Outside and Writing

I went outside today. No shit. I walked down to the apartment building's pool and read a book. This is the crazy mo-fo I am, I took off my shoes and let my feet soak in the cool water. I read for about an hour and a half before I got really sore from sitting on concrete.

The sad thing is, it took me thirty minutes of stalling to go to the pool. I imagined hordes of kids, wives sitting around thinking I'm there to gawk at them or worse, buff men who will sneer at my pudgy body. The pool of course was empty. I was almost dissappointed that there was no one there to conquer my fears over. Later the most muscular tanned guy in the world did come by but I wasn't scared of him. If anything, I pitied his awesome tan and body. Looks like a lot of work.

I came back and started writing. I don't know if it was the sunlight, or the fear or what, but I was able to sit down and crank out two stuttering pages. Woot me!

Agoraphobia

So yesterday I needed to go to the barber shop. I was looking forward to it, and my wife was looking forward to it. I was going to walk down to the street corner and get my hair cut and come back. Simple.

I could not bring myself to walk out that door. I was gripped with terror. The worse part was that I couldn't even say what I was afraid of. I wasn't afraid of getting mugged, getting lost or getting a bad haircut. I was just scared shitless. My stomach rebelled and I found every excuse to stay at home where it was safe.

Obviously I have a problem. I've always been shy, and I've always been reluctant to meet new people but I have never understood why. I have lost relationships because I couldn't leave the house some days. I thought I was just the world's biggest chicken.

Apparently I am not a chicken, I have agoraphobia. I used to think that was the fear of open spaces, but after doing some research I have discovered that it is a term for people who create safety zones and are terrified of leaving them. For me, it's going outside by myself. If my wife or a loved one is with me, I do a lot better and am even adventerous. Those comfort zones however don't extend to the phone where I somedays can't even order myself a pizza. Going out to ride the bus is a terror. Getting a job is something I desperately need to do but I just can't see how I can do it. It scares me to death.

I think the fears extended into my wrtiting when I decided to try to go professional. Looking back, I can see how writing for a different audience took me out of my comfort zone and made it as hard as going on a MARTA bus ride. That understanding makes it easier for me to see why I have been unable to write but it also angers me to no end. I think my writing was a comfort zone to me in that I created a safety net.

I feel like a fragile broken person and I hate hate hate how I feel like a handicap on my wife. Now that I have a term and a condition to use instead of just calling myself a coward, I can find ways of coping. I can read, learn and adapt. Agoraphobia is much easier to deal with than just thinking I am a chicken of the Nth degree.

Ruin, Despair, Sex

The complete breakdown of New Orleans has affected me in weird ways. I'm going through 9/11 levels of anxiety where I am reading a million web pages trying to understand how this could happen and what is happening now. I feel like I know FEMA front and back now. I know what mitigation means now. It annoys me that I have to go to the BBC to find out the latest news on my own country, but it was there I first heard about New Orleans police participating in the looting. I am processing information like I am cramming for a test.

Part of it comes from sheer disbeleif. As a writer, a reader and a gamer, I think about disaster What If's all the time. I rule out scenarioes a lot of times on the basis of "Human beings are smart, no human being government would just let a city sit under water and make zero effort to rescue people." Then I see shit like this for the past three days and I realize that my society is just very lucky we have a lenient wimp of a writer doing our story.

The unexpected side effect of this human misery is a desire to write. I've been dry without an idea in the world for months but now I'm almost desperate to write something. I have to carve out a world, a better sexier fun world where people don't die in stadiums while a president poses with a cake. I don't have any ideas but I have this sheer need to write. if I don't write something, anything, I am afraid I will turn into a zombie watching CNN for some ray of sunshine.

I'm Alive?!?!?!

Yes, I appear to be.

I could chronicle my depression, my angst and my terrible daily shame but hey, let's keep this journal upbeat!

To blow your mind I present Japanese Samba Dancers http://mdn.mainichi-msn.co.jp/photospecials/graph/050827samba/index.html

The Low Blow

History Channel was covering Siberia of all places this morning. Even I have my limits when it comes to breakfast history so I went channel surfing and came across a music video from the burlesque act, the Pussycat Dolls.

I rolled my eyes but figured hey, I should check them out. Busta' Ryhmes starts the video off with a forgetable rap that had me inching my finger towards the remote. Luckily he stopped being dull and they actually let the gyrating gals sing a few lines. That's when things got interesting.

The song had a very simple message: Your girlfriend sucks, and you wish she was more like the hot stripper flirting with you. I was struck by how low a blow it was to the gender wars. It was the kind of cheap thing that makes women hate porn. Lines like "Don't you wish your girlfriend was fun like me?" splits the world into two types of women, those who are fun, and those who aren't. Because your girl doesn't dress in lingerie and shake her hips, she is not fun. Evil, evil, evil.

I loved it. I would never use a line like that because I know it isn't fair. I know there is more to a relationship than sexy dancing but at the same time, unfair illogical arguements like that get the blood pumping. It's a nice bit of propaganda. The boy is on defence, why isn't his girl hot like the stripper who makes a living out of doing stomach crunches?

I think I need to take the gloves off when I write. If my characters are greedy, they should be willing to say the illogical to get what they want. A little emotional dirty fighting could be fun.

Brenda McKean

College sucked. I had no idea how sheltered and controlling my childhood was until I went to college. Everything I knew about college came from H.P. Lovecraft and B-movies. It was a reality shock in so many ways I can't even begin to describe. It didn't help that I had the Roommate From Hell, a pot smoking rich kid who was sleeping with a gorgeous blonde that he didn't like. I thought the only kids who went to college were nerds like me.

It also didn't help that my finacial aid was in limbo for 80% of the semester. When my aid did come in, my mother was pestering me for a cut of the money. There were days where I just dreamed of pizza like most boys dream of the Swedish Bikini Team.

So college sucked. I got married and worked in the same college town that I had so many unhappy experiences. I lived in an apartment building that had mostly college students. Years after I was done with college, I was still soaking in that enviroment.

Brenda McKean was a wish fufillment story. I wished that instead of running into spoiled potheads that I had ran into some sort of group that would have taken me under their wing. In a way, I wanted substitute parents. Since my own parents were more interested in my finacial aid than they were in me, I wish I had a group that would have shown me the ropes, taught me basic social skills and made me feel less like a freak.

I had this idea of a secret society that would take nerds in and give them sexual adventures beyond their imagination. I made her a female student because I like female characters and quite a few female readers said I wrote beleivable female characters. On a more selfish note, female writers were known for getting many times the fan mail that a male writer gets. Since this story was important to me, I really wanted to get some input. I created a female identity to get fan mail and to create another myth like Arthur G. Thomas.

