"Find something you love and let it kill you." -- Charles BukowskiI have more pics on here after we are 'friends'. I'm always down for chatting. I'm here to write, please, arouse and read!Do or do not; there is no try. That's my new mentality. I've always been a writer at heart, but I'm new to writing erotica.My sex drive is ridiculous. My sexual mind is ridiculous-er (a made-up word of mine). I've always been a writer at heart. That doesn't mean a good one, just one. I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I enjoy watching the UFC. Hey, did you know that vodka prolongs the life of razor blades? I'm a red meat man. Love to eat red meat. I'm a fan of eating (not just pussy), but I know my limits.I like whiskey. I'm no snob; I'm just a fan. I'm no alcoholic, either, but I'm damn good at functioning while inebriated, or so my best buds say.Life’s been pretty interesting, not to mention heartbreaking, fun and fucked up. After years of confusion and terror and intermittent laziness, I know my place, my skills and my vices. And I like them all. For me to be happy, I had to dance with my biggest devil: my utter inability to stop worrying about trivial bullshit and letting go of the past.Nowadays, I'm as real as it gets. Honesty is my forte, yet it's also a curse. The result has been a rising and giant personality unafraid of himself or the world. A cynically optimistic (paradox), witty writer who drinks, ruminates, loves the classic rock and has an eye for the ladies.Clichéd? Yes.Boring? Fuck no.I’m Hank Moody without the Southern California setting. I’m Kerouac without the suicidal drinking. I’m Bender without the shiny metal ass. I feel like a fucking rock star, and God protect anyone who thinks they can stop me.Like I said, I haven't been into the erotica writing game for very long. Throw soft jabs at me. If you are going to land verbal haymaker, give me a warning. Constructive criticism on how to better my erotica writing skills is always appreciated Feel free to send me a friend request. And don't be shy! Drop me a line or two (or 20) in a message if you want to ask me any questions, get to know me better or have something to say.
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My stance on the whole issue is the same as it's been for a while now: I will bet you anything that if you put selective music by spiritual musicians on elevators and shopping malls there would be less Columbines, there would be less postals, less rape, less crime. When you're stuck in an elevator and you're ready to go postal and you hear "A Love Supreme" or "One Love" or "What's Going On" or "Blowing in the Wind" or "Imagine" you can't fucking do anything stupid anymore. It won't permit you, man. Your molecules obey the sound of divinity. If you just compile a CD "What's Going On," "Imagine," "One Love," "A Change is Gonna Come," Sam Cook, you know, and you play it in shopping malls continuously I bet you anywhere in the world people would stop fighting and stop stealing and stop raping, because molecules obey the sound of divinity. That's just the way it is. Just like, excuse the expression, when you're 17-years-old and you see something beautiful and you get excited, all the blood rushes to your penis. I'm talking about physical molecules. I'm not talking about the sex or the squirming, the giggling, stupid stuff. I'm talking about the order . There's a sense of order in this planet. If we would consciously go to Seattle, where they program the Muzaks of all the elevators and hotels in the cities, and say, "We want you to try this just for 24 hours. Just play this kind of music, these 27 songs," you would see an incredible difference in human being behavior. -- Carlos Santana
Django UnchainedChristoph Waltz is THE man. And Jamie Foxx, Leo DiCap (too lazy to write out the -rio) and Samuel L. Jackson weren't too shabby either. Don Johnson's part very well could have been the best of the movie.
"Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd is my favorite song, ever. However, the damn nostalgia I get for old, days and the memories (just a few years ago, really) is too strong whenever I listen to it that it's almost impossible to listen to.
