Bleeding Out a Story

In all honesty, writing and finishing a story truly isn't as bad as a slow bleed-out that drains the life force ounce by precious ounce. While I enjoy the process of writing, I also find immense satisfaction in having a story finished. I can close it out, content that it's the best it's going to be (after I red-pen it in the proofreading and editing process).

I finished a Jimmy/Arane story last night, and I'd like to think that this one is one of my best ones in this series. But, then again, I say that about all of them, though the critics and reviewers tend not to agree so much. This story's HOT! In fact, it's the first story I've written in a long time that's turned me on. That's all I can leave you with for now. My personal policy is, I don't post any story publicly before the "hero" has at least had the opportunity to read it.

So, now what? Well, first of all, I'm going to indulge my absolutely girly self and paint my nails. I just found an out-fucking-standing sale on China Glaze polish at Sally's and treated myself to a dazzling Red Pearl polish. Then, perhaps while my toenails are drying, I'll work on one of the other two stories I have in queue. One's been sitting dormant for nearly a year now, and the other... Well, I've got pretty much all the sex scenes worked out in my mind, but I'm considering scrapping the beginning. It feels weak to me, not at all something that would grab a reader. More later, dear readers. Girly arts are calling. :-)

Research, Research, Research

As an intrepid writer of erotica, I can appreciate the value of research. In addition to being well-written, I'm also an avid reader, and there's nothing that annoys me more than reading a book or story that's obviously poorly researched. Of course, the research for erotica is nothing if not highly enjoyable. My first published story, "Home for the Holidays," includes a scene in which I finger my lover's bum while giving him a blow job. Yet, I didn't actually do that to a guy until 20 months after that story was published. Incidentally, my real life guy enjoyed the experience considerably more than my fantasy guy; I think it would've killed a lesser man.

I'm currently working on a story, and the bulk of the story will have the female wearing a butt plug as she works as part of an anal training exercise. I'm not going into more detail than that. Well, I've done some anal play and there's a line of guys who'd happily take my ass virginity, but I haven't committed. Anyway, I wondered, would I truly be able to endure having a plug up my ass for hours at a time? Only one way to find out, so...

I made it over 3 1/2 hours (and this isn't no tiny plug, either, though it's far from the largest on the market). I got a lot of work done with it in, and after a while, I sort of forgot it was there. Even an orgasm, which usually makes it super tight and uncomfortable, wasn't bad. Well, of course the orgasm wasn't bad (is there such a thing as a bad O?), but the aftermath wasn't bad at all. One friend asked how I kept it in. Apparently, my butt muscles were working especially well today. That, and I had a thong on, which helped it stay in place.

When I have time to write some more on that story, I know that (1) it is possible to get stuff done while wearing a plug, and (2) it feels really damn good! A couple of other observations... From the moment I stuck it in, my nipples went extremely hard, puckering up as tight as I've ever seen them (like cold shower tight); and I stayed wet the entire time, which was erotic as hell. Now to find that one guy who can enjoy pleasuring all my holes...

Hoo boy!

I look back at what I've written and can't help but think, What the hell was all that clap-trap about my younger man??? We didn't talk again after he returned home, which was fine. It was really telling to me that my favorite part of the whole week was dropping him off at the airport (in the wet and cold), then going back home to crawl in between the nice warm sheets and falling back to sleep.

Don't get me wrong. He's a nice guy and quite attractive, but I guess I just prefer poets and writers to fighters. I prefer my guys to show me they have souls. It's a little thing. Give me a good intellectual discussion on politics, religion, the economy or life in general. Share with me what's going on in your world and listen as I share mine with you. Show me your heart, and thank you for fostering an atmosphere that lets me trust you enough to show you mine.

A kiss (soft kisses, hard I-need-you-now kisses, brief kisses hello, kisses that go on forever, or all of the above), a compliment, a sexy voice (whether deep and Southern or deep and Northern), humor that still makes me laugh when I think of it three years later (flatulent warthog from the Dark Side) and humor from more recently ($20 words and a wildly fun piano bar). And a good ol' boy's ability to shoot a gun, with the soul that'd hurt if he had to hurt or kill someone in doing his duty.

It's nice to know that some things simply will never change. There's a whole list of things that fall into this category, but right now I'm thinking of the stubborn love of a dear man - or would that be the friendly love of a dear, stubborn man? Either way, even though there have been no claims of eternity or forever, I know I'll have his love and friendship for the rest of our lives. I'm glad he and I have never hooked up romantically; his friendship is way too important.