The actual story was called "The Secret League of U.T." Get it? Get it? Oh I am being so dirty. The initials spell SLUT, a word that I had begun to percieve as a positive reclaiming of sexual identity rather than an insult. Here's a sad secret: I had no idea what U.T. stood for. I hoped I would figure it out sometime.

The biggest problem the series faced was my conflicting interests. I wanted to tell a story about a nerdy girl who joins a special sorority. There are some elements of sororities that are very submissive and those elements fascinated me. Brenda has to push herself to prove she is worthy, yet also do exhibitionistic things to get her out of her shell. As much as I was interested in elevating Brenda, I was also just as interested in the domination aspects of the story. As a writer, I know now that you really can't write anything unless you do it with a clarity of purpose. Brenda's story was trying too hard to satisfy too many of my own goals.

As for the fan mail, well that was certainly an experience. Because Brenda came across as submissive and naive, the majority of my fan mail was from men who desperately wanted to train her to be their naive submissive. I wasn't getting fan mail, I was getting offers.

One type of fan popped up over and over again. The man would decimate my story and point out every typo, bad sentence structure and any other error he could imagine. Then they would offer to be my mentor and editor. This was also followed by questions about my personal life and an insistence that I anwser them right away. The e-mails would piss me off so I had a rule that I would wait 24 hours before responding. The interesting result of this was that the 'fan' would write an angry follow up letter berating me for not responding. Now, it's now like I didn't respond for a week. Some of these angry follow ups would be within the hour! These angry stalkers would then escalate into threats and ultimatiums.

Instead of increased dialogue about my story, having a female alias just generated stalkers. Interesting side note, the female stalkers were about 30% of the stalker total. Of course they could have been men for all I know.

The series ended after only three chapters. The stalkers who would tear down everything I wrote and then expect my submission really burned me out. I also ran into a problem where I felt like I just couldn't write about a woman coming of age since I am you know, a guy. Looking back now it seems painfully obvious that I should have made a male character and I would have been able to write a whole book on the subject. Funny what you learn as a writer.

Here are the links to the story chapters-
http://groups-beta.google.com/group/alt.sex.stories/msg/c7f974fccc68d44a?output=gplain

http://groups-beta.google.com/group/alt.sex.stories/msg/471620dd6f55a43e?output=gplain

http://groups-beta.google.com/group/alt.sex.stories/msg/e3822ebe726fce65?output=gplain

I will be using elements from the story in my new Society stories. I have already used the Evil Roommate in a book I wrote about another college girl. The Wet T-shirt contest was recycled and expanded in another Coming of Slut story of mine. The most important thing I learned from Brenda was that the story of a Secret Society can not be told from the point of view of one gender, much less one person.

Girls-R-Fun

My wife blew out her knee. Dayum. I have a feeling I'm going to get a lot of inspiration out of this.

We drove to a new part of Atlanta to find a place that sells leg braces. It was a rather unremarkable collection of streets except for one erotic strip club I saw. The ratty sign said "Girls . . . .ATM". Well, that is eye catching. The actual club looked like a converted strip mall bar. The whole building looked decrepit.

What caught my eye though was the name of the bar. "Girls-R-Fun". Wow, that's kind of nice. It wasn't some lame dirty pun, or outright dirty name. It was a simple statement that girls are fun. That sounds friendly. It wasn't luring me in with body parts, it was implying that we might play a few card games, sing karoke and hang out. It might be a total lie, but I appreciate the effort in the club name.

Secret Alias

It occurred to me that it might be a good time to write down just why exactly I wrote under other names.

Arthur Thomas http://www.asstr.org/~ArthurThomas/ was a strange exploration in my own acceptance of domination fiction. I had toyed with S/M in my stories, but usually as from a comedy angle. I wrote about it like it was a joke, or with silly characters so i could distance myself from the stories. It's weird but true, I had hang ups.

One day I was in a Taxi and the driver was bitching about her night job. At night she drove a limousine. I laughed. A limousine in this small crappy college town? I asked her who rented it, and she responded that it was college guys. I asked why in the world would college guys need a limo and she looked at me like I was stupid. To cruise the bar streets and pick up girls of course!

I thought it was the height of stupidity. Cruising just in the HOPE of picking up girls? What girl would actually get in a limo with strangers? My slow brain finally figured it out; girls who are hoping to hook up with rich guys.

The idea boiled around in my head for a few days. On the one hand, I was appalled that hiring a limo seemed to work as a pick up line. It just seemed so lame to rent a limo to pretend you were rich. On the other hand, I wondered about those cheap easy girls who hopped into strange limos. If they ever did run into a guy with money, how easy would they be?

That's when I remembered the Million Dollar Man. Ted Dibiase was a wrestler in the 80's who had one gimmick. He was rich. Fans hated him and they hated how he would talk trash to them as if they were poor white trash. Ted would do this same thing week after week and the fans never stopped hating him for it. He would pick some guy out of the audience, bad mouth him, and make him do something like kiss his feet for a hundred dollars. Almost always the fan would do it.

See where this is going?

So I had this idea of a Millionaire Pervert. He'd go around buying sexual favors and humiliating people. It's pretty mean and debasing but I couldn't let go of the idea. Mostly because the stories I thought of were all domination/humiliation fantasies that I was having at the time. Normally I wouldn't let myself entertain these ideas, but once I thought of a character who would be EVIL, I knew I could write these bad stories guilt free.

Well, not entirely guilt free hence the alias. Arthur G. Thomas was not only a name for my ashamed of desires, but he also became the brand name so to speak. I liked the idea of a evil pervert who would share these stories under the guise of rubbing in how weak everyone else is. As a role-player it was also just fun. I slid into his mind and created a nice tiny world for him.

Arthur got fan mail that I never did. Arthur got kinky perverse fanmail from women who not only liked the bastard, but wanted to be used by the bastard. Arthur had a story website before I did because women offered to make it for him. That blew my mind. Through e-mail with them, I discovered that hey, there can be women who like to be humiliated and used if done so by someone they wanted to be used by.

I came up with an ongoing story for Arthur where he took on a wife. This was a woman who sold herself to him because she thought it would be easy. I enjoyed writing it at first but it spun out of my control. As a writer, I tried too hard to make Arthur evil as oppossed to entertaining. The more I tried to protray Arthur as evil, the more I skirted closer to simple spousal abuse stories. Heck, I learned a lot about spousal abuse from writing those stories. I had to quit writing them because I had made a huge break through in thinking of domination as not evil; but here I am writing about a character that if he was to stay consistant, had to be evil.

