The authors, Richard and Jayne Greye, contacted me about promoting their new book on my blog. I joyfully obliged. Here’s a summary that they provided me:
Jacket Cover: Meet Rick, the guy-next-door with a muscle fetish that started at eighteen with an encounter with an older, muscular woman. This full-length novel follows his quest to explore his obsession with muscular women and his struggle to reconcile this need with the rest of his life. He hides this side of himself, satisfying his urges in clandestine liaisons, until he meets a woman with the desire to get big and revels in her transformation. But what happens when she surpasses his fantasies and wants to dominate him? “Muscle Love” is a full-length novel which is both a compelling emotional and physical growth story as the two main characters deal with loss and find redemption in each other and their shared interest in strength. Their story is filled with difficulties, sexual discoveries and in the end, a new understanding of what it means to be strong.
Sounds intriguing! I haven’t read it myself – I hardly have any free time anymore – but I highly encourage all of you to download it and enjoy it at your leisure. Here’s how you can buy it:
“Is it true Asian men have small penises?” she asks.
Jonathan stops his slow, languorous kisses across her neck as he freezes, utterly shocked to hear such a question.
“Um, I have no idea if we do or not. I don’t think any scientific studies have been done on the matter.” He continues to kiss her, moving up to her jawline, tasting her sweet skin. Samantha softly moans as his tongue explores her slender cheek bones.
“I lost my virginity to an Asian boy. He was Vietnamese. We were both fifteen. I haven’t spoken to him in almost twenty years,” she says, cupping his bottom with her hands. Jonathan and Samantha were now down to their underwear, dainty pieces of fabric separating them from total nakedness.
“How was he? In bed, that is…” he asks. He isn’t just asking to make casual conversation. Jonathan sincerely wants to know. How would he compare to a pubescent Vietnamese boy?
Samantha takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around Jonathan’s waist. She ponders this question for a moment, her right eyebrow raised slightly. Deep in thought.
“I don’t remember. We were both very young. I didn’t come, but that wasn’t because of him. The whole time I was scared we’d be caught by my parents. We did it on their bed. They could have come home at any moment. We were both drunk.” Samantha felt a chill roll down her back as she reflects upon that particular night. They were so close to being caught. But alas, they had plenty of time to finish the deed before Mom and Dad came home from the movie theater.
Jonathan wonders where this conversation is going. Are they going to make love or not? He isn’t the impatient type of guy, but after hours of foreplay (starting with him buying her dinner at an overpriced seafood restaurant) he was more than ready to ravish her on his bed. Mostly naked and furiously aroused, he was as good as ready. He was pretty sure she was too.
The rain fell peacefully on the bedroom’s sky window. Jonathan’s top floor apartment unit stood seventeen floors high, overlooking the entire metropolitan skyline. It was approaching midnight, but neither of them felt sleepy. He wants to make love to her right now. She, on the other hand, is preoccupied with discussing the size of Asian men’s penises.
This is how things are going so far.
“Overall, was it a positive experience for the both of you?” he asks. Maybe if he kept the discussion going this would lead to better sex than if he just remained silent. Women love men who can communicate, right?
“Yes, it was. I didn’t feel any pain. He came inside me. I didn’t come, but I was at an age when I hadn’t ever come before. I learned how to shortly after.” Her soft skin felt divine against his body. She smelled like a fresh spring morning, full of hope and renewal. Jonathan desperately wants to taste her femininity, to take in every inch of her magnificent body and destroy any notion that Asian men can’t be good lovers. He wants to bring her to as many earth-shattering climaxes as possible and leave her begging for more until the sun rose the next morning.
“How…big was he?” Jonathan courageously asks.
“I was young, so I didn’t think about that. We did it in the dark, so I couldn’t get a good look at him. He felt fine inside me, I think. But no one can fill me the way my husband can.” Jonathan almost cringes at the thought of Samantha being a married woman. He hates being the “other man,” but his uncontrollable lust for her has clouded his judgment and rendered any sense of moral decency useless.
“What would your husband think if he knew what we were doing?” he quietly whispers in her ear.
“He’d be very angry. He wouldn’t resort to violence, but he’d be very angry.” Samantha doesn’t have a single shred of guilt inside her. The moment she peeked into their bedroom one early afternoon and saw her husband in bed with a female coworker, she knew she had to exact revenge on him without his knowledge. He never found out that she found out…and that’s the way Samantha wants it to be.
