to Xena, and then Buffy, and now Harry Potter and Heroes. Fan fiction continues to grow and will most likely never stop.
And that so pisses me off.
One friend explained fan fiction to me as this- "The characters are already there. Every one knows who Harry is, and they all want to see him knock wizards hats with ____, so I can give them what they want and every one is happy."
Did I mention how much that pisses me off?
I feel like fan fiction is this giant vortex that sucks potentially good writers into some sort of hive collective. Instead of creating their own great characters, they are busy raping some other writer's creative output. Harry Potter was never created to have sex. He was created to be a hero in a prophecy story. As writers, we have the ability to make characters who were meant to get laid and have gangbangs with werewolves. Instead of forcing someone else's character into a porn story they don't fit in, we can make a character who will fit in a sexy story.
Sometimes I feel like fan fiction writers are afraid. I have anxiety that some days prevent me from leaving my apartment but man, I feel like Conan compared to fan fiction writers. Creating your own characters can be scary. Making characters people care about can be hard work and when readers reject your characters, it can be devastating. So I see the appeal for fan fiction writers to use characters that are already popular. It is easier to ride on another writer's work and rape it then to do your own work. And if people reject your story, well they are really rejecting Ron and Hermoine's broom sex, not you.
So that is my theory in a nutshell. Even though book companies realize how large a potential market there is for fantasy/sci-fi erotica, the online writers would rather chase the cheap satisfaction of easy fan fiction writing.
I hope I am wrong on this. I hope that after I post this, my comments fill up with links to blogs that will blow my mind. I want some good original adult science fiction and fantasy. Is that so much to ask for?
Which directly contradicts all of the pseudo porn vampire, werewolf and fairy novels I find in bookstores.
This contradiction often gives me headaches. I grew up playing Dungeons and Dragons and reading Tolkien, David Eddings and any one else who wanted to stretch an epic quest into a trilogy. My teenage masturbation fantasies had equal parts of high school crushes with mermaids and slutty witches. I know I am a geek but I also know that I am not alone as television has managed to keep up with my interest. My generation has deconstructed our high school lives through the supernatural prism of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and indulged in hot AI love in 'Battlestar Galactica'. There is all sorts of geeky sex happening in televisions, movies and books, but online erotica deftly avoids it.
Again, this is personal experience from my own writing. My stories of house wives and college students are far more popular than my stories of haunted houses and erotic fantasy lands. This becomes a deterrent in the sense that as much as I would like to write a 16 part epic werewolf story, I know that my readers would prefer an 8 part story about a college student and be twice as happy. I know as a writer that shouldn't stop me but it does. It is why I treasure my Island princess and Dr. Von Madd stories so much because for whatever reason, people accept those.
It may be simply that I am a better writer of 'real' erotica than I am of fantasy. I can accept it though I find it a little odd because trust me, I think I know more about witches than I will ever understand about human women who date men that are bad for them.
So pushing away my experiences writing fantasy erotica, I turn to my experiences in trying to find it to read. I just can't seem to find it. I find highly specialized fetish sites like mind control oriented stories but I am surprised that when I open Sugasm, I don't see at least one story about a young wizard who gets seduced by a band of traveling minstrels.
It confuses me in the sense that when we blog, we can write whatever the fuck we want. There is no editor rejecting stories. There are no bills that need to be paid with popular stories. We can write whatever we want. For some reason, whatever we want appears to be endless stories about suburban romances.
And yet publishing companies keep filling my bookstore with more vampire porn.
I have a sad suspicion that I know where the online geeks erotica writers are. Those poor bastards are writing fan fiction. When I first started writing online, the web sites dedicated to slash fiction were insanely popular. Any permutation of characters from Star Trek were being written about in exhaustive terms. The same enormous output was applied to Xena, and then Buffy, and now Harry Potter and Heroes. Fan fiction continues to grow and will most likely never stop.
And that so pisses me off.
One friend explained fan fiction to me as this- "The characters are already there. Every one knows who Harry is, and they all want to see him knock wizards hats with ____, so I can give them what they want and every one is happy."
Did I mention how much that pisses me off?
I feel like fan fiction is this giant vortex that sucks potentially good writers into some sort of hive collective. Instead of creating their own great characters, they are busy raping some other writer's creative output. Harry Potter was never created to have sex. He was created to be a hero in a prophecy story. As writers, we have the ability to make characters who were meant to get laid and have gangbangs with werewolves. Instead of forcing someone else's character into a porn story they don't fit in, we can make a character who will fit in a sexy story.
Sometimes I feel like fan fiction writers are afraid. I have anxiety that some days prevent me from leaving my apartment but man, I feel like Conan compared to fan fiction writers. Creating your own characters can be scary. Making characters people care about can be hard work and when readers reject your characters, it can be devastating. So I see the appeal for fan fiction writers to use characters that are already popular. It is easier to ride on another writer's work and rape it then to do your own work. And if people reject your story, well they are really rejecting Ron and Hermoine's broom sex, not you.
So that is my theory in a nutshell. Even though book companies realize how large a potential market there is for fantasy/sci-fi erotica, the online writers would rather chase the cheap satisfaction of easy fan fiction writing.
I hope I am wrong on this. I hope that after I post this, my comments fill up with links to blogs that will blow my mind. I want some good original adult science fiction and fantasy. Is that so much to ask for?
Friday, February 22, 2008
I Like To Play Games
So I had this long intelligent post about the nature of games and erotica and how the two are connected. It was such a long rambling post that two story ideas spun out of it and now I think if I pre-discuss it, the stories will lose their impact.
It's kind of like writing a discussion about how giant animals are stand ins for a writer's ego and then then writing King Kong.
So instead I am going to give you a link that will consume your entire weekend. Ready?
Play This Thing is a blog that reviews mostly free games you should play. Today's post is about a game you shouldn't play but trust me, you want to play the other 324 games listed here. They range from board games, to role-playing games to computer games. The computer games were my favorite part as they feature games made by independent studios who rather have fun with their game than a high blood polygon count. Their demos are free and if you like them, spring for the affordable prices and support some great game makers.
The games I am currently hooked on include FastCrawl, where a randomly generated party takes on a randomly generated dungeon and the game wraps up within half an hour. I swore I would never play another dungeon game again and I am hooked on this.
I also love Aquaria. This simple game is really beautiful. It may just be the most gorgeous and most soothing game I have played.
Iron Dukes is a wacky game about steampunk underwater treasure diving and pirate fighting. It is the kind of game a young Dr. Otto Von Madd would play.
Have fun.
It's kind of like writing a discussion about how giant animals are stand ins for a writer's ego and then then writing King Kong.
So instead I am going to give you a link that will consume your entire weekend. Ready?
Play This Thing is a blog that reviews mostly free games you should play. Today's post is about a game you shouldn't play but trust me, you want to play the other 324 games listed here. They range from board games, to role-playing games to computer games. The computer games were my favorite part as they feature games made by independent studios who rather have fun with their game than a high blood polygon count. Their demos are free and if you like them, spring for the affordable prices and support some great game makers.
The games I am currently hooked on include FastCrawl, where a randomly generated party takes on a randomly generated dungeon and the game wraps up within half an hour. I swore I would never play another dungeon game again and I am hooked on this.
I also love Aquaria. This simple game is really beautiful. It may just be the most gorgeous and most soothing game I have played.
Iron Dukes is a wacky game about steampunk underwater treasure diving and pirate fighting. It is the kind of game a young Dr. Otto Von Madd would play.
Have fun.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Fiction: The Island Princess and the Paddle of Thunder
Once upon a time there was a beautiful island. The temperature was always wonderful, the skies were always beautiful and the forecast was always predicting awesome days ahead. The job of meteorologist was mostly a ceremonial one and was currently held by a rather lazy cat. The people on the island never worried about the weather.
This wonderful paradise was home to the Island Princess. She was the most beautiful princess in the world. Her lips were as soft as a spring breeze. Her eyes flashed brighter than lightning. Cumulus clouds could not compare to her breasts for fullness and roundness. The people of the island loved their Princess and would indulge her all the time.
One day, the Island Princess decided to have a picnic on the beach. All of the people brought food, towels and surfboards. Barbecue pits were dug and dance competitions broke out spontaneously. It looked like it was going to be a perfect day except for the rain clouds gathering in the sky.
As soon as the first drop of rain fell, the Island Princess stomped her foot. She was having none of this.
“Rain!” she yelled in her very commanding voice. “Go away and never come back!”
To read more, click Whole Post
And wouldn’t you know it, the rain went away. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky for they all went away by the Princess’s command. The other people on the beach were very happy. They continued dancing, surfing and cooking. Several of the young men put together a band right there and made up songs detailing how wonderful and special the Island Princess was for doing something about the weather. It was one of the best days at the beach ever.