Looking at some of the stories, I am just embarrassed. 'Blowjob' and 'Nude Photos' are okay, but the other stories read like I was flipping through a sex manual trying to assign prices to sex acts. That's what happens when you are trying to explore yourself, but you make yourself stick to a formula. One story I did like is not on my old website and you can find it here http://www.asstr.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34465?textonly=Text+Only Funny side note, I sent that story to a fellow writer who was intrigued by a hint I dropped that I had another writer name. After I sent this story, she never talked to me again.

Before I close the book on Arthur, I would like to stress a few things I thought I did right with him. One, he was a jerk and he knew it. Too many of the Dom erotica I was reading spent so much time justifying what they did. Arthur was an ass.

Another thing I liked about him was that he had a severe sexual hang up. He could only really get aroused if he knew the other person was humiliating themselves. It made him a pitiful character. Not sympathetic, just pitiful. I find it odd that erotica doms are so lacking in outright hang ups.

Next time, I'll discuss Brenda Mckean and the Secret League of U.T.

Bigger Keyboards

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What a Society Needs

A Secret Society should have a guy in charge of marketing. This is the guy who has to drum up money to fund the Society, improve the Society's marketshare of sluts and keep the society afloat.

Other Societies concern themslelves solely with recruitment. They have elaborate plans to gather more slaves. I plan to have that too, but the fact that other erotica has beaten the subject to death makes me less eager to throw in my version.

So the guy I have in mind is more of a marketing guy. He designs the brochure that they give new hopefuls. He 'somehow' competes with other Societies to get the best talent. Perhaps he also hits up the rich and gets donations for Society funding. Goddess, that would be a sucky job but I'm intrigued. All I know for sure is that this guy gets paid by commision. Sexy.

Out This Week

Frank Gorshin, who played the 'Riddler' in the Batman series, passed away today.

I know it was a one in seven chance, but how weird is it that he passed away on new comics day?

As much as I loved Frank's Riddler, let me praise a little known other role he had. He was some sort of Time Villain on 'Black Scorpion'.

Ah Black Scorpion. It was first a cheesy sex/action movie by Roger Corman. Then it morphed into a weird sexy stupid superhero series on Sci-fi channel starring the delicious Michele Lintel. How much emphasis did they put on sex? Well, seventeen Playboy Playmates played villians on the show. It also featured stock scenes from other movies for their car chases. It was cheaply made, dumb and spent way too much time creating new and exciting cleavage shots. I loved it.

One episode featured Frank playing a bad guy who was put in jail for a very very very long time. So long in fact, he became obsessed with time and learned how to manipulate it. WTF? Despite this premise that wouldn't make sense for 4 seconds, Frank acted his heart out for a full hour. Now, I have suspended belief so that Lisa Boyle could be believable as a scientist with a stone ray, but my head hurt afterwards. Frank made his character so interesting and so engrossing that you not only beleived, you had fun.

So I salute Frank Gorshin, because anyone who can elevate a sexplotation series to real drama, is a better actor than most.

Lovely Art

http://www.sexartbymister.com/gallery.htm

There is something to be said for curves in art. I see images like these and it reminds me of early men scribbling in their caves and trying to share just how awesome a pair of boobs and wide hips can be.

Ten Little Submissives

When I was a child, my parents watched a lot of horror movies. Granted, they watched them on network TV so they weren't gory but the tension certainly still gave me nightmares. I hated all of them except for one movie that I loved so much, that I replayed it over and over again with my action figures. That movie was Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians.

As a kid I loved the battle of wits. Someone, a member of the group, was killing the others. They weren't killing them bluntly, like with a gun over and over again. No, they had a special method to kill each one that tied in with a children's song. It was morbid but man, it really proved the killer was smarter than them. He had made up rules for himself and the victims could escape if they could just figure everything out. It was a riddle with deadly consequences.

In the movies I saw, the final two victims somehow figure out who the killer is and defeat him. In the book though, the killer wins. Reading that book as a twelve year old really shocked me. The killer wins? What the-?

Why am I bringing all this up? Because this past weekend it dawned on me that 'Ten Little Indians' is a Dom fantasy. One man controlling nine others. It disturbs me to find yet another link between horror and domination but at the same time it reminds me how much being a dom soaks into every part of my life. Being a Dom is socially unacceptable unless you are a Church Leader, so it's no suprise that the only places I can find Dom characters are in stories about unacceptable people like killers, dictators and super villains. Sad but true.

It makes me wish there was a sappy 60's era sitcom based on the goofy adventures of a super nice dominat man. Canned laughter and predictable plots would help humanize Doms don't you think?

"Dear, I notice you bought some new rope today at the grocery store."

"Shucks, I was hoping to suprise you when I tied you to the fence outside and fucked your face."

"Oh Bill, you are the best husband a gal like me could hope for."

Look Upon Her Works and Tremble

I was looking at some book reviews on Amazon. One of the reviews caught my eye because it was crammed wtih dense language that I still can't be sure what her point was. I was also struck by the sweeping arrogance the reviewer had as she explained how this book would place in History ages from now.

Then I noticed a link that said "Read my other reviews"

I had to.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/cdp/member-reviews/A13WA7OFJRQMOY/ref=cm_aya_rev_all/104-1454925-0551917

I don't know this lady. I can't pretend to rate her as a reviewer but I am fascinated by her book choices. Politics, Feminism, Philosphy and Why Nice Girls Don't Get the Corner Office are all reviewed by Ross. The woman is a force to be reckoned with, with insghts and powers far greater than normal men. You might think I am making fun of her, but as a writer, I am in awe of her ability to write many book reviews where she doesn't review the book as much as she reviews her own personal opinion on why the world needs to get it's act together.

Some highlights,

Commenting on "Who Stole Feminism?: How Women Have Betrayed Women", Ross cites the plot from "The Bodyguard" as proof for her point.

Commenting on "How to Make Apple Pie and See the World" Ross says, "The long undervalued but much touted apple pie (even without the ice cream, ala mode) represents the finest of lessons in health for human kind but one which would never come from the Bible because baking and the utensils of kitchens, nor the trading routes and processes to cultivate the ingregients of apple pies was present at the time the Bible was written. "

Commenting on "Beauty and the Beast: And Other French Fairy Tales", Ross grants us this insight on the book-

If I was a betting person, I would bet that this oft told story was the result of a middle aged or older man who was seeking a method of introducing the concept that the troll like features of old age need not discount the nature of the love and affection required to be felt by such persons who prefer the company of fair maidens who might be seduced into giving them that pleasure. Having the ear marks of the fantasy like prominence of isolation and illusion that accompanies old age, and the unlikelihood that such a worn out vision of masculinity might have appeal for the flower of youth, the mind of man can be very cunning, and is often very seductive while preying upon the naive, softhearts of the dew that lies in the hearts of young maidens, fair or not. Drawn in to the care taker role of a kindly, parent-like figure, however disfigured by the ideal model of the Prince that young maidens are taught to favor, the marketing has worked for some years as we can see by the recent wedding of Jack Welch from the much touted, and idealized wedding of his new fair princess, and can be seen in many other instances of fantasized idealism that grace the covers of many celebrity photo magazines meant to send the message of similar outcomes.