Jonathan and Samantha met under very unlikely circumstances. He’s a grad student at the University working on his Masters in physics. She’s a college professor at the same University and earned her doctorate in Gender, Race and Class Studies. He’s never taken a course from her, but her reputation as an accomplished and intelligent woman with gorgeous good looks made her a legend on campus. She’s never slept with any of her students, as she’s remained faithful to her husband (a neurosurgeon and widely respected man in his community) throughout their entire marriage until this fateful night.
He’s Asian, 25-years-old and unmarried. She’s a natural blonde, white, 52-years-old and has been married for 27 years. She’s been with her husband longer than Jonathan’s been alive. This fact does not escape either of them.
Jonathan reaches down and feels between her legs. Her panties are soaking wet, moisture seeping through the bright red fabric. She lets out another moan as his fingers explore her swollen womanhood.
“I want to make love to you. Badly, Samantha,” Jonathan pleads with her. His erection is straining against his underwear, equally anticipating release and satisfaction. She reaches down and pinches the sides of his underwear, slowly dragging it down his legs.
“Please. Call me Sammy. That’s what my students call me,” Samantha quips, mesmerized by the unveiling of Jonathan’s manhood.
“Dr. Sammy” is what she’s specifically known by around campus. The moment Jonathan first saw her he instantly fell in love. Her beauty, intelligence, passion and dedication to her craft of teaching struck him immediately – like a thousand bolts of lightning hitting him all at once.
When she pulled off his underwear, Jonathan was completely naked. His erected manhood stood between him and her. A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over him. She says her husband can fill her like no one else can. How would he compare? What is she thinking right now?
Samantha looks down at his penis and stares at it, studying its shape and size. Before marrying her husband, Samantha had a very active sex life and has seen her share of male anatomy through the years. She didn’t quite know what to think about his endowment yet. It wasn’t particularly small, but it wasn’t big either. It was light brown, curved slightly and circumcised. His black pubic hair was short and lightly trimmed, dancing around his manhood without being distracting.
“How big is it?” she asks, almost in a trance-like state. Jonathan has no idea how to respond.
“Uh, I don’t know. What do you mean by that?”
“How long is it? Have you ever measured it before?”
“No, I have not. Do you want to?”
Her eyes light up. Of course she wants to! Samantha doesn’t know where her obsession with penis size came from, but throughout her adult life (starting in high school) she’s been mesmerized by men’s penises – their function, their size, their appearance, their unique smell and their role in social relationships. She once wrote an entire book dedicated to studying penises. Every possible angle was explored in this groundbreaking text. She even won an award for it.
“Yes, I want to. Do you have a ruler or measuring tape?” Her eyes still have not left his manhood. Jonathan has never taken much thought about the size of his penis. He’s always assumed he was average. None of the women he’s ever been with (both Asian and non-Asian) have ever complained. But then again, not complaining isn’t the same as being satisfied. He lost his virginity to a black girl during his freshman year in college. Her name was Kristina. She lived in the same dormitory building and was a member of the track team. She had an incredibly muscular body that was as fit and athletic as he’d ever witnessed in his life. He’ll never forget that experience.
“I have a roll of measuring tape in my desk drawer.” Jonathan gets up off the bed and almost trips on the pile of clothes recklessly sprawled out across the floor. His erection sways from side to side as he walks across the room. Samantha notices this and begins to touch herself in response. She slides her right hand beneath her panties and places two fingers across her swollen clitoris, stroking herself as she closes her eyes and imagines Jonathan’s Asian penis filling every inch of her. She unclasps her bra and drops it on the floor.
Meanwhile, Jonathan opens his desk drawer and takes out a small roll of measuring tape. He can’t remember the last time he used this. High school shop class, perhaps? That must be it.
He turns around and sees Samantha pleasuring herself. Her right hand caresses the sensitive nub between her legs while her left hand explores her stomach, breasts and neck. Jonathan watches, captivated by this little “show.” Jonathan has seen lots of videos of women masturbating in front of a camera, but nothing compares to watching the real thing unfold right before his very eyes.
She has no idea what’s come over her. She’s not the type of woman who impulsively touches herself when a sudden rush of arousal hits her. But here she is, rubbing herself like a sex-starved housewife in front of a total stranger she’s only met hours ago. Samantha feels a hot rush of heat pulsate from between her legs as her fingers relentlessly caress her most sensitive area. She knows she’s close. And she’s further turned on knowing he’s watching her.
Jonathan can’t breathe. Samantha loses her breath – caught up in the moment, reveling in the sensations rising up from her depraved body.
Samantha looks up to the Heavens as she approaches her climax. Her fingers continue to rub her clit as her breathing increases with forceful panic. Seeing Jonathan’s hard manhood sway back and forth reminded her of her husband twenty years ago, when they were both young and full of uninhibited sexual ambitions.