But the next day, the rain didn’t come.
Nor did it come the next day, or the day after that. Even though it was an island surrounded by a beautiful sea, it still needed rain to grow fruit and quench thirsts. No rain came and after a few weeks, the waterfalls themselves started to dry up.
The cat meteorologist was consulted but he only yawned and stretched himself in the hot sand.
People became upset. Some drank way too much rum as a water substitute. Some people attempted desalination of the sea but that was a lot of work. The band that started up just to sing the Island Princess’s praises now sang songs about what a spoiled girl the Island Princess was.
As for the Island Princess, she just sat in the palace and pretended it wasn’t happening.
One hot dry day, a shaman came out of the deepest darkest part of the island. No one knew who he was but that didn’t stop them from guessing and reporting it to their neighbors as fact. The shaman walked into the center of the village and just stood there as people gathered around him.
The first thing people noticed about him was his right arm. It was twice as large and muscular as his left arm. It reminded people just how lonely it must be out there in the jungle by your self.
The second thing everyone noticed was that he carried a nasty paddle with him. It was a large wicked instrument. The handle was wrapped in leather while the flat end was a black hard wood. The paddle end was two feet wide and was stained with tears. He carried the paddle on his back and his broad shoulders seemed to struggle with the weight of it all.
The shaman stood in the middle of the village and shouted to those assembled before him.
“I carry the Paddle of Thunder!” he yelled. “Pride and selfishness has driven the rain away but tears and an ass whooping can bring it back! My paddle can make an ass burn like lightning! My paddle can make the sky cry tears! Bottoms will be punished, screams will crack like thunder and the rain shall return to the island!”
The people cheered. The Island Princess stepped forward and raised her hand to be heard. “What do you need to work your magic?” she asked.
The shaman answered. “The Paddle of Thunder needs a perfect ass! I need a bottom rounder than a pearl! I need a bottom tighter than a drum! I need the most perfect ass in the entire island to smack with my magic paddle to bring the rain back!”
The people grew quiet and looked to the Island Princess. Now the Island princess knew all about responsibility. She had sent the rains away and it was up to her to fix it. She also knew she had the most perfect ass in the entire world much less the island. She wasn’t afraid of the Paddle of Thunder. The Island Princess looked the shaman in the eye and she said-
“Oh, you’ll want to spank my handmaiden. Her ass is very cute.”
So the Island princess’s handmaiden was brought to the shaman. She was very well behaved and ready to sacrifice herself. The shaman sat down on a chair, flipped the girl over his knee and gripped his paddle very tightly. The handmaiden said a prayer thanking the Island people for this chance to serve them.
WHAM! The paddle smacked right into the handmaiden’s very cute bottom. She screamed and her scream was so loud that all the people on the Island screamed too. That didn’t stop the shaman. He kept paddling. He swung that big nasty paddle and kept smacking her right on the ass. Her legs kicked and struggled but the shaman didn’t relent. No matter how loud she screamed, he didn’t stop until an hour of ass-whooping had passed.
“Her ass is not cute enough!” the shaman cried. The handmaiden crawled off with her very red ass. “The Paddle of Thunder needs an ass that is undeniably perfect!”
The people grew quiet and looked to the Island Princess. Now the Island Princess knew all about responsibility. She had sent the rains away and it was up to her to fix it. She also knew she had the most perfect ass in the entire world much less the island. Making her handmaiden suffer was a pretty rotten thing to do and the right thing to do would be to get across his lap and take her spanking. The Island Princess looked at the Paddle of Thunder, then she looked the shaman in the eye and she said-
“Oh, you’ll want my skirt maker. Her ass is wonderful.”
The skirt maker was brought to the shaman. Her dress was taken off and yes, the crowd thought her bottom was very wonderful indeed. The shaman put her over his knee and gripped his paddle very tightly. The skirt maker closed her eyes and thanked the world for a mostly enjoyable life.
WHAM! The paddle landed on the skirt maker’s wonderful bottom. She screamed so loud that this time even the monkeys on the island joined in on the scream. The shaman kept paddling though. He kept swinging and the skirt maker kept screaming. Over and over he paddled her for an hour but still no rain.
“Her ass is not good enough,” the shaman cried. He let the skirt maker go and she crawled down to the ocean to cool her bottom off. “The Paddle of Thunder needs an ass that is without a single fault!”
The people once again grew quiet and looked at the Island Princess.
“Fine!” she said with a petulant stomp. She yanked her skirt off and bared her ass to the entire island. An old fisherman died of a heart attack right there but he died smiling. The Island Princess stomped down over to the shaman and threw herself over his knees.
“This had better work,” she said with a pout.
The shaman didn’t answer her. He held the Paddle of Thunder up high and the crowd was as silent as that poor dead fisherman. After a suitable dramatic pause, the shaman swung.
WHAM! The paddle hit the Island Princess and her ass stung like a hundred bees had struck it.
She did not scream.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The shaman smacked her ass and the Island Princess still did not scream. Her bottom was burning, her legs were kicking and she clenched her hands into fists but the Island Princess refused to cry out.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
The Thunder Paddle fell on her bottom with the fury of a hurricane.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
The Island Princess squirmed and writhed but the shaman kept her pinned on his lap.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Something strange happened to the Island Princess. The overwhelming heat on her ass began to spread all over her body. She felt a tingling run down her thighs, a tingling spread up over her breasts, a tingling over her nipples and most of all, a tingling on her sex. The painful smacks of her ripe bottom were becoming a drumbeat that was sending sensation throughout her body.
The Island Princess got wet. She could feel her desire flowing between her legs. She could feel the moisture collecting on the shaman’s leg. At first she was embarrassed, but the paddling felt so good, that she didn’t care who knew as long as the good feelings continued.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
A hard blow made the Island Princess shift. She nudged right up against the shaman’s loin cloth. She could feel the girth of his erection and she could feel the steady pulsing of his excitement. The thought of how hard he was only added to her own desire.
One really hard smack made her throw her head back. With her head tilted back, she felt the first drop of rain land on her head. Another drop fell on her back and another drop fell on her leg. Small drops fell all over her body while more of her desire dripped down the shaman’s leg.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The shaman struck her faster and harder.
“Yes, yes, yes” the Island Princess started to chant as the Paddle of Thunder struck her bottom and sent her closer and closer to that orgasm just out of reach.
The shaman noticed the beautiful pink color that the Island Princess’s ass was becoming. He struck harder and faster. The smell of ozone filled the air.
“Come on thunder, come on thunder,” the shaman chanted.
CRACK! The thunder answered. A torrent of rain fell from the sky.
“YES!” the Island Princess cried. She climaxed and screamed her pleasure to the entire island.
“FUCK!” the shaman yelled. His cock erupted inside his loin cloth. The shower of his seed mixed with the rain on the wet sand.
The shaman stopped paddling the Island Princess and she leapt up from his lap. The cold rain fell on her body. The Island Princess danced to cool her bottom off. The people joined with her, cheering and yelling as they all danced.
The cat was upset with being rained on and ran back into a hut to sleep.
The young band of boys sang a new song right then about how brave and selfless the Island Princess was. It was a great song and was easily their best although critics would later say it lacked mass commercial appeal.
The Island Princess stopped dancing when her ass had stopped burning. She looked around for the shaman but he was gone. Some said he was struck by lightning while others said he melted with the ran into that gooey spot by the chair.
The Island Princess knew better. She knew that the shaman had returned to the woods with the Paddle of Thunder. She knew he would be back if she ever made silly demands of the weather again.
She smiled. The Island Princess figured she would wait till she could sit down again before she did anything like that. She guessed that should only take a month.
The end.
This wonderful paradise was home to the Island Princess. She was the most beautiful princess in the world. Her lips were as soft as a spring breeze. Her eyes flashed brighter than lightning. Cumulus clouds could not compare to her breasts for fullness and roundness. The people of the island loved their Princess and would indulge her all the time.
One day, the Island Princess decided to have a picnic on the beach. All of the people brought food, towels and surfboards. Barbecue pits were dug and dance competitions broke out spontaneously. It looked like it was going to be a perfect day except for the rain clouds gathering in the sky.
As soon as the first drop of rain fell, the Island Princess stomped her foot. She was having none of this.
“Rain!” she yelled in her very commanding voice. “Go away and never come back!”
To read more, click Whole Post
And wouldn’t you know it, the rain went away. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky for they all went away by the Princess’s command. The other people on the beach were very happy. They continued dancing, surfing and cooking. Several of the young men put together a band right there and made up songs detailing how wonderful and special the Island Princess was for doing something about the weather. It was one of the best days at the beach ever.