Wow. I used to go random blog fishing but now I might start checking out reviewers for my Odd Bird fix.

No Rich People Allowed

A funny thing happened on the way to writing today. I realized I hated the rich.

I decided to go with a collection of short stories dealing with the Secret Submissive Society. One of the themes I wanted to explore was that if you had a large secret society pulling the strings, then every single person didn't need to be a millionaire with a chateau. I'm a little bewildered why erotica writers who come from modest backgrounds want to write about the rich and famous. Not being rich and famous, I'm not eager to see them get laid. I understand part of it is a power fantasy about what an erotica writer would do if they were a millionaire but I feel it's inherently dishonest. We don't need a secluded island to have wild sex. All we really need is the desire and a little forethought.

Last week I wrote the first chapter and a fine chapter it was. The 'twist' I used was that the dom was a minimum wage guy who the Society uses to punish some of their members. The punished person in this case was a trophy wife. The guy has a crappy job except he gets to punish women from time to time. The trophy wife is horrified to be used by someone so lowly and hence we have all the ingredients for sweaty sex.

Today I sat down and the first three plots I came up with was more rich person abuse. Even worse, I decided not to have any wealthy dom characters at all. Wow. Somewhere along the way I turned into French Revolutionist.

Deep breath.

Shon's 4 Step Program towards Rich People in This Story

1> I understand that for a Society to work, it will need money from somewhere.

2> I understand that not all rich people are evil.

3> I understand that an erotic story that hates the wealthy is more political than I really want to write.

4> Salma Hayak is rich but still fuckable.

Remakes

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Demon Turtles!

http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/03/21/evil.turtle.ap/index.html


Wow, poor turtle. On the other hand, I think it would make for an awesome heavy metal song.

Demon Turtle!
You survived when others died!
Demon Turtle!
Your evil can't be denied!

WAAAAAAAAAAA!

Something like that.

Porn Titles

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Secret Societies

Years ago when I was a little tiny kid, I was terribly lonely. My circle of friends included Batman, Luke Skywalker and Winnie the Pooh. Naturally I was drawn to fiction that included groups or teams working together. My favorite was the Justice League, a team of superheroes who had an orbiting superhero base and their own signal devices. I so badly wanted to be in a superhero team.

Then a funny thing happened around puberty. I devolped a sex drive and I had parents who taught me sex was bad. I felt bad for mentally undressing every girl in every class. I felt more like a bad guy than a hero and that was when I discovered the ultimate in comic book perversities. It was a little flash in the pan series that died in the 70's called, the Secret Society of Super-Villians.

Well now. The SSoSV had a secret clubhouse, a secret code and more importantly, they had a reason to band together. Everyone else was after them.

As I grow older, I find myself joining real secret societies. We call them BDSM groups now. We meet at resturaunts under assumed names. We sign legal waivers at dungeons. As the conservatives work day and night to regulate what we do in our bedrooms, we go deeper and deeper underground to hide ourselves yet still find others like us. The sad thing is, the more secrecy we must use, the more intimate and special I am finding all this.

Porn knows this. The Story of O is really the story of a bunch of people creating their own society that hides from the real world. The idea of a secret society of white slavers is either the thrust of a lot of porn, or the demon enemy of a lot of mainstream fiction. Deep down, we suspect people are engaging in secret sex all over the place and damn it, we want in.

Robert Anton Wilson has written a lot about the Illumanati and secret societies in general. If Robert has taught me anything, it's that secret groups prey on the lonely and dissillusioned to control them with the carrot of making them feel like they belong so that they can advance their own agenda. I know that in my heart but instead of turning me off to them, I just change my need from belonging to the groung into controlling the group. I am a sick puppy.

I'm getting ready to embark on a long story about a secret society of sluts. It occurs to me that now more than ever, people can't get their groove on without some help. There is so much guilt and shame involved, I really think that for a person to really enjoy a one night stand they have to have a secret decoder ring and maybe an orbiting mansion. I am going to try to see if I can make a group that frees people from guilt yet at the same time they use that guilt to lure their members in. Most importantly, I want to make a book that makes the readers feel like they are not alone in their secret kinks.

Writing is Writing

My lovely wife suggested a story idea that I pretty much took whole. Wow, that rarely happens but it was a good one. I've got a page and a half on it and expect it run about seven pages. Spouses rock.

Definitions

Just so you know, when you spend a week THINKING about writing, you are not actually writing. Nope, not really.

A few weeks ago my sub gave me an ultimatum that if I didn't write anything of my own, she was going to give me ideas. Her first suggestion was write about an abandoned shopping cart. I started my librarian story the next day. Hell, most likely the next hour. Funny how motivation works that way.

I think I will create a standard not terribly creative long story that will give me something to write in between inspired ideas. That was essentially what Thigh Vs Thigh was and look how well that worked. I wonder if I should continue the librarian story as a sort of series, falling back on those characters and keep going with their exploits. Hmmmm.

Or maybe I should go simpler and say "If I have nothing to write today, I'll write a short secret slut story which is what I spend half my time thinking about anyway."

I'll report back to myself later in the day.

Rules for Action Females

Written by Christina Larson at Washington Monthly.

I am blazing these into memory.



1. Do fight demons. Don't fight only inner demons.
2. Do play well with others. Don't shun human society.
3. Do exhibit self-control. Don't exhibit mental disorders.
4. Do wear trendy clothes. Don't wear fetish clothes.
5. Do embrace girl power. Don't cling to man hatred.
6. Do help hapless men. Don't try to kill your boyfriend.
7. Do toss off witty remarks. Don't look perpetually sullen.

Snagging

My story is not going so great. I haven't hit a wall as much as I just don't like it.

I wanted to do a light hearted sex story where sex scenes are chained together around an unrealistic but fun premise. I wanted to do a delivery girl who delivers food and BJ's. What is holding the story up is I can't find the balance I want between light hearted fantasy and realism. In a way I feel like I'm writing a sexy cartoon. It hits some of my primal buttons but the lack of realism keeps me from really emoting with the character. I think I'll start over tomorrow and work for a happy medium.

