A glistening drop of pre come.

~

This is just a tiny observation, but I always smile every time I see a story mention “a glistening bead drop of pre-come” because that line appears in almost every other story I read. I guess it’s because there aren’t that many ways to describe pre-come without getting abstract or flowery, but it’s always there.

I’m not particularly turned on by the idea of rivers of pre-come which just seems sort of gross, but I think describing arousal is good. A drop is small enough to be subtle, but it’s just used so much that I think it’s turning cliché.

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Source Material.

 

If you want to write better then it’s always a good idea to do a little experiential research. Go out and really examine the subject that you’re trying to describe. I’ve been tempted, lately, to post an ad on craigslist that would read something like this:

I’m a voyeur – early thirties Korean lady in good shape. I’m looking for two gay men who I can watch while taking notes. I also reserve the right to smoke. I hate smoking, but it seems like the right thing to do while watching people. Send me an E-mail if this seems like something you’d be interested in.

I expect that someone will respond and we’ll meet up, have an adult conversation, and then they’ll lead me back to their apartment where they’ll begin to undress.

“WHOA, WHOA,” I’ll say. “What the fuck are you doing? I just said that I wanted to watch.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just go about doing your business and I’ll watch,” I’d say while reclining on their couch. I imagine that at this point I’m lighting a cigarette and probably trying my best to stifle a cough. I’m not inhaling the smoke. It’s just sitting in my mouth.

“Tell him that you love him,” I’d say while poking the burning cherry of my cigarette at them.

“I, I, love you,” one would say to the other. Then one would pause and turn to me.

“This isn’t hot at all. This isn’t what I was expecting in the ad you posted – ”

“Now get off him and wash some goddamn dishes. This place is filthy. Go about your normal routine. Do some cleaning. Turn on the radio and turn to the local college radio. I want you to try to sing along to what’s playing.”

I imagine that, at this point, the two would be recoiling in terror.

“Now you! Go get the mail and complain about your job. Do it!”

At that point I think the two guys would probably get a little too creeped out and they’d kick me out for being a little too weird. I was just trying to get some source material. It’s too bad nobody “gets” me.

How I feel when writing smutty smut.

I had a really formal, serious, education in literature so sometimes when I’m writing erotic stuff it makes me feel like I’m godzilla smashing a dollhouse that’s full of tiny screaming academics.

“Oh shit!” they yell. “They’re talking about 50 Shades of Grey on NPR! Quickly! Sneer at it! Sneer!”

Then they sneer, but sneering at erotica is like trying to put out a grease fire with water. It just spreads it around and pretty sure their entire house is on fire, or the smutty novel is being made into a screenplay. That’s how people they know hear about it. Then they get curious and they buy it. Even when they try to ignore erotica it just seems to grow, swelling up, until it’s looming and impossible to ignore.

Sometimes I also feel like a masseuse. Typically I choose a certain kind of story because I think it’s exciting, but when I’m writing for seven or eight hours the excitement wears off. It’s not that I don’t like what I’m writing or anything. It’s just that there’s a certain point where it becomes physiologically impossible for me to be aroused. The experience starts to get more cerebral and I start to think about the people who are going to read it. I’m rubbing their shoulders making soothing cooing noises.

Sometimes, and most frequently, it feels like I can’t write fast enough because if I slow down I might lose focus. If I set something down and forget about it then I usually actually, really truly, forget about it and it’s practically impossible for me to get back on track.

Then it’s a lot like juggling a piece of burning metal. I don’t want it to fall onto the ground because then it’d get cold. I’m just trying to hold onto it; trying not to get burned.

Is it wrong to have sex with androids?

So I’m writing a new story about a girl who gets marooned in space and, out of boredom, decides that it would be a great idea to have sex with the android that’s repairing her ship. I’m halfway through writing this when I realize that a robot that can think and feel shouldn’t have any idea bout what human sex is like and doesn’t expect it, want it, or need it. If a lonely lady commands her robot to give her a good rutting then is that sort of like rape? I mean the robot doesn’t have any choice. They’re programmed to serve.

But then again. Robots live only to work for their human counterparts. Any sort of task, no matter how debauched, should bring them a sort of simple pleasure. Maybe that’s why it would be so hot and so wrong. I suppose that’s one of the ideas you’d explore in that sort of an erotic story. Can you program a machine to fuck and to love? Can you program a robot to get lonely and feel blueballs?

 

int main() {

return love;

}