But the next day, the rain didn’t come.
Nor did it come the next day, or the day after that. Even though it was an island surrounded by a beautiful sea, it still needed rain to grow fruit and quench thirsts. No rain came and after a few weeks, the waterfalls themselves started to dry up.
The cat meteorologist was consulted but he only yawned and stretched himself in the hot sand.
People became upset. Some drank way too much rum as a water substitute. Some people attempted desalination of the sea but that was a lot of work. The band that started up just to sing the Island Princess’s praises now sang songs about what a spoiled girl the Island Princess was.
As for the Island Princess, she just sat in the palace and pretended it wasn’t happening.
One hot dry day, a shaman came out of the deepest darkest part of the island. No one knew who he was but that didn’t stop them from guessing and reporting it to their neighbors as fact. The shaman walked into the center of the village and just stood there as people gathered around him.
The first thing people noticed about him was his right arm. It was twice as large and muscular as his left arm. It reminded people just how lonely it must be out there in the jungle by your self.
The second thing everyone noticed was that he carried a nasty paddle with him. It was a large wicked instrument. The handle was wrapped in leather while the flat end was a black hard wood. The paddle end was two feet wide and was stained with tears. He carried the paddle on his back and his broad shoulders seemed to struggle with the weight of it all.
The shaman stood in the middle of the village and shouted to those assembled before him.
“I carry the Paddle of Thunder!” he yelled. “Pride and selfishness has driven the rain away but tears and an ass whooping can bring it back! My paddle can make an ass burn like lightning! My paddle can make the sky cry tears! Bottoms will be punished, screams will crack like thunder and the rain shall return to the island!”
The people cheered. The Island Princess stepped forward and raised her hand to be heard. “What do you need to work your magic?” she asked.
The shaman answered. “The Paddle of Thunder needs a perfect ass! I need a bottom rounder than a pearl! I need a bottom tighter than a drum! I need the most perfect ass in the entire island to smack with my magic paddle to bring the rain back!”
The people grew quiet and looked to the Island Princess. Now the Island princess knew all about responsibility. She had sent the rains away and it was up to her to fix it. She also knew she had the most perfect ass in the entire world much less the island. She wasn’t afraid of the Paddle of Thunder. The Island Princess looked the shaman in the eye and she said-
“Oh, you’ll want to spank my handmaiden. Her ass is very cute.”
So the Island princess’s handmaiden was brought to the shaman. She was very well behaved and ready to sacrifice herself. The shaman sat down on a chair, flipped the girl over his knee and gripped his paddle very tightly. The handmaiden said a prayer thanking the Island people for this chance to serve them.
WHAM! The paddle smacked right into the handmaiden’s very cute bottom. She screamed and her scream was so loud that all the people on the Island screamed too. That didn’t stop the shaman. He kept paddling. He swung that big nasty paddle and kept smacking her right on the ass. Her legs kicked and struggled but the shaman didn’t relent. No matter how loud she screamed, he didn’t stop until an hour of ass-whooping had passed.
“Her ass is not cute enough!” the shaman cried. The handmaiden crawled off with her very red ass. “The Paddle of Thunder needs an ass that is undeniably perfect!”
The people grew quiet and looked to the Island Princess. Now the Island Princess knew all about responsibility. She had sent the rains away and it was up to her to fix it. She also knew she had the most perfect ass in the entire world much less the island. Making her handmaiden suffer was a pretty rotten thing to do and the right thing to do would be to get across his lap and take her spanking. The Island Princess looked at the Paddle of Thunder, then she looked the shaman in the eye and she said-
“Oh, you’ll want my skirt maker. Her ass is wonderful.”
The skirt maker was brought to the shaman. Her dress was taken off and yes, the crowd thought her bottom was very wonderful indeed. The shaman put her over his knee and gripped his paddle very tightly. The skirt maker closed her eyes and thanked the world for a mostly enjoyable life.
WHAM! The paddle landed on the skirt maker’s wonderful bottom. She screamed so loud that this time even the monkeys on the island joined in on the scream. The shaman kept paddling though. He kept swinging and the skirt maker kept screaming. Over and over he paddled her for an hour but still no rain.
“Her ass is not good enough,” the shaman cried. He let the skirt maker go and she crawled down to the ocean to cool her bottom off. “The Paddle of Thunder needs an ass that is without a single fault!”
The people once again grew quiet and looked at the Island Princess.
“Fine!” she said with a petulant stomp. She yanked her skirt off and bared her ass to the entire island. An old fisherman died of a heart attack right there but he died smiling. The Island Princess stomped down over to the shaman and threw herself over his knees.
“This had better work,” she said with a pout.
The shaman didn’t answer her. He held the Paddle of Thunder up high and the crowd was as silent as that poor dead fisherman. After a suitable dramatic pause, the shaman swung.
WHAM! The paddle hit the Island Princess and her ass stung like a hundred bees had struck it.
She did not scream.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The shaman smacked her ass and the Island Princess still did not scream. Her bottom was burning, her legs were kicking and she clenched her hands into fists but the Island Princess refused to cry out.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
The Thunder Paddle fell on her bottom with the fury of a hurricane.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
The Island Princess squirmed and writhed but the shaman kept her pinned on his lap.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Something strange happened to the Island Princess. The overwhelming heat on her ass began to spread all over her body. She felt a tingling run down her thighs, a tingling spread up over her breasts, a tingling over her nipples and most of all, a tingling on her sex. The painful smacks of her ripe bottom were becoming a drumbeat that was sending sensation throughout her body.
The Island Princess got wet. She could feel her desire flowing between her legs. She could feel the moisture collecting on the shaman’s leg. At first she was embarrassed, but the paddling felt so good, that she didn’t care who knew as long as the good feelings continued.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
A hard blow made the Island Princess shift. She nudged right up against the shaman’s loin cloth. She could feel the girth of his erection and she could feel the steady pulsing of his excitement. The thought of how hard he was only added to her own desire.
One really hard smack made her throw her head back. With her head tilted back, she felt the first drop of rain land on her head. Another drop fell on her back and another drop fell on her leg. Small drops fell all over her body while more of her desire dripped down the shaman’s leg.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The shaman struck her faster and harder.
“Yes, yes, yes” the Island Princess started to chant as the Paddle of Thunder struck her bottom and sent her closer and closer to that orgasm just out of reach.
The shaman noticed the beautiful pink color that the Island Princess’s ass was becoming. He struck harder and faster. The smell of ozone filled the air.
“Come on thunder, come on thunder,” the shaman chanted.
CRACK! The thunder answered. A torrent of rain fell from the sky.
“YES!” the Island Princess cried. She climaxed and screamed her pleasure to the entire island.
“FUCK!” the shaman yelled. His cock erupted inside his loin cloth. The shower of his seed mixed with the rain on the wet sand.
The shaman stopped paddling the Island Princess and she leapt up from his lap. The cold rain fell on her body. The Island Princess danced to cool her bottom off. The people joined with her, cheering and yelling as they all danced.
The cat was upset with being rained on and ran back into a hut to sleep.
The young band of boys sang a new song right then about how brave and selfless the Island Princess was. It was a great song and was easily their best although critics would later say it lacked mass commercial appeal.
The Island Princess stopped dancing when her ass had stopped burning. She looked around for the shaman but he was gone. Some said he was struck by lightning while others said he melted with the ran into that gooey spot by the chair.
The Island Princess knew better. She knew that the shaman had returned to the woods with the Paddle of Thunder. She knew he would be back if she ever made silly demands of the weather again.
She smiled. The Island Princess figured she would wait till she could sit down again before she did anything like that. She guessed that should only take a month.
The end.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Erotiterrorist Studio Film Pitch: Clean Smut
One sentence summation: Coach Carter meets Boogie Nights.
Aging former porn star, Brock Horn, comes out of drug rehab to return to his old porn company as a director. He used to be a cocaine snorting two orgy a night party animal but thanks to the power of Oprah and inspirational books, he is now a no nonsense hard working paragon of porn star sensibilities. His methods are radical but his old company, Fuck'Em Pictures is dangerously close to bankruptcy and the current CEO and ex-costar is desperate to try anything.
The first thing Brock does is institute mandatory drug testing and a zero tolerance policy among his stars and his crew. Because this is a ninety minute feel good movie, we'll pretend that drug testing cures addiction and not deal with any messy rehab scenes or withdrawal episodes. We'll also have one porn star, Stacia Skank, walk off the studio rather than submit to drug testing. This is important because near the end of the movie we'll see her as a dead street walker to bring across how the bitch should have stayed with Brock's tough love style.