Finally, Samantha’s orgasm reaches its peak and she climaxes. A controlled scream fills the air as her orgasm engulfs her entire body from head to toe. The rhythmic contractions of her vaginal muscles steal her breath, making her fall backwards on the bed. Her fingers linger on her clit until her spasms subside. Eventually her breathing returns to normal and she opens her eyes, thanking every deity in existence for this amazing experience. She brings her fingers to her mouth and tastes her feminine juices, enjoying the way her taste buds respond to her own essence.
Silence. Neither of them move for what seems like an eternity. Jonathan decides to break the deafening stillness.
“That was amazing. It looks like you don’t even need me.” Jonathan winks at her, a wicked smile streaking across his face.
Samantha laughs heartily. She never expected this impromptu masturbation session. But there was something in the way that Jonathan’s penis moved as he walked that erupted a sudden burst of lust inside her. She needed release at that moment. And the only one who could give her that immediate release was herself.
“Come here. I want to do something with you.” Samantha pats the bed next to her as she sits back up. By now Jonathan can clearly see her panties are soaking wet, a sign of her arousal that sparks a similar eruption of lust inside him. He hands her the measuring tape and sits down next to her.
“Let’s see how big you are. If you don’t mind.” She stretches the tape out. It’s 72 inches long, plenty of length for whatever scientific experiment she wants to conduct.
“No, I don’t mind. I’m never one to get in the way of scientific research.” Jonathan inhales a deep breath as Samantha grabs the base of his penis and lightly strokes up and down. He feels sudden waves of pleasure cascading through his body. If she wasn’t careful, he might come right there.
“Good. Let’s see where you are…” she trails off, pushing her thumb against the tip of his penis to make sure it stands straight. She then places the end of the measuring tape at the base of his pubic hair and rolls the tape up to the top. He looks down to see how he stacks up.
“About five and a half inches long,” Samantha says unemotionally, as if she were relaying astronomy coordinates to a bored lab assistant.
“Whew,” Jonathan says, breathing a sigh of relief. Is that standard? All the unscientific research he’s ever read says the average penis size, when fully engorged, is between five and six inches. At five and a half, he’s right in the middle. Good! He’s not small. But he’s also not large. He’s…average.
He can live with “average.”
Samantha then wraps the measuring tape around the base of his penis to calculate the circumference. She brushes some of his pubic hair aside to get a more accurate reading.
“Just shy of four and three-quarters inches,” she says, equally without emotion or judgment.
“Dr. Sammy” winds the measuring tape and places it on top of the bedside table. She turns to face Jonathan and plants a light kiss on his right cheek. Electricity runs down his spine as her soft, luscious lips linger on the side of his face.
“Let’s make love,” he suggests, caressing her cheek and lightly pinching her pink nipple with his fingertips.
She takes the hint and slips off her soaked panties down her beautiful legs. Samantha kicks them away to the side, uncaring where they land. She is now completely nude.
“Yes.” She kisses him deeply, refusing to let this prefect moment go to waste.
Is this room real? Are these walls real? Are the sounds of waves hitting the rocky shore genuine or a part of his rich imagination?
What about the beautiful woman standing across from him? Is she real?
Max couldn’t care less.
He didn’t know the woman’s name. Claire, perhaps? Or is it Jennifer? Or Stacy? Or Miranda? Or something else entirely? Max had no idea.
“I love you,” she says to him.
“I love you, too,” Max impulsively replies, not knowing who this woman is and how she knows him. What would his girlfriend think if she saw the two of them together like this?
Wait…does he even have a girlfriend? He cannot remember.
“Come to me,” she commands.
Max stands up off the bed and slowly approaches her. Shirtless, he suddenly feels inadequate compared to this gorgeous creature. Wearing nothing but white lace panties and a bra, she looks radiant; a glowing picturesque specimen of femininity. But who is she? Where does she come from? How did they make it into this room?
Before he could ponder these questions, he found himself face-to-face with her. He stared into her deep blue eyes, lost in its poetic magnificence. Impulsively, she kisses him, a deep languorous kiss that cuts through any boundaries that may have previously separated them. She tastes like blueberries and sunshine, a combination that only makes sense to him. Max closes his eyes, trying to imagine his girlfriend’s pretty face, but comes up empty. It’s like he’s forgotten what she looks like. Or did he ever know what she looked like to begin with?
Their lips eventually came apart and Max is able once again to breathe. Her breath tickles the small hairs on his neck, making them stand up at attention. Her arms wrap around his body, clinging to him like a small child embracing her mother. Max remains frozen, paralyzed, unable to move.
“I like how you taste,” he says to her.