It's not like I have had a fetish for delivery girls or anything. To me the idea has merit because it is such a common fantasy, I thought I could do something unique with it. For example, make the whole food side much more erotic than just pizza. I wanted an X-rated Hooters. I also have been thinking a lot about how the really so called 'Hot' girls of the moment are just as fake, prepackaged and mass produced as fast food is. The deep orange tan, the frosted brunnette/blond hair and the fake boobs are as real as the microwaved burgers amercians scarf down. I think my issue is that I see a humourous side to this story but I also see a statement about america and it's taste for mass production satisfaction. Can I even combine the two?

Random Thoughts

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Deep Porn

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One Down,

I finished the first draft to my story today. Cripes, I don't even have a title. I would like this story to be the start of a series, so I feel compelled to create two titles. On the other hand, Sherlock Holmes didn't have a unifying title so maybe I will wing it and just come up with one. Still, what do you call a story about two librarians asking to buy a book from a fetish photographer? Hrrrrmmm.

I used to hate doing second drafts but I am looking forward to this one. The entire time I wrote this story I kept wanting to go back and redo the last page. I found out the hard way that this results in a near perfect first page with no story after it. I held off on my changes, swearing I would get to them in the editing. Sure enough, I am. I will keep that in mind when I start on my second story.

Now that I have one story nearly finished, I find myself judging how fast it took, and how many can I expect to write this year. I blame my years at a car factory for this. I am thinking of my writing in cycle counts, ugh.

Back to work for me.

Stories That Need to be Told

"Female Soldier Demoted for Mud-Wrestling" http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/02/07/soldier.demoted.ap/index.html

Seriously, this is a story that needs to be told. I imagine this is the kind of incident where the dejected soldier loses faith in a nation that wants her to get shot at, but frown on her engaging in sexual play. Let the soldier wrestle! Let her roll around in the mud with other females before she is sent over seas to grab some more oil.

Deanna Allen has joined the ranks of erotiterrorism. Poor gal.

Pictures can be viewed at http://www.nydailynews.com/02-06-2005/news/wn_report/story/278178p-238353c.html

Janet, meet Nikki

Last year, Janet Jackson flashed a breast and destroyed the world. Parents gnashed their teeth and moaned to the heavens "How can I explain this to my child? I never wanted them to know about nipples! Ack!" It was immoral terrorism of the highest degree and it's where I got the title of this blog by the way. Janet Jackson, in an attempt to revitalize a dead career, freaked out a nation and gave the religous right the justification they needed to build their own Abu Garhib where they hoped to put Howard Stern, Desperate Housewives and now it looks like Spongebob.



This year we got Nikki Cappelli. I'm not sure if that was an improvement, but it is nice to see someone punch the nose of the Hypocritical Right. If all you saw was the Super Bowl ad, go to http://www.godaddy.com/gdshop/superbowl05/landing.asp?isc=bpshdr001&se=%2B and watch the ad that never made it to TV.

My favorite line of the Internet Ad- "Those aren't real"

Morning Thoughts

I woke up this morning and the first thought that crossed my mind was "I need a woman". Not in a life relationship kind of way, or in a "Gee, wouldn't it be nice to cuddle this morning?" kind of way. I wanted to roll over, grab someone by the hair and fuck them. The first few minutes I was awake, I struggled through a dozen images of what exactly I wanted before I realized I was awake.

Wow, that's horny.

If writing does this to me, why did I ever stop?

No One Understands Me Like You Do, Blank Pages

I have forgotten that when I am depressed, annoyed, insulted or ignored, that writing makes everything all better. I love you, blank pages. We should run off together and live in the islands where I will write for gumbo and we'll make lots of lovely little books together.

Told You It Was Cold

Two Librarians Walk Into a Basement

I'm at part two of my story. The two librarians are over at a photgrapher's house trying to convince him to part with a book that was written by a friend of his. the photographer is reluctant and stalls by inviting them downstairs. There, he has stored all sorts of bondage equipment and other props from his fetish photography.

Now, my original plan was to have the female librarian come back the next day and offer to pose for the aging photographer in order to get the book. In the basement I had planned for the two librarians to get hot and bothered by the props, come home and releive themselves with each other. Now I am not so certain that looking at bondage props would do it. I am brainstorming for something else that can happen in the basement.

My role-playing instincts kick in and I want to treat the librarians like players. Give them a challenge or something to work against. They have the task of making the photographer sell the book, but I want to step away from that and do something else. I want to make use of the props, but I have a hard time thinking of a legitmate reason two strangers would use a man's spanking bench. I am trying to stay a smidge realistic.

It occurs to me that the photographer could have a clever piece of equipment he wants to show off and Claire could volunteer to get in it. Then he could show the interesting functions and then stop after awhile so it doesn't get pornographic. Hmmm. This would get them to that stae of arousal.

Or maybe he could show them peices, and I could do flashbacks to the past where these peices got used. Maybe if I make the scenes vivid enough, one paragraph each, I can convey the idea of a whole day spent telling erotic real life stories.

Choices, choices.

The one thing I am re-learning about writing is that writing flows much better when things are actually happening. I know that sounds obvious, but so many times I will have long pages of nothing happening planned in my head but can't bring myself to sit and write. Yet when I have action to depict, or conflicting dialogue, the pages just fly.

Cold as a Witch's Teat

We had an ice storm this past weekend. That meant we were housebound and forced to do such things like talk to one another and cook our own dinner. I have to say that this was the best housebound experience I have had with my wife. I missed her whe she went to work this morning and that is a rarity for me after a cabin fever scenario. It occurred to me, like it always does when there is a weather disaster, that cabin fever makes for good sex stories.

I wrote a cabin fever story once about my experiences with the Flood of the Century. It was a couples 4-some story that I was never happy with. I think the major drawback to a cabin fever sex story is that after being forced to spend 24 or more hours with the same people, in the same space, all I really want out of life is some quiet time. I wonder if that means I am getting old.

Perhaps what I should do is a cabin fever story where the man and his loved one are trapped in their apartment and he decides that now would be a great time to play with some bondage. Especially the gag side of it. He then sets up some brilliant vibrator/bondage trick and blindfolds her before going to the living room and watching the Three Stooges.

Yeah, that will get me the fan mail.

Casting

The last few days I have written more than I have in weeks. I'm terrified to jinx it by talking about but at the same time I feel like I should report it in case I hit a writing block and I can't remember what got me writing last time.

The last few months I've had brilliant ideas. I've had unique story concepts that I have never seen before in erotica but when it came time to write, I had these slow boring starts. This time has been different. This time, I created two interesting people, and then worried about the story.

It's so simple, I am kicking myself. It wasn't the idea of a nutjob rich woman dressing as a pirate that made Cabin Boy good, it was Leigh, Drake and the boy who made it good. It wasn't the parodies in Thigh vs Thigh that made it so easy to write, it was the ease of writing about Amy and Bethany, two gals I came to love with each new story. I don't know if Claire and Mr. Dillon will stand the test of time years from now, but right now I love them and they have their own voices. I've written 12 very good pages and I feel like King of the World right now.