The next thing Brock does is insist on updating everyone's looks to be classy and sophisticated instead of the trashy way everyone usually looks. The real porn industry would never have girls as trashy as the ones we show in this movie but that doesn't matter. If this movie is going to hit the couples-movie demographic we're aiming for with a Valentine's Day release, we need to show the porn industry as the trashy whorish 80's fashion nightmare mainstream audiences expect it to be.
Brock gets into several arguments with his crew and stars that all boils down to one conflict- the porn people have low self esteem and therefore low expectations of themselves but damn it, Brock thinks they can do better and one aging porn star giving a rat's ass about a girl fresh off the bus can make a difference. The porn people find true love, eat vegan meals and invest their money wisely in off shore accounts.
The climax of the movie comes when one of their painfully artistic movies gets nominated for an Oscar. That shit will happen and we'll use CGI to make Brock and one of his sexy stars appear on the red carpet right next to whomever is hosting American Idol this year. They lose of course but its alright because now they have sparked a revolution in porn and everyone gets a house and a white picket fence.
The money shot for the movie (so to speak) will be Brock yelling an inspiring speech to his crew right when things look the darkest which film logic dictates will be at 57 minute mark.
Brock: God damn it, I know what everyone calls you! They call you whores! They call you hacks! They call you cock sucking addicts who aren't worth a damn! I heard all of that when I was a slut banging cokehead living out of my van! But I say you are worth something! Jill, you couldn't even read your own name and now you are reading your poetry at the coffee shop! Johnny, you used to do heroin with Paris Hilton and how you're clean and running marathons! Candace, you used to be an ugly makeup lady but since you got rid of your glasses, you're the hottest piece of ass around! We've turned our lives around and now we're going to make the best mother fucking barely legal gangbang ever made!
Casting Preferences-
Brock Horn- Viggo Mortensen
Jill Carrera- Kristen Bell
Johnny Pounder- Elijah Wood
Candace the Make-up Lady- Hayden Panettiere
CEO of Fuck'Em films who hires Brock and becomes his love interest- Sharon Stone and her upskirt. Fuck it, we're talking full frontal and a tasteful romantic anal scene.
I think I see a franchise with this one.
Aging former porn star, Brock Horn, comes out of drug rehab to return to his old porn company as a director. He used to be a cocaine snorting two orgy a night party animal but thanks to the power of Oprah and inspirational books, he is now a no nonsense hard working paragon of porn star sensibilities. His methods are radical but his old company, Fuck'Em Pictures is dangerously close to bankruptcy and the current CEO and ex-costar is desperate to try anything.
The first thing Brock does is institute mandatory drug testing and a zero tolerance policy among his stars and his crew. Because this is a ninety minute feel good movie, we'll pretend that drug testing cures addiction and not deal with any messy rehab scenes or withdrawal episodes. We'll also have one porn star, Stacia Skank, walk off the studio rather than submit to drug testing. This is important because near the end of the movie we'll see her as a dead street walker to bring across how the bitch should have stayed with Brock's tough love style.
The next thing Brock does is insist on updating everyone's looks to be classy and sophisticated instead of the trashy way everyone usually looks. The real porn industry would never have girls as trashy as the ones we show in this movie but that doesn't matter. If this movie is going to hit the couples-movie demographic we're aiming for with a Valentine's Day release, we need to show the porn industry as the trashy whorish 80's fashion nightmare mainstream audiences expect it to be.
Brock gets into several arguments with his crew and stars that all boils down to one conflict- the porn people have low self esteem and therefore low expectations of themselves but damn it, Brock thinks they can do better and one aging porn star giving a rat's ass about a girl fresh off the bus can make a difference. The porn people find true love, eat vegan meals and invest their money wisely in off shore accounts.
The climax of the movie comes when one of their painfully artistic movies gets nominated for an Oscar. That shit will happen and we'll use CGI to make Brock and one of his sexy stars appear on the red carpet right next to whomever is hosting American Idol this year. They lose of course but its alright because now they have sparked a revolution in porn and everyone gets a house and a white picket fence.
The money shot for the movie (so to speak) will be Brock yelling an inspiring speech to his crew right when things look the darkest which film logic dictates will be at 57 minute mark.
Brock: God damn it, I know what everyone calls you! They call you whores! They call you hacks! They call you cock sucking addicts who aren't worth a damn! I heard all of that when I was a slut banging cokehead living out of my van! But I say you are worth something! Jill, you couldn't even read your own name and now you are reading your poetry at the coffee shop! Johnny, you used to do heroin with Paris Hilton and how you're clean and running marathons! Candace, you used to be an ugly makeup lady but since you got rid of your glasses, you're the hottest piece of ass around! We've turned our lives around and now we're going to make the best mother fucking barely legal gangbang ever made!
Casting Preferences-
Brock Horn- Viggo Mortensen
Jill Carrera- Kristen Bell
Johnny Pounder- Elijah Wood
Candace the Make-up Lady- Hayden Panettiere
CEO of Fuck'Em films who hires Brock and becomes his love interest- Sharon Stone and her upskirt. Fuck it, we're talking full frontal and a tasteful romantic anal scene.
I think I see a franchise with this one.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Court Valentine
Yesterday I received my divorce paperwork from the courthouse. On Valentine's Day. I have a date to appear in court and even more paperwork to go in the big black folder.
It didn't bother me too much to get this on a romantic holiday except for the fact that I think Fate needs a new writer because that was a pretty cheesy coincidence.
I didn't tell my wife because it would bother her, which is just one more little nice thing I do to protect her feelings that she will never know about. That actually bothers me more. I want credit damn it. Instead she'll keep going thinking I did nothing for her. Uggh. I need to get over that and let it go.
It didn't bother me too much to get this on a romantic holiday except for the fact that I think Fate needs a new writer because that was a pretty cheesy coincidence.
I didn't tell my wife because it would bother her, which is just one more little nice thing I do to protect her feelings that she will never know about. That actually bothers me more. I want credit damn it. Instead she'll keep going thinking I did nothing for her. Uggh. I need to get over that and let it go.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Fiction: Because She Could
Dr. Otto Von Madd, sexual scientist extraordinaire, was depressed.
He flipped the channel on his spy monitor. The screen showed an interesting orgy occurring in the Sentient Panties testing center. Screams of sexual delight came from the scientists and their highly intelligent underwear.
He flipped the channel. The screen revealed Dr. Nebitz using a sonic flogger in a innovative manner on Dr. Washington’s precisely shaved pussy. She was achieving orgasm in record time and judging by how fast Dr. Neibitz was stroking his cock, he would too.
Dr. Von Madd changed the channel. One by one, he slowly scanned through all of the spy cameras in the erotic laboratory. The sexual activity was usually pretty high among his employees but today it was universal. Everyone was getting fucked, sucked, seduced, pounded, pleasured and sated. In fact the only person not having sex today was Dr. Von Madd himself.
It was Valentine’s Day, and for the first time in his adult life, Otto didn’t feel like fucking.
To read more, click Whole Post
Oh he tried. This morning he sank his cock into a busty chemist’s mouth but his heart wasn’t in it. For lunch he tried fucking a mathematician’s tight ass but he soon lost interest. An hour ago he was hit on by Dr. Qui and her twin sister, Dr. Qui, but he politely turned them down. Today he couldn’t seem to get in touch with his libido.
He sighed. Otto realized that for all his wonderful sex and his many, many, many conquests, he had never met anyone that loved him. He had met many women who lusted for him, but because he had never made love a focus of his studies, he never learned to recognize the many women who had adored him for purely non sexual reasons. Normally this wouldn’t bother him but that was the power of Valentine’s Day: it made even the happiest of people realize they wanted love.
A strange high pitch thumping noise filled his office. It was the sound of the space time continuum being ripped open in a brutal manner. Dr. Von Madd recognized the sound from the last time he tried to make a quantum vibrator. Back then all that happened was the loss of an entire laboratory, now he was witnessing a woman stepping through a strange doorway. Well, it was hard to see with all of the lights, the distortions and warping of vision but Dr. Von Madd’s genius mind could recognize a woman’s body in almost any circumstance.
“Dr. Von Madd!” the woman yelled. She had one foot in the space rip, screaming above the terrible sounds.
“Present!” he said. He tried to get a good look at the woman but the air around her was constantly moving and changing. He could tell she had breasts, and he could tell she had long flowing hair but he couldn’t even determine what color the hair was.
“I have broken the laws of physics, defied government orders and gave the finger to my science peers in order to travel from the future to this day, the most depressing Valentine’s Day you have ever experienced!” the woman yelled.
Dr. Von Madd thought about causality and worlds collapsing. There was a theoretical risk in knowing the future but what the fuck, he was a scientist. He could handle it.
