Thursday, July 14, 2005

 

Since When Is Erotica a Sin?

Seriously, the way people have been reacting to the "bombshell" that I would actually consider writing erotica for side money makes me think I'm living in Puritanical Virginia -- or at least some 14 year-old boy's version of how the world is supposed to work, where women would never consider discussing sex in public unless someone is paying them to.

If I want to invent B-grade tales of sexual discourse (or intercourse), I consider that my prerogative, as well as a clever way to take advantage of the male-dominated lit market. I would rather drag my Powerbook into the bathtub with me than entertain the notion of writing "Chick Lit," where an upwardly mobile woman with a wacky roommate and parental issues is forced to choose between the man of her dreams and the man in her bed. I'm already living that story, in case you haven't noticed, except the man of my dreams must not have gotten the memo (or else Chloe stole him while I was blinking).

So, what's the purple prose that's been generating all this controversy? At the risk of undercutting sales of Glitterhole Monthly itself, I think I can safely publish an excerpt of my own work if it helps dispell the notion that I'm a degenerate.

Consider this a teaser for the whole story, formally titled "Chokeback Fountain" (oddly enough, not the title I suggested. Funny how they'll change the title of my work when I don't ask, but not give me a penname when I do ask. Sigh). If you're 18, go watch Maury instead.

To wit:

In a moment, he was behind her.

“How loud do you scream when someone fucks you?” he whispered quietly, his breath damp along her neck. She smiled deviously and tried to turn around, but he gripped her wrist harder.

“I want to know if you moan.”

She leaned into him and her hands found his upper thighs. As her manicured nails slid slowly, firmly, over him, he stiffened. Here they were, locked together in this crowded bar, music surging around them; what no one could see was his desire as he thrust his pelvis closer to her tight little ass. The feeling of her skirt tightening and the pressing urgency of his cock made her dizzy.

It was delicious.

Turning to face him, she tasted his lips against hers. He groped her roughly, fingertips straying beneath her skirt to find her willing pussy, soaking through layers of lace onto his hand.

“Why don’t you show me what a good little whore you are?”

Eyes wide, she nodded emphatically, grabbing his throbbing prick for emphasis. With one final assaulting kiss, they stumbled and fell over each other until they reached their destination.

The yellow lights of the alley cast their glow upon her glistening cleavage as she bit her lip in exquisite anticipation. With a dexterity that surprised even herself, she freed his massive member from its denim-constrained imprisonment. The night air caressed it, and soon her tongue joined suit.

She licked her lips as she submitted to him, collapsing onto her knees over newspapers and bottle caps. Like a girl for hire, she moaned and spit against him, working her mouth and tongue, over and around, again and again. In one smooth motion, he entangled his hands in her hair and jammed himself farther down her eager, innocent throat. She sputtered and gagged, but her eyes were shining.

He leered like a devil at his cock-guzzling gutterwhore with a clitoris that burned like the Hindenburg. Punishing her lips with the callous thrusts of a cum-swollen meat reservoir, he made certain to aim his reward at her petulant visage. Her juices, sweet as sugar, ran from her aching slit and down her milky thighs as his cock came drunkenly, lacking in rhythm or dedication but making up for it in volume. Wave after wave of his nectar cascaded across her flushed face, anointing her with his secret sin.

But this was only the beginning..."


Etc. etc., they come and they die, or they don't die. You'll have to read it, won't you?

Boy, maybe I'm better at this than I thought. Perhaps Shout! could use a "blue" section...

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