I love Led Zeppelin, but I'm going to be completely honest: I'm not too keen on Stairway to Heaven. Yeah, that's right! Bring on the hate! ;) (Of course, I know you wouldn't do that to me, naughtiestmommy!)It's hard picking just one Zeppelin song as my favorite, but here's my (likely) top 10:1.) Babe I'm Gonna Leave You (perfect harmony in this song)2.) Ten Years Gone3.) Your Time is Gonna Come (their most underrated song in my opinion)4.) What Is And What Should Never Be5.) All My Love (GREAT song)6.) In My Time of Dying7.) Since I've Been Lovin' You8.) Going to California9.) Hey Hey What Can I do10.) Bron-Y-Aur Stomp (just a fun song!)I know the list was unwarranted, but I could just go on and on.
I'm always looking out for and appreciating constructive criticism, but when I think of constructive criticism I think of it actually being helpful, as in the critic will suggest helpful ways to improve one's writing.The commenter you've used as an example commented with a shallow choice of words. . . "very poorly written". . . "boringly repetitive". . . "knowledge/ability to describe is very limited". Zero helpful comments; total bashing. I agree with you.I've only posted one story so far in my short tenure here, so I haven't received any negative comments (YET), but I'm sure they'll come.
Don't describe characters with numbers (height and weight). Somebody wrote that on here recently, and it made a lot of sense. One member posted that it's tantamount to police blotter!Don't rush. This is a given, but the most revered stories are written by patient writers that treat their stories as sacred pieces of literature. While I'm a hypocrite because I'm rather irresponsible and lazy at times when it comes to proofreading, the best gift that a writer can give his/her readers -- asides from a deep, hot, passionate story -- is a complete story with perfect (at the very least damn near perfect) grammar. The best gift (or, rather, a compliment) a reader can give the writer is their attention and time spent reading the writer's work.Sex is a part of the story as a whole, but it shouldn't be the only makeup of the story, because the actual sex being written about can get a little, I don't know, tiresome to read after a while. A blowjob here, a bit of pussylicking there, penetration, cumshot. . . OK? The thing is, the story can and will add a deeper, hotter element to the sex scenes a writer paints.
Ass, the best. Tits are the extra accessory thrown into the bag.There is nothing in the world like groping, squeezing and hugging on a gorgeous female's thick, round, plump ass.
One of the things that makes it really hard (no pun intended, I assure you) to write a sex story is being extremely aroused. I think this is especially because the topics of the sex stories I write are passionate fantasies of mine or simply topics that I find sexually invigorating.I'm a new writer to the erotica genre. I've been writing sex stories off and on since 2007-2008, but only in Word documents. I've not submitted a story yet, but I think I'm finally going to either tonight or tomorrow.Back to the thread's question: Do you get aroused physically when you write sex scenes? Is it possible to avoid albeit the writer having a high sex drive? Is it necessary? Have you ever wrote an extremely dirty, fantastical story of yours where you didn't get physically aroused?
For we’ve grown apart I guess that’s the test of time I reminisce over the days From when I was yours and you were mine Though it’s been a while Since I’ve seen your face The memories remain From when we made our hearts race We made lofty promises Many of which we did not keep We made plenty of mistakes The consequences were ours to reap Now that we’ve grown apart And...
Added 15 Jun 2012 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 10 | Avg Score 4.9
| Views 465
| 12 Comments
“Nice ass, Becky!” Marcus yelled from the top of his lungs from the other side of the school’s hallway, directing his crass comment at me. Fucking prick. I hated Marcus. I dealt with him enough throughout high school. It was senior year, and I was still dealing with him! He was one pompous asshole. Black and lean with firm, hard muscles and muscular thighs, Marcus was a multisport...
Added 22 Apr 2012 | Category Interracial
| Votes 12 | Avg Score 4.92
| Views 11,230
| 19 Comments
Sarah twiddled with the pack of cigarettes in her hands, pondering whether or not she should smoke one more cigarette before she ventured down the road frequently traveled, which is quitting the stuff. Better not, she thought. She wanted to quit cold turkey. There were many attempts before in her 32 years of life, but she had an extra motivation this time. Months ago, she and her...
Added 18 Apr 2012 | Category Incest
| Votes 29 | Avg Score 4.96
| Views 12,073
| 33 Comments
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