“What message do you bring from the future, unknown traveler!” he asked.
The air around her shifted. For a moment Dr. Von Madd was convinced that she was a black woman but then he thought she might have been a very pale Nordic woman. It was impossible to tell. Time and space were doing terrible things to his vision. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing but for some reason he believed in this woman.
“Otto, I love you and I always will!” she yelled.
The portal closed and she was gone.
Dr. Von Madd stood there, watching the empty space. He waited to the count of ten but no other portal appeared.
The woman was gone. He thought about the kind of woman who would use time travel just to cheer him up before he even knew who she was. Otto wanted to meet that woman but she had traveled back to the future and the only way he could follow her was one second at a time.
Otto thought about her message.
He pushed a button on his intercom system.
“Would Dr. Qui and Dr. Qui please report to my office,” he said. “I am feeling much better now.”
The end.
He flipped the channel on his spy monitor. The screen showed an interesting orgy occurring in the Sentient Panties testing center. Screams of sexual delight came from the scientists and their highly intelligent underwear.
He flipped the channel. The screen revealed Dr. Nebitz using a sonic flogger in a innovative manner on Dr. Washington’s precisely shaved pussy. She was achieving orgasm in record time and judging by how fast Dr. Neibitz was stroking his cock, he would too.
Dr. Von Madd changed the channel. One by one, he slowly scanned through all of the spy cameras in the erotic laboratory. The sexual activity was usually pretty high among his employees but today it was universal. Everyone was getting fucked, sucked, seduced, pounded, pleasured and sated. In fact the only person not having sex today was Dr. Von Madd himself.
It was Valentine’s Day, and for the first time in his adult life, Otto didn’t feel like fucking.
To read more, click Whole Post
Oh he tried. This morning he sank his cock into a busty chemist’s mouth but his heart wasn’t in it. For lunch he tried fucking a mathematician’s tight ass but he soon lost interest. An hour ago he was hit on by Dr. Qui and her twin sister, Dr. Qui, but he politely turned them down. Today he couldn’t seem to get in touch with his libido.
He sighed. Otto realized that for all his wonderful sex and his many, many, many conquests, he had never met anyone that loved him. He had met many women who lusted for him, but because he had never made love a focus of his studies, he never learned to recognize the many women who had adored him for purely non sexual reasons. Normally this wouldn’t bother him but that was the power of Valentine’s Day: it made even the happiest of people realize they wanted love.
A strange high pitch thumping noise filled his office. It was the sound of the space time continuum being ripped open in a brutal manner. Dr. Von Madd recognized the sound from the last time he tried to make a quantum vibrator. Back then all that happened was the loss of an entire laboratory, now he was witnessing a woman stepping through a strange doorway. Well, it was hard to see with all of the lights, the distortions and warping of vision but Dr. Von Madd’s genius mind could recognize a woman’s body in almost any circumstance.
“Dr. Von Madd!” the woman yelled. She had one foot in the space rip, screaming above the terrible sounds.
“Present!” he said. He tried to get a good look at the woman but the air around her was constantly moving and changing. He could tell she had breasts, and he could tell she had long flowing hair but he couldn’t even determine what color the hair was.
“I have broken the laws of physics, defied government orders and gave the finger to my science peers in order to travel from the future to this day, the most depressing Valentine’s Day you have ever experienced!” the woman yelled.
Dr. Von Madd thought about causality and worlds collapsing. There was a theoretical risk in knowing the future but what the fuck, he was a scientist. He could handle it.
“What message do you bring from the future, unknown traveler!” he asked.
The air around her shifted. For a moment Dr. Von Madd was convinced that she was a black woman but then he thought she might have been a very pale Nordic woman. It was impossible to tell. Time and space were doing terrible things to his vision. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing but for some reason he believed in this woman.
“Otto, I love you and I always will!” she yelled.
The portal closed and she was gone.
Dr. Von Madd stood there, watching the empty space. He waited to the count of ten but no other portal appeared.
The woman was gone. He thought about the kind of woman who would use time travel just to cheer him up before he even knew who she was. Otto wanted to meet that woman but she had traveled back to the future and the only way he could follow her was one second at a time.
Otto thought about her message.
He pushed a button on his intercom system.
“Would Dr. Qui and Dr. Qui please report to my office,” he said. “I am feeling much better now.”
The end.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Writing Flow
I've been working on this story for about two weeks. The idea for it came to mind and I was excited to do it but I couldn't see how certain elements would link up. I had my characters, I had my moral, I had my setting but I lacked that really important piece called plot. I didn't mind that it wasn't coming to mind right away because I am not afraid of doing some work for a story. I thought if I gave myself time and permission to really work on something, I would have something I would be proud of.
I worked on this story but other stories seemed to spin out of it. I literally laid my head down one night and a story, a complete story popped out of my head. I opened my eyes started cussing. I didn't have to do anything for the new story, it was done in a fucking instant.
Meanwhile, the other story was still laying there in broken unrelated scenes. I went back to work on it, putting the finished complete story aside cause fuck, it's finished . The other story is not coming together but damn it, I keep working on it. I keep working on it because I have this American concept that hard work equals good results.
A few days later, I am washing dishes and another story pops in my head, fully formed.
Mother-fuck.
At this point I am just being stubborn. I kept working on the story. Well, the non-story. It is kind of insane. I have these characters and I have their voices. I could handle these characters doing anything, I just don't have anything cohesive for them to do. I was half tempted to write mini-bursts with them, like write a scene where they argue over pizza. I know them that well. I just don't have a plot for them to work within.
With this non-story problem in my head, I started Tai chi. It was something I have wanted to do for a while and I finally broke down and did it. Truth be told, I was turned onto Tai chi by the comedy movie, 'Shaolin Soccer'. Out of all the amazing martial art moves, it was the girl using Tai chi to make sweet rolls that fascinated me. It just seemed like a gentle art and gentility is something I need more of in my life.
I'm doing Tai chi and it is about many things but mostly it uses forms and motions found in nature. It is a surprisingly relaxing exercise. Even though my body is constantly in motion, I find myself slipping into a meditative state. One of the guidelines for Tai chi is to let gravity guide your motion. It is such a simple idea but the first time I heard the instructor say it, a chain reaction of conclusions occurred within me.
I realized that I was equating my difficulties with this story as some sort of challenge that needed to be overcome. I should have realized that the reason I haven't had a plot for this story yet is that it is just not going to happen. There is no story to be found, or if there is, it is a story that will be forced and put together unnaturally. Especially when you consider how fully formed the other two stories have emerged just recently. I don't know what force creativity is, but it is obvious that it is better to use it as a guide than something you argue against.
This doesn't mean that I think all writing should be easy. Second drafts for example is work though it can be fun work. Proofreading and research is work too. But I think there is something to be said for following what your mind wants to write as if you were a sail being pushed by the winds of your own creativity as opposed to someone trying to row up river. I think I am going to try to write what comes easy to me for a month or two and stop trying to write what I find intellectually intriguing.
I worked on this story but other stories seemed to spin out of it. I literally laid my head down one night and a story, a complete story popped out of my head. I opened my eyes started cussing. I didn't have to do anything for the new story, it was done in a fucking instant.
Meanwhile, the other story was still laying there in broken unrelated scenes. I went back to work on it, putting the finished complete story aside cause fuck, it's finished . The other story is not coming together but damn it, I keep working on it. I keep working on it because I have this American concept that hard work equals good results.
A few days later, I am washing dishes and another story pops in my head, fully formed.
Mother-fuck.
At this point I am just being stubborn. I kept working on the story. Well, the non-story. It is kind of insane. I have these characters and I have their voices. I could handle these characters doing anything, I just don't have anything cohesive for them to do. I was half tempted to write mini-bursts with them, like write a scene where they argue over pizza. I know them that well. I just don't have a plot for them to work within.
With this non-story problem in my head, I started Tai chi. It was something I have wanted to do for a while and I finally broke down and did it. Truth be told, I was turned onto Tai chi by the comedy movie, 'Shaolin Soccer'. Out of all the amazing martial art moves, it was the girl using Tai chi to make sweet rolls that fascinated me. It just seemed like a gentle art and gentility is something I need more of in my life.
I'm doing Tai chi and it is about many things but mostly it uses forms and motions found in nature. It is a surprisingly relaxing exercise. Even though my body is constantly in motion, I find myself slipping into a meditative state. One of the guidelines for Tai chi is to let gravity guide your motion. It is such a simple idea but the first time I heard the instructor say it, a chain reaction of conclusions occurred within me.