Now I just need to create an interesting wealthy eccentric who owns the book these two need to get and I will be set. Let the casting begin!

Inspiration or Parasite?

There are times when I feel dirty as a writer, and not just because I write porn.

One of the sad things about erotica is that there are ten cliches and every one writes those cliches. New ideas are as precious as gold nuggets. You can take a new idea and really run with it.

I get most of my inspiration from the geeky gamer's world that I live in. This is where the guilt comes in. I see a neat idea about a Ninja Burger Franchise http://www.ninjaburger.com/, and I really enjoy it. It takes the humor of fast food, and throws in Ninjas. Genuis. Then I think about sexual permutations on the idea. Yes, there have been pizza delivery boy sex stories forever, but what kind of sex story could I tell if I apply some fast food humor to a franchise that makes a business of sex with a side order of fries? The idea is not nearly as genuis as Ninja Burger, but good enough for Erotica's Ten Cliches.

The crisis is, am I a writer who is ripping off Ninja Burger by just removing the ninja and replacing it with sex, or am I a creative soul who uses inspiration where I find it?

Great Moments in Stripping

Today I recovered enough from my cold to do some writing. I blazed away and wrote a stripping scene that worked very well for me. I have a fondness for stripping and I always get a bit peeved when I read a scene that goes, "Amber stripped off her clothes and stood naked . . ." No, no, no! Write the damn stripping scene out!

It is impossible for me to write a stripping scene without thinking of the great personal stripping performances I have read/seen/experienced in my life. Since elements of these scenes factor into my writing, I thought I would share them here.

When I was seven, I was playing with my Star Wars figures and all of the good guys had been captured. I divided up the characters to their own prisons and death traps. When it came time to do soemthing horrible to Princess Leia, the idea sprang into my head to have her strip in front of the stormtroopers. To this day, I am not sure where I got that idea. I do know that the idea of humiliating Princess Leia and forcing her to do something against her will got me very excited in a non-sexual but very close to it kind of way.

When I first met my wife, she liked to tease me by dancing as sexy as possible. She often declared that I wasn't her type, but it didn't stop her from shaking her hips and curling that back. She didn't take her clothes off, but if she had, I would have stalked her twice as much as I already was.

The first time I went to a strip club, I was greatly dissappointed to discover that none of the women wore anything more complicated than a bikini swimsuit. Stripping consisted of the removal of their bikini top. Where was the business suits and school girl outfits promised to me by MTV and Cinemax? The strip club was in a rush to get girls topless as soon as possible. the girls themselves seemed bored by the whole thing and it was the first time I ever encountered the burned out sex worker that is so prevalent in HBO documentries.

The one good experience I got from the club was this little redhead. She was flat chested, had frizzy hair that Hermoine would have hated and a hook nose that belonged on a witch. Despite her disadvantages, the redhead danced like she was a Sex Goddess. This was a girl I would have never looked at twice, but she carried confidence and a pure sensual nature that kept my eye. It was like she was abosrbing worship from the crowd and I have never seen a stripper since that enjoyed herself that much.

The first time I met my current sub, she had dressed as a pirate for me as a suprise. I circled her and just soaked in the outfit she had put together for me. It was like a beautiful cake; it was too awesome to mess up by having a piece. I took my time with her, stripping one article of clothing and then engaging in serious heavy petting before removing another article of clothing. It might have been slow torture for my sub but for me it was the ultimate mix of stripping and control.

Back to writing for me.

Gotta Be The Cold

I have a scene in my head for the story I'm writing.

Last night after listening to my wife cough half the night and struggling with my own cold, I finally go to sleep. I dream that two porn stars want to use my house to film that sex scene, and there might be a 'part' in it for me, but my mom is over and she is being passive agressive with her disapproval.

There are so many possible issues with that dream, I think I'm going to ignore them all and chalk it up to my cold.

The Girl Sure, But The Monkey Too?

No writing the past weekend due to a cold, but I have high hopes for today.

But important things first: Why did they chain up the demon monkey? Okay, the girl is chained to the skeleton but what did the monkey demon do? Are or are the skeletons chained to HIM? Maybe he's driving! And if the guy in the beard is in charge, then why is he in the back?

I'm confused!

"Honeymoon of Horror" sounds like a great title though. It can be anything from a bondage story to a "Crying Game". Or it could be a High Gothic Honeymoon, complete with castles and wailing banshees. I know I'm intrigued.

FYI, I found the above cover at Comic Book Bondage Cover of the Day at http://members.aol.com/covers3/

Things To Do Before Writing II

Note to self-

Music with lyrics are really distracting while writing yet a lack of sound makes me feel like I am in a library. I really need to dig through my MP3's and create a writing soundtrack. I need instrumental, a little dance and most of all, sexy and important sounding music. I want to feel like the movie is starting and the music is blasting your soul clean of worries so you will give a fuck about Pirates and their exploits.

When Writing Is Good

I wrote today about the meeting of a librarian who manages an erotic collection and the apprentice who will be learning under him. It started slow but really started flying when the two actually met. There are some bumps and places I need to iron out, but all in all I was having FUN. That hasn't happened in awhile.

Part of the fun is just two people talking. I beleive now that perhaps my false starts these past few months is because I didn't have interesting enough characters. I had situations, but what I really needed was two interesting people who perked my curiousity. The apprentice is a young British black woman who used to be a Internet porn writer. The librarian is a fussy American who reads way too much porn on his job and starts to see the dirty and lewd in everything. I have two challenges ahead of me for tomorrow-

In a cab, Claire explains her job to a cab driver-

“These are not the kind of books you can call up and order. These are rare, erotic books. Sexual exploits of fictional and real life confessions that have been handed down through the years and collected for the pleasure of a few private individuals. Each book is a snapshot of sexual desire for it’s time period and it will be my job to gather and catalog them.”

The cab driver swallowed hard and the flush spreading across his face pleased Claire. “That’s a shit load of porn.”

Shitload of porn? That is very very weak. I want to get across that the whole idea embarrasses the cab driver and he doesn't want to talk to her anymore. What to say, what to say.

My other goal is that the librarian rolled his eyes when he heard Claire was an Internet writer. I want to get across that he used to do something really hardcore before be became the librarain, something along the lines of real world experience, but I am just blanking. Brothel accountant? Gardener for a nudist club? I want something sexy but not ridicilous.

Man, I miss writing.

