I enjoy writing smut, sex, fantasy, and excitement. Usually, I use my own experiences to color my scenes, but a fair amount are imaginings, fantasies that I wish happened and hope that occur. I like to believe that when you write something it becomes real in another universe. Like whatever you’re writing you’re just channeling some experience elsewhere exactly that has already happened or will happen. If you believe or know about the multiple universe theories, or the infinite earths like in comic books, you know that the theory suggests that if something is possible, it exist in a mirror earth in a different dimension or universe. The show Sliders was basically this premise.
Therefor, I like to think that the filthy sexy sex I write about has actually happened somewhere in existence.
When I write about cocks filling holes, and women moaning as they touch themselves, and guys exploding on women’s boobs. It isn’t just in pornos, or in someone’s mind; it is actually happening to someone alive and breathing just like I am. Maybe our whole existence is actually shared across all universes and Immortality is simply tapping into each possible permutation of your life on any number of infinite earths (see “The One” with Jet Li).
Last night I wrote about Betty preparing for her husband to come home and fill her butt. She spent the day fantasizing about Daniel her Tennis instructor and how her friend Carol thought he had a good butt. This turns her into a woman obsessed with discovering what anal sex is like, and proceeds to finger her hole throughout the day, lube herself up and shove a dildo up her bum. The sex her husband inflicts (a too favorite word, but I like it) on her ass-hole hurts at first in a muscle stretching way, but then immediately turns into the full body pressured pleasure that backdoor play allows. Oh to have a prostate to truly capitalize on the sensation of your rim getting stretched and your ass exploding in joy.
I’m tentatively calling the new book about all anal sex “Backdoor Rec Center.” What do you think?
Poem of the Day:
When ruled by rampant hormones, young and old smile with sex oozing behind eyes, flushing lips, and swelling breasts to breathe flirtation and stupidity.
Ignore those trivial breaths, focusing instead on the rising rose rush, to redden cheeks and hands, and watch their smile, feet facing your crotch, and how even when not looking at you, they turn their attention obvious to your voice.
Clumsy laughter from youthful ripe flesh, and sagging skin with clever stimulation: a balance beam of erotic irony.