I realized that I was equating my difficulties with this story as some sort of challenge that needed to be overcome. I should have realized that the reason I haven't had a plot for this story yet is that it is just not going to happen. There is no story to be found, or if there is, it is a story that will be forced and put together unnaturally. Especially when you consider how fully formed the other two stories have emerged just recently. I don't know what force creativity is, but it is obvious that it is better to use it as a guide than something you argue against.
This doesn't mean that I think all writing should be easy. Second drafts for example is work though it can be fun work. Proofreading and research is work too. But I think there is something to be said for following what your mind wants to write as if you were a sail being pushed by the winds of your own creativity as opposed to someone trying to row up river. I think I am going to try to write what comes easy to me for a month or two and stop trying to write what I find intellectually intriguing.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Filing Papers-Too Strange For Fiction
I filed my divorce papers yesterday and the whole experience was weird. Last time I tried filing it was the Monday after the Super Bowl and the courthouse was deserted. I thought it had more to do with it being a Monday than with it being the day after a sports event. I was wrong. Yesterday it was slammed, with a line to get in that stretched out into the street.
At one point while standing in line, a large brute of a man cut in front of me. The temperature was about 4 degrees and this brute was only wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He had a knit hat on his head with the words 'bad boy' sewn into it in glittering purple letters. He was also carrying a single apple in a plastic bag. Maybe I'm a coward, but I said nothing as this guy cut in front of me because I couldn't figure out if he was such a bad ass that he didn't wear warm clothes and he ate apples and didn't give a fuck what anyone thought, or if he was mildly retarded.
Once I got into the courthouse, they require you to take off your jacket, empty your pockets, chunk everything into an x-ray scanner, walk through a metal detector and then pick up your stuff. The funny part is the entire metal detecting area is about three feet square and god damn it, those deputies want you to keep moving! After freezing your ass outside, you have to enter into a high speed strip and redress procedure in an area the size of my closet.
let me tell you something, deputies really stare at you when you start giggling.
So I make it past the front door and into the filing area. Lucky for me, there is no line again. Weirdly enough, the only guy working is the same guy who rejected my paperwork last time. This makes me feel good because I have the paperwork 'he' wanted, so nothing could go wrong.
I stand there for five minutes while the guy deliberately ignores me. Well of course. Waiting on the one guy who is there would make sense.
Another clerk sits down at his post, gives the other guy a funny look and then asks me what I need. I tell him, give him my paperwork and here is where it gets weird:
Apparently, the person who can sign off on my paperwork is missing, and they do not know where he is, or when he is coming back. The clerk is clearly embarrassed and tells me he'll go ahead and process my paperwork, but he can't give me a court date . He promises that when the important guy is found, and he does his job, that they will drop a letter in the mail letting me know when I need to arrive at court.
I expect that kind of wacky office drama at the biscuit shop. I was less excited to see hear this from the people handling my divorce. Sigh.
Who knew that the television sitcom 'Night Court' was really a documentary?
At one point while standing in line, a large brute of a man cut in front of me. The temperature was about 4 degrees and this brute was only wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He had a knit hat on his head with the words 'bad boy' sewn into it in glittering purple letters. He was also carrying a single apple in a plastic bag. Maybe I'm a coward, but I said nothing as this guy cut in front of me because I couldn't figure out if he was such a bad ass that he didn't wear warm clothes and he ate apples and didn't give a fuck what anyone thought, or if he was mildly retarded.
Once I got into the courthouse, they require you to take off your jacket, empty your pockets, chunk everything into an x-ray scanner, walk through a metal detector and then pick up your stuff. The funny part is the entire metal detecting area is about three feet square and god damn it, those deputies want you to keep moving! After freezing your ass outside, you have to enter into a high speed strip and redress procedure in an area the size of my closet.
let me tell you something, deputies really stare at you when you start giggling.
So I make it past the front door and into the filing area. Lucky for me, there is no line again. Weirdly enough, the only guy working is the same guy who rejected my paperwork last time. This makes me feel good because I have the paperwork 'he' wanted, so nothing could go wrong.
I stand there for five minutes while the guy deliberately ignores me. Well of course. Waiting on the one guy who is there would make sense.
Another clerk sits down at his post, gives the other guy a funny look and then asks me what I need. I tell him, give him my paperwork and here is where it gets weird:
Apparently, the person who can sign off on my paperwork is missing, and they do not know where he is, or when he is coming back. The clerk is clearly embarrassed and tells me he'll go ahead and process my paperwork, but he can't give me a court date . He promises that when the important guy is found, and he does his job, that they will drop a letter in the mail letting me know when I need to arrive at court.
I expect that kind of wacky office drama at the biscuit shop. I was less excited to see hear this from the people handling my divorce. Sigh.
Who knew that the television sitcom 'Night Court' was really a documentary?
Monday, February 11, 2008
Filing Papers Again
Part two of what I hope is not a continuing series. Although it might be funny in a Kafka kind of way if every Monday I tried to file for divorce and something comical happened every time to prevent it. After a few story parts, I could roll some sex into it as I describe what hedonistic acts I did to alleviate my maddening depression. Hmmm.
Wish me luck today as I wrestle the court system into accepting my divorce papers today. I find it funny how easy it was to get married compared to how hard it is to get un-married.
Wish me luck today as I wrestle the court system into accepting my divorce papers today. I find it funny how easy it was to get married compared to how hard it is to get un-married.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Thinking Out Loud
My current obsession is connecting porn with the frenzied excitement of the Super Bowl. I am not a fan of football but I am a fan of the sheer financial/cultural/adrenaline power of the Super Bowl. It's a climax to a season of foreplay. It's an explosion that reminds me of religion, war and corporate greed. I love the sponsorship, the speculation, the endorsements and the way that strangers in a grocery store feel compelled to talk about the big game as if it was a shared sexual experience they are looking forward to.
I feel like if I could connect erotica to it, I would have one awesome story. I'm just missing that story element.
Sex is about the friction between personalties and bodies, that when done right, is of equal benefit to all parties. Sports is the opposite in that you must have a winner and a loser. I think it is the hope of being the winner and the fear of being the loser that fuels all the tension. I could do a big publicized sex event and write it, but without the fear/hope element I don't think the national excitement would be real. I could make the sex a sport, with some sort of victory situation, but that wouldn't be sex, it would just be a physical competition of sexual qualities.
I can't shake the feeling that the anwser is right on the edge of my creative peripheral vision. I can picture a beautiful athletic woman wearing a spandex sex outfit with a vibrator company's name stenciled across her ass. I can see betting charts with the odds of orgasms listed out. I can see crowds of fans chanting a porn star's name and then exploded in cheers as the porn star does their signature sexual position. I can see the sweat, the tears, the semen and the lube as this epic event happens. I just can't see the story and that drives me crazy.
So this weekend I will do chores, take long walks and rack my brains until I do see the story, or some other idea will come out of left feild and I decide I rather do another story about suburban kinky people.
I feel like if I could connect erotica to it, I would have one awesome story. I'm just missing that story element.
Sex is about the friction between personalties and bodies, that when done right, is of equal benefit to all parties. Sports is the opposite in that you must have a winner and a loser. I think it is the hope of being the winner and the fear of being the loser that fuels all the tension. I could do a big publicized sex event and write it, but without the fear/hope element I don't think the national excitement would be real. I could make the sex a sport, with some sort of victory situation, but that wouldn't be sex, it would just be a physical competition of sexual qualities.
I can't shake the feeling that the anwser is right on the edge of my creative peripheral vision. I can picture a beautiful athletic woman wearing a spandex sex outfit with a vibrator company's name stenciled across her ass. I can see betting charts with the odds of orgasms listed out. I can see crowds of fans chanting a porn star's name and then exploded in cheers as the porn star does their signature sexual position. I can see the sweat, the tears, the semen and the lube as this epic event happens. I just can't see the story and that drives me crazy.
So this weekend I will do chores, take long walks and rack my brains until I do see the story, or some other idea will come out of left feild and I decide I rather do another story about suburban kinky people.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Fiction: Pleasure Condition
Sasha v38.DD came online. Her chest began to faux breathe, moving in and out in that perfect way that drew the viewer’s eyes to her plentiful breasts. She licked her full lips slowly, like she would every seven hundred and eighty seconds. Her skin flushed to a pleasant skin tone that looked great under the current light. Lubrication was rushed to her vagina just in case of sudden insertion. All systems were operational.
“Good morning, Sasha,” a man said. The man walked in front of Sasha and looked down at his clipboard. He was wearing a laboratory coat and he had on a pair of unknown goggles with purple lenses. “My name is Dr. Von Madd. What is the last thing you remember?”
Sasha answered immediately. “I was performing a lap dance for Dr. Polyakov. I had just removed my bra when he . . .”