Things to Do Before Writing

Note to self-

Come up with the damn names for the characters BEFORE you sit down to write. Cripes, I just spent twenty minutes debating what to name a black woman from Britain. Should it be completely British sounding or should it have some sort of ethnic flavor? Right now I am using the place name of Jane Doe. Ick, someone leave a better suggestion.

Paging Foreign Femme Fatales

Writing yesterday was a bust. I did a little, but I have lost a lot of my sheer skills. The wife suggested writing something short and cute, like my old Kiko stories, but I don't know. Kiko was always a smidge too surreal towards the end. It's hard to write good erotica about a character that was based off a joke about the state of superhero bondage fiction.

I decided to try my hand at something else, something lighter and less complicated than the story I was working on. While I was kicking around ideas, I came across that beloved stereotype- The Blonde Evil Russian Amazon. Remember her older sister, The Blonde Evil German Dominatrix? Wow girls, where have you been?

Even I know writing a story about evil Russians is terribly outdated. Hell, even in the 90's Hollywood was restorting to Eastern Europeans for their evil needs. It got me thinking on who is the Hot Evil Stereotype for the 00's?

Let's have auditions.

First up is Evil Middle Eastern Terrorist Chick. Sadly, she is wearing a head to toe Burka. Second of all, it's really hard to be a sexual femme fatale when you belong to a fanatic sect that considers women to be dirt and advocates stoning them for showing ankle. I know that moderate Muslims allow women to be lawyers and doctors and such, but moderate Muslims are not by definition evil.

Next up is Evil Republican Housewife. Yes, she's evil and she wants to throw away all your porn but again, her own religon prevents her from being sexy unless she is an In The Closet Hedonist. If she does that, then she is breaking type which nullifies her as a sexual stereotype. She might be interesting in a domination scenario where someone brings out her inner sex goddess and makes her renounce her Rupublican ways, but she doesn't fit the bill of Femme Fatale.

Let's go West from here and run into Asian Girl. With the increasing influence of Manga and Asian B-Movies, you would think we would have a more emerging stereotype. Sure, we have Asian Schoolgirls wearing those sailor uniforms, and we have plenty of Martial Art Chicks, but we had those stereotypes back in the 70's. The sheer flood of Asian culture has diluted their images from cliches to actual people. For every Chinese Communist Super Ninja, there's a Chinese Peasant Girl Who Giggles In A Delightful Manner. Arrrgghhh, where's the danger?

I can't think of what would constitute a Modern Femme Fatale. I don't think she's a Reality Show Bitch. I don't find Pop Stars scary enough to think they count as one. I wonder if as a society, we are too well informed to have Stereotypes like we did in the 60's. Then I will watch a political ad and see someone's career reduced down to two key words -Liberal or Conservative and I realize that stereotypes are alive and well.

I get this feeling that in 2012, I'll look back at this post and say "Shit, why didn't I think of _________." I just don't want to wait that long.

Knot on Your Life

I know I will never be a Shibari kind of guy but I thought I would improve on my knot skills. Let me rephrase that, I wanted to HAVE some knot skills. It occurred to me that for all my domination play, I had never tied a woman to a bed before. How did that happen? I'm much more of a mental domination kind of guy but sheesh, I should have one struggling woman on my bed sometime in my life.

Knots are a lot like writing in that a picture of the finished project tells you jack shit about how the person did it. I am amazed by how many web sites I have seen that show you a very loose knot and say "Like this". Like what? I need video. I need a wise woman in leather to manipulate the rope in such a fashion that I can rewind. I need step by step pictures with captioned commentary.

I made my first figure eight knot and I wanted to frame it. It was with a heavy heart that I unraveled it, and put it back together. Let me tell you, my heart was pumping when I tried to do it again. It was like I had accidently made something awesome and now I had to prove I knew what I was doing. When I succeeded, I think I had an erection.

Right now that square knot picture is like the Salma Hayek/Jennifer Tilly threesome I could only dream about. Wish me luck.

Thing I Did Instead of Writing Part One

Yesterday my wife, my submissive, my submissive's husband and I went to a lunch held by another local bdsm group. This was a much more casual affair and people wore colors other than black. They were a freindly bunch that had a speaker tell us about the joys of japanese rope bondage or as they call it, Shibari.

Things I learned about Shibari-

A> There is no school of Shibari, no classifications, and no way to really say, "I am a Master of XXXXXX Shibari." The speaker said that it is not an art or even a style; it's just people tying people up and each person does it differently according to their needs. Hey, that sounds like writing.

B> He was rather appalled by the idea of tying someone up and leaving them. He said he could never imagine doing it, and it boiled down to why would he ever leave a loved one in a helpless state? His inability to even emote with someone who was interested in that fascinated me.

C> He said that some of the rope bondage you see in art takes an hour to set up and then it is either too painful to keep them there, or just terribly impractical. He called "1/60 of a second bondage" referring to the time it takes to take the picture. I'm sure there is a metaphor about that and flash fiction somewhere.

D> He said that Shibari is easy to learn and easy to do but you have to do it constantly. You have to make knots all the time and unravel them. It takes practice and you do knots almost waking moment. He said that and I was like fuck, that's just like writing.

And for more info, go to http://www.nawashi.com/main.html

One last tidbit about the social gathering. A dom and his sub were at my table and I being the curious kind of guy trying to make conversation, asked the guy how did he meet his girl. he said she could tell it better than him and I got comfortable. Obviously this was going to be a long story of courtship, domination and eventual happiness. She looks at him, and looks at me and she says

"I was given to him"

She smiled and I smiled and then I said "Well, that's a short story."

I loved that exchange. He felt comfortable telling the long version, which is why he wanted her to tell it. She however did not and shut my inquiry down. She did it politely too I must say. I don't want to get into theories of shame, submission or relationship boundaries, I just loved that she shut me down and he didn't do anything.

That was the first half of my day.

The second half involved having my first alcoholic drink. My submissive's husband, a nice funny man, about busted a gut when he heard I had never had a drink. He apparently used to sneak beers when he was ten so he was a bit dumbfounded. He suggested I try something tonight and my wife freaked. It was a bit odd listening to her describe that a Shon Richards without inhibitions would be somesort of unleashed sexual machine that would cut everyone down with razor sarcasm and hump anything with two tits.

That convinced me to go have a few drinks and see if she was right. The reason I had never indulged is that my step-father was a drunk, and all the members of my mother's family has had addiction problems. It's really hard to want to have a beer when you recall your step-father picking fights with you when you were ten. It's even harder when you get to college and your roommate gets drunk every weekend and fills the room with the scent of vomit.

So we got to a bar to see the band http://www.groovebucket.com/ and I had some Hard Lemonades because I'm a lemonade kind of guy. I'll make a long story short and tell you what kind of person Shon Richards is when he has had a few drinks. He's a very unfunny guy who thinks he's funny. It was like I had no verbal editor. I would say something stupid and obscure and then two seconds later think "Why the fuck did I say that?" I had no idea how much mental thought went into be the cool guy that I am.