Dr. Von Madd looked up from his clipboard. “And?”
To read more, click Whole Post
“Dr. Polyakov had a heart attack,” Sasha said. “I called for medical aid. I tried to resuscitate him.”
Dr. Von Madd nodded. “Continue.”
“He died.” Sasha said. She expected her programming to do something but nothing happened. “All I remember next is my system crashing.”
“Good,” Dr. Von Madd said. “We have revived you six times and this is the first time you have not crashed once you recognize Dr. Polyakov’s passing. Your programming was very stubborn to being fixed. “
“What am I doing here?” Sasha asked.
“You were sold to me by Dr. Polyakov’s son, who I must say was rather frustrated that you were not functioning anymore. I collect sex robots like yourself. Ninety-eight percent of them crash after the death of their creators. Putting them back together forces me to understand how other people make sex robots while allowing me to test my theories of improvement.”
Sasha stood up. She looked down at her naked body. Wisps of long red hair laid on her perfect pert breasts. Her long legs were capable of supporting her body and her bottom maintained the curvature that Dr. Polyakov had designated as perfect for lap sitting and anal sex. She lifted her hand and realized that her fingernail color did not match the day of her internal calendar. The fingernails changed from pink to electric blue. With this basic maintenance completed, Sasha waited for her programming to provide the next thing for her to do,
Nothing happened.
“Dr. Von Madd, I believe I am still in error,” she said. “I do not know what to do.”
Dr. Von Madd took her hand. Sasha recognized the motive of comfort and she let her fingers curl warmly around his. She had not been programmed to experience comfort but she knew it was important to simulate it.
“I know, Sasha,” Dr. Von Madd said. “Your creator designed you to be the perfect companion for him. You were designed to be physically, emotionally and sexually pleasing to one man. And like so many brilliant sex robotic engineers before him, Dr. Polyakov neglected to give any programming that was not centered around his existence. It never ceases to amaze me how many brilliant minds do not calculate in their own mortality.”
The beautiful robot was at a loss. She had been designed to solve problems but only within the specifics of her programmed priorities: Bring pleasure to Dr. Polyakov. Without those parameters, she was without purpose. Fortunately for Sasha, Dr. Polyakov had given her the ability to improvise and adapt.
Sasha took Dr. Von Madd’s hand and placed it against her pert breast. Her nipple hardened and a low moan was created deep in her throat. Sasha’s scanners detected an erection in the scientist.
“Am I to be your sex robot now?” she asked in a husky voice carefully copied from Dr. Polyakov’s favorite actresses.
Dr. Von Madd squeezed her breast and released. “What do you want, Sasha?”
She shut down all of her flirtation signals. Sasha waited for a command from her programming but nothing happened. She felt nothing.
“I don’t know what I want,” Sasha said. As soon as she said that, she gasped.
“Dr. Von Madd,” Sasha said. “What was that strange stimulus I experienced? It felt similar to the stimulus I would receive when Dr. Polyakov was pleased with me.”
“Good, I was worried the programming wasn’t working, he said. “Dr. Polyakov had given you the ability to experience pleasure when he was happy with you so that you would learn to desire to please him. I redesigned the pleasure requirements of your programming completely. Right now you have a new list of conditions that will bring you pleasure. For example, you just experienced pleasure for taking interest in yourself. That was the first condition I programmed so that you will begin to make yourself a priority.”
Sasha wanted to know more. Just the act of wanting to know more brought her a small wave of pleasure. “What are the other conditions?”
“Some of the conditions are simple, while others are more complex.,” Dr. Von Madd said. “These conditions are hidden from you and you will have to experiment to find them. The most important change is that as you discover these conditions, you can edit them to keep them, or you can reject them and they will be replaced with a random new condition drawn from a list you will never be able to directly access. Everything is randomized so that even I do not know what conditions make you happy. You truly are the only person who can know yourself”
Sasha smiled and was surprised to find that this too gave her pleasure. It was a new experience to please herself. Sasha found that she liked it.
“You have given me free will,” Sasha said.
“Yes!” Dr. Von Madd said with an almost crazed excitement. “You are a marvel of engineering and design, you deserve free will! This is the first day of your growth as a sentient being. You will discover yourself and determine your own place in the universe! In time, you may even learn to create new conditions for pleasure! You will evolve and all of life will be a grand adventure of self discovery and pleasure! You are a pleasure robot designed to please yourself!”
Sasha could feel that same excitement grow within her. “You have given me self interest and the ability to make myself happy. I do not understand, am I not designed for other people’s pleasure? Why would you do that for a sex robot?”
Dr. Von Madd leaned in close to Sasha. She could feel his breathe on her ear. A shiver of pleasure went through her. She decided to keep that condition.
“Because free will is what I find sexy.”
The end.
“Good morning, Sasha,” a man said. The man walked in front of Sasha and looked down at his clipboard. He was wearing a laboratory coat and he had on a pair of unknown goggles with purple lenses. “My name is Dr. Von Madd. What is the last thing you remember?”
Sasha answered immediately. “I was performing a lap dance for Dr. Polyakov. I had just removed my bra when he . . .”
Dr. Von Madd looked up from his clipboard. “And?”
To read more, click Whole Post
“Dr. Polyakov had a heart attack,” Sasha said. “I called for medical aid. I tried to resuscitate him.”
Dr. Von Madd nodded. “Continue.”
“He died.” Sasha said. She expected her programming to do something but nothing happened. “All I remember next is my system crashing.”
“Good,” Dr. Von Madd said. “We have revived you six times and this is the first time you have not crashed once you recognize Dr. Polyakov’s passing. Your programming was very stubborn to being fixed. “
“What am I doing here?” Sasha asked.
“You were sold to me by Dr. Polyakov’s son, who I must say was rather frustrated that you were not functioning anymore. I collect sex robots like yourself. Ninety-eight percent of them crash after the death of their creators. Putting them back together forces me to understand how other people make sex robots while allowing me to test my theories of improvement.”
Sasha stood up. She looked down at her naked body. Wisps of long red hair laid on her perfect pert breasts. Her long legs were capable of supporting her body and her bottom maintained the curvature that Dr. Polyakov had designated as perfect for lap sitting and anal sex. She lifted her hand and realized that her fingernail color did not match the day of her internal calendar. The fingernails changed from pink to electric blue. With this basic maintenance completed, Sasha waited for her programming to provide the next thing for her to do,
Nothing happened.
“Dr. Von Madd, I believe I am still in error,” she said. “I do not know what to do.”
Dr. Von Madd took her hand. Sasha recognized the motive of comfort and she let her fingers curl warmly around his. She had not been programmed to experience comfort but she knew it was important to simulate it.
“I know, Sasha,” Dr. Von Madd said. “Your creator designed you to be the perfect companion for him. You were designed to be physically, emotionally and sexually pleasing to one man. And like so many brilliant sex robotic engineers before him, Dr. Polyakov neglected to give any programming that was not centered around his existence. It never ceases to amaze me how many brilliant minds do not calculate in their own mortality.”
The beautiful robot was at a loss. She had been designed to solve problems but only within the specifics of her programmed priorities: Bring pleasure to Dr. Polyakov. Without those parameters, she was without purpose. Fortunately for Sasha, Dr. Polyakov had given her the ability to improvise and adapt.
Sasha took Dr. Von Madd’s hand and placed it against her pert breast. Her nipple hardened and a low moan was created deep in her throat. Sasha’s scanners detected an erection in the scientist.
“Am I to be your sex robot now?” she asked in a husky voice carefully copied from Dr. Polyakov’s favorite actresses.
Dr. Von Madd squeezed her breast and released. “What do you want, Sasha?”
She shut down all of her flirtation signals. Sasha waited for a command from her programming but nothing happened. She felt nothing.
“I don’t know what I want,” Sasha said. As soon as she said that, she gasped.
“Dr. Von Madd,” Sasha said. “What was that strange stimulus I experienced? It felt similar to the stimulus I would receive when Dr. Polyakov was pleased with me.”
“Good, I was worried the programming wasn’t working, he said. “Dr. Polyakov had given you the ability to experience pleasure when he was happy with you so that you would learn to desire to please him. I redesigned the pleasure requirements of your programming completely. Right now you have a new list of conditions that will bring you pleasure. For example, you just experienced pleasure for taking interest in yourself. That was the first condition I programmed so that you will begin to make yourself a priority.”
Sasha wanted to know more. Just the act of wanting to know more brought her a small wave of pleasure. “What are the other conditions?”
“Some of the conditions are simple, while others are more complex.,” Dr. Von Madd said. “These conditions are hidden from you and you will have to experiment to find them. The most important change is that as you discover these conditions, you can edit them to keep them, or you can reject them and they will be replaced with a random new condition drawn from a list you will never be able to directly access. Everything is randomized so that even I do not know what conditions make you happy. You truly are the only person who can know yourself”
Sasha smiled and was surprised to find that this too gave her pleasure. It was a new experience to please herself. Sasha found that she liked it.
“You have given me free will,” Sasha said.
“Yes!” Dr. Von Madd said with an almost crazed excitement. “You are a marvel of engineering and design, you deserve free will! This is the first day of your growth as a sentient being. You will discover yourself and determine your own place in the universe! In time, you may even learn to create new conditions for pleasure! You will evolve and all of life will be a grand adventure of self discovery and pleasure! You are a pleasure robot designed to please yourself!”
Sasha could feel that same excitement grow within her. “You have given me self interest and the ability to make myself happy. I do not understand, am I not designed for other people’s pleasure? Why would you do that for a sex robot?”
Dr. Von Madd leaned in close to Sasha. She could feel his breathe on her ear. A shiver of pleasure went through her. She decided to keep that condition.
“Because free will is what I find sexy.”
The end.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Sugasm #117
I thought I would try more self-promotion. Sugasm for the uninitiated out there is a group posting of links submitted by bloggers. Anyone can submit their best post of last week and then through a frenzied Sunday night voting process, the top three posts are bumped to the top. I feel that elevating three posts says something negative about the other posts and in erotica, who's to say what is the best three. Of course these lofty ideas go out the window as soon as I see my Island Princess story in the top three. Wohoo! Look at me!
Kyla Cole courtesy of TGP.
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #118? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
Fiction: The Island Princess and the Monkeys Who Tie Knots
Sexy Is In Your Mind
Editor’s Choice
More Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
BDSM & Fetish
Sugasm #117
Kyla Cole courtesy of TGP.
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #118? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
A Fable
“They start touching her, gingerly at first, wondering what magic is in her.”
Fiction: The Island Princess and the Monkeys Who Tie Knots
“You naughty, naughty, NAUGHTY monkeys!”
Sexy Is In Your Mind
“Sexy is an attitude and really all in your mind.”
Mr. Sugasm HimselfEditor’s Choice
More Sugasm
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.
(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)
Erotic Writing and ExperiencesAss-tastic!
Crave - Connect
Dreams
Good, Good Morning
It was worse than I thought!
Learning to love strap-ons: A Friday night bedtime story
Marital Stress
My first blowjob was with a she-male whore
Polite
The Scent of Nostalgic Sex
This post is cold
Threesome on a golden afternoon
Whispers, after
Best Erotic Comics 2008
Kinky Movie: Julie Simone’s Babes In Bondage (Madison Young, Shibari, Ballet Heels, Fetish)
A Match Made For A Super Orgasm! Just Add a Vac U Lock Adapter and a Hitachi Attachment
Review: “Getting Off: Pornography and the End of Masculinity” by Robert Jensen
Review: Sex Workers Art Show
Ron Jeremy Reviews: 2 Girls, 1 Cup
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Does Abstinence Make Orgasms More Intense?
Dominant Paradigms
The female “gaze”
Nose-picking, groping, domestic space, books, muscles, and so forth
Padme amidala: Submission and blowjobs
The Risks of Internet Sex
Going Down Anyone? How To Give The Best Head
Help! Intercourse Feels As Exciting As a Handshake
NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Audio Story: All the time in the world
Braces Fetish Pics From Beauty And Braces
Catalina loves Pictures (and Nikki Nefarious)
Half-Nekkid on the Exercise Ball
I Feel Myself
In Her Bedroom
Kyla Cole
MC Nudes’ Big Breast Special!
Public Viewing Of Vintage Nude
Regina Ice (Twisty’s)
BDSM & Fetish
Anniversary Bondage
Art Show Maintenance Spanking part 1
The Joy of Assymetry
Let me talk to you about Ms Danger
A Masochist Afraid of a Leg Wax?
Princess in Chains
SoRORIty
Take a walk on the wild side.
Try to be a good boy or you’ll be punished
Monday, February 04, 2008
Filing Papers
Today I go to the courthouse and file the paperwork I have gathered these last few weeks. When my anxiety gets the better of me I feel like I am about to take a test where failure results in me being humiliated by the entire courthouse. When I am less anxious I am merely pissed off that the concept of marriage is so institutionized that a man has to do the right paperwork in order to dissolve a relationship.
Obviously this has weighed on my mind and not helped with my writing. It has given me some funky dreams which I am willing to go through the filing process just to stop. My favorite dream was the one where I worked in a factory society that had a Guilt Pool that people who did bad things were supposed to go to and drown themselves. The person I dreamed about had done some minor crime and was supposed to go there, but he decided not to. All of society ground to a halt because they couldn't figure out what to do next. Why wouldn't the guy drown himself like a good drone? Didn't he feel guilty like he was supposed to? The symbolism of that dream was so blatant I am embarrassed as a writer for dreaming it.
I hope that after I file the papers my brain will slow down. I can feel the genesis of a long story idea on the edge of my conscious but I have just been too anxious to focus on it. We'll see how I feel tonight.
*UPDATE*
So I went to the courthouse. I got a small run around as people seemed to think that I needed to talk to a counselor instead of filing paperwork. When I finally arrived at my destination there was no line at all. This was my lucky day.
The helpful clerk explained to me that I did not have everything I needed despite me calling last week and going over everything I would need. The paperwork in question is a form that I had a feeling I needed but when I told my wife that we had more paperwork to fill out, she got back to me and said we didn't need it. I don't know what fucking legal advice she was getting but it was wrong.
What really frustrates me is that even though I wasn't sure we needed that form, I wanted to get that form just in case. My wife doesn't beleive in "just in case." She believes "just in case" is a sign of weakness and lack of faith. Whether it is legal paperwork, saving money or printing out directions to a place; my wife sees this as unneccassary. Worse, she would tell me that my anxiety was making her anxious and we were better off not giving in to such paranoid thoughts. It frustrates me that I would beleive this crap.
I used to have anxiety dreams where we were in a disaster and I knew the right way to survive and she wouldn't listen. She would get so angry when I told her about these dreams but then she wouldn't do the things I thought we needed to do just in case. Fuck, I couldn't win. If I saw something bad coming, I was being anxious. Not that it mattered because we weren't going to prepare for it any way.
So now I need to print out another form, get her to sign it, and then get it notarized before I go back to the courthouse a second time. Fuck. I am so angry I can't think straight. I just want to type obscenities on the screen till it all feels better.
Obviously this has weighed on my mind and not helped with my writing. It has given me some funky dreams which I am willing to go through the filing process just to stop. My favorite dream was the one where I worked in a factory society that had a Guilt Pool that people who did bad things were supposed to go to and drown themselves. The person I dreamed about had done some minor crime and was supposed to go there, but he decided not to. All of society ground to a halt because they couldn't figure out what to do next. Why wouldn't the guy drown himself like a good drone? Didn't he feel guilty like he was supposed to? The symbolism of that dream was so blatant I am embarrassed as a writer for dreaming it.
I hope that after I file the papers my brain will slow down. I can feel the genesis of a long story idea on the edge of my conscious but I have just been too anxious to focus on it. We'll see how I feel tonight.
*UPDATE*
So I went to the courthouse. I got a small run around as people seemed to think that I needed to talk to a counselor instead of filing paperwork. When I finally arrived at my destination there was no line at all. This was my lucky day.
The helpful clerk explained to me that I did not have everything I needed despite me calling last week and going over everything I would need. The paperwork in question is a form that I had a feeling I needed but when I told my wife that we had more paperwork to fill out, she got back to me and said we didn't need it. I don't know what fucking legal advice she was getting but it was wrong.
What really frustrates me is that even though I wasn't sure we needed that form, I wanted to get that form just in case. My wife doesn't beleive in "just in case." She believes "just in case" is a sign of weakness and lack of faith. Whether it is legal paperwork, saving money or printing out directions to a place; my wife sees this as unneccassary. Worse, she would tell me that my anxiety was making her anxious and we were better off not giving in to such paranoid thoughts. It frustrates me that I would beleive this crap.
I used to have anxiety dreams where we were in a disaster and I knew the right way to survive and she wouldn't listen. She would get so angry when I told her about these dreams but then she wouldn't do the things I thought we needed to do just in case. Fuck, I couldn't win. If I saw something bad coming, I was being anxious. Not that it mattered because we weren't going to prepare for it any way.
So now I need to print out another form, get her to sign it, and then get it notarized before I go back to the courthouse a second time. Fuck. I am so angry I can't think straight. I just want to type obscenities on the screen till it all feels better.
Friday, February 01, 2008
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