Groove Bucket by the way rocks. After years of living in a college town, it was strange to hear a band that knew how to play their instruments. They played Bob Marley's "Is This Love" that had me singing along in public but then again, that might have been the drinks. Their music was a range of old rock and new rock and I enjoyed songs I thought I had outgrown but it turns out I had not outgrown a good rock band.

Let me say one thing about the bar we went to. Granted my bar experience is limited, but this place was loaded with poker tables. It was odd to see someone sitting at a poker table order potato skins and steak. I'm trying to picture Kenny Rogers' Gambler chowing down on chicken thighs while knowing when to hold them.

I should really write today.

Old Man of the Whip

I'm tired so I'm just going with impressions-

The dungeon itself was awesome. It's 1763 in Atlanta. Really cool and something I would write. They had playrooms and a closet cage I would kill for.

Black is a real popular color. Wow. Lots and lots of it. Black Black Black.

I saw more bitchy subs last night than I ever thought could to exist. They bitched about the music, they bitched about how hard they were being tapped and they bitched about not having the attention they wanted. Gods, I had no idea how rare the idea of service is to the kinky world at large. It was a meal thingy, where you got your own food and found a place to sit. I didn't see a single sub become a table for their dom. Hell, I didn't see a single sub hold their dom's plate. WTF?

Speaking of meals, it was a lovely dungeon. No where to sit except the bondage benches and tables. Guess what they served to eat? Spagetti and Alfredo. Two of the messier foods I've ever eaten and they ask me to use their lovely bondage furniture to eat? Is this a test?

My favorite dom was an old man who was tanned from years of wrestling marlins. His hands were gnarled and his hair was stock white. I watched him whip a submissive for thirty minutes with more skill and grace than I thought was possible. I want to be him when I am 96.

They had private rooms with themes. They showed us a medical room and gave us a long warning that you had to prove you were qualified to use the equipment. Then they showed us a fitness room and moved on. What? No warnings for the fitness room? I have to get a doctor's permission to start an exercise program but the dungeon is cool with you cycling and being paddled.

Our hostess at the dungeon was hot. But then, I like blondes who say they orgasm at every tattoo.

My final thought- The dungeon was really black.

Dungeon!

Tonight I am going to a social gathering of bdsm people at a dungeon. There will be chains, benches and all sorts of furniture I have only seen in erotica. This will be my first time at a dungeon and strangely, all those years of playing Dungeons and Dragons did not prepare me for this.

I'm excited to be going but I have this irrational fear that it will be like high school except more people will be wearing leather. There will be a snobby Dom who picks on my glasses, a busty blonde who will snicker at my choice of shirt and an annoying kid who is glad to finally have someone below him on the social ladder and will try to be my friend. Plus, someone will steal my lunch.

On the other hand, I am Shon Richards. I have fucked thousands of people through my stories. I have made submissives and dominants across the world masturbate like crazy while reading my words. I have written sex games, scenes and bondage utopias that would blow their freaking mind.

I figure the two cancel each other out. I can't expect them to somehow understand that I write erotica and treat me like a porn star but I also can't expect them to give me a wedgie and steal my lunch. For me, I have to cancel my irrational fears with my irrational arrogance. With any luck, I'll have a good time and get to meet some new people.

Blogs, Video Cameras and Dirty Pictures

Once upon a time when I was 8, I was told to gather all the pictures together and the frames and we were going to clean them. We opened one small frame up and out poured six polaroids of my mother, very naked.

Yes, there really are naked pictures of my mom.

My mom snatched them up and I certainly didn't want to see them but I was curious how such an abomination were made. She gave me what now sounds oddly like the birds and the bees speech- When two people love each other, they sometimes do stupid things for one another.

It's really odd that I am not more fucked up than I am.

Years later, I'm a teenager raiding my step-father's playboys and penthouses. I was devouring naked pictures as only a teenager could. Yet even as young and happy to see tits as I was, it wasn't real. The pictures were too well lighted. They had make-up. Yes I was delighted to see Ms. April's wonderful D cup, but even my teenage mind knew it was not quite real.

In my senior year of high school, I was walking and ran across a polaroid. I picked it up and there were a dozen topless women smiling at the camera. I didn't think of my mother, but I did feel the real of connection. This was real. I don't know what the fuck these gals were doing, but it was more real to me than Ms. May's pet peeve of itchy men.

Years and years later, we have the Internet. We have hot amatuers. We have mpegs of people's private bedroom fun. We have gigabytes of naked women in bad lighting and no make up. We have digital cameras. We have pictures of real women with that Just-fuckeded look on their faces.

We have blogs.

It's a great time to be alive.

Foreplay

I wrote my first page today in a very long time. It is not a good page but it gets the job done. It can always be rewritten when the damn thing is done.

Here is the first paragraph-

Diana was late. She needed to be on the interstate ten minutes ago if she was going to be at the restaurant on time. Maureen specifically asked that Diana not be late this time and Diana was already blowing it. She was also blowing Michael, which is why she was running late in the first place.

Awful ain't it? I started at that paragraph forever before I said "fuck it, let's move on". This paragraph will not survive the editing process. The sentences are bad, the joke in the third sentence is juvenile and my editor can probably see twelve problems I haven't even noticed yet. I don't care though. Like the first time you go groping with your girlfriend, just the fact that you touched nipple is good enough. You can agonize over the fact you really just touched bra and thick sweater later.

Spirit of Writing

Will Eisner passed away yesterday. It's impossible to describe how great a story teller he was. He wrote for adults in a format associated with children. He elevated what you could do with a comic book and even his sixty year old stories made me laugh and think. I loved his creation, The Spirit, and I can never help smile when I see the masked detective and his femme fatales.

On a selfish note, I noticed that he died at the age of 87 and had just finished yet another graphic novel. If an 87 year old man can keep writing, than a 31 year old porn writer can get off his ass and write something, don't you think?

I'm not sure if you would appreciate a story about four friends with submissive secrets, Mr. Eisner, but you reminded me how precious good story telling really is.

Manifesto Time

I, Shon Richards, being of erotic mind and body do swear to uphold the principles of writing stories that are not cliches unless they are terribly entertaining. I swear to corrupt every aspect of life one story at a time until my readers can't do their taxes without getting aroused. I swear to write this year, something I used to do a lot but haven't done much of in 2004. I swear to use this blog as my erotic story bomb making shed and not let it get bogged down with observations on television shows, happening music or what is going on with my level 29 superhero in the game "City of Heroes".