She smiles. Her long blonde hair bounces as she lets out a tiny giggle. Not a schoolgirl type of giggle, but the giggle of a grown woman seductively flirting with her man. This turned Max on even further, as if he needed the extra inspiration.
Suddenly, she grabs his hand and she pulls him toward the bed. They walk side-by-side and feel the heat of their bodies radiate off each other. She then pushes him onto the bed, an unexpected show of force that takes Max totally by surprise. He feels his manhood quiver at her remarkable display of authority.
The Nameless Woman looks at Max and nods her head slightly, cuing him to remove the remainder of his clothing. He obliges.
First, Max takes off his shoes and socks and tosses them across the room unceremoniously. No need to be neat and tidy, Max decides.
Second, Max unbuckles his belt and drops his pants, revealing the inevitable bulge in his underwear. She giggles again. Was she giggling because his bulge is too small? Or is she giggling because of his quick arousal? Max needed to know…
The Nameless Woman snatches the bottom of his pants and pulls them off Max’s legs. She likewise tosses them across the room, uncaring about cleanliness. Then she zeroes in on Max’s underwear and hooks her index fingers underneath the waist. Max takes a deep breath as she drags his underwear down his body. His erect manhood protrudes outward, greeting her like a hungry beast. She smiles at the sight of his arousal, but does not make a sound.
She drops his underwear to the floor and takes one step back, fully examining Max’s nude form. Does she like what she sees? Is she judging him? Is she unimpressed?
“You’re beautiful,” Max manages to say, his voice squeaky and weak.
“Thank you,” she answers.
After a moment, the Nameless Woman takes several steps back and strikes a pose, showing off her flawless body. Long, curvy and tanned, she is every man’s dream. An impeccable demonstration of what a woman should look like. Her angelic form perfectly complements her gorgeous face, a visage that is seamlessly symmetrical and unapologetic in its youthfulness.
She slides her panties down to the floor, revealing her womanhood. Golden locks of hair cover her most intimate parts, like a magician covers up the secrets of the trade. Her panties pools around her feet and she kicks them off to the side.
Next, she reaches in front of her chest and unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor. Max’s eyes could not stop staring at her bountiful breasts, so plump and nubile, unlike the flat bosom of his girlfriend (whose name is merely a long forgotten memory).
Her dark pink nipples stand at attention, ready and willing to be pleased. Max desperately wants to put his mouth around them and suck on them till the day ends. But will she let him? How far can he go with her?
The bright sunlight casts a brilliant aura around her, further validating her Goddess-like nature.
“Lie down on the bed,” she whispers.
Max does what he’s told and lies down on the bed, his erection standing straight up at attention. Max’s insecurities return. She must have been with hundreds of guys, none of them Asian like himself. All of them better endowed, more handsome and much more pleasant to look at, Max thought. Max couldn’t help it. Insecurities are hard to ignore, especially in moments like this.
As if she read his thoughts, the Nameless Woman sits down on the bed next to him and leans over for another kiss. This time, she uses her tongue to explore the insides of his mouth as if she were claiming him as her own. Max didn’t mind at all. He wants to be claimed. He wants to be hers. He wants her to take charge.
Her hands explore his body, caressing and touching with such a finesse he was sure he was in Heaven. When her fingers tickle his scrotum, Max feels a sudden jolt of electricity shoot up his entire core.
“I…love you,” Max struggles say, wanting to remind her of how much he loves her. Losing his composure as her fingers greedily move their way up to his erect manhood, Max comes to the realization that he’s never felt more like a real man in his entire life. For once, a woman is giving him unbridled pleasure for the sake of pleasing him; not because he wants her to, but because she wants to.
“Shhhhhh. Quiet,” she says back, tantalizing him with her touch.
The moment her fingers wrap tightly around the shaft of his penis, Max lets out a groan and feels his vision blur. A minute contraction surges throughout his manhood, forcing a tiny drop of clear fluid to leak out the tip. The Nameless Woman catches the drip on the tip of her index finger and rubs it into Max’s sensitive head.
Max couldn’t think; he only had one thing in mind: feeling. Feeling her touch, feeling her caresses, feeling her femininity joining his masculinity.
With the erotic artfulness of a skilled lover, she starts to lightly stroke him; up and down, up and down, up and down; until Max lets out another groan, this time harder and louder than the first. Waves of pleasure explode throughout his manhood as she continues to stroke him with sensual finesse. Max has no idea when the last time he ever experienced pleasure this deep, this provocative, this enticing.
Perhaps he’s never experienced this before. Perhaps this is the first time he’s ever felt pleasure in its truest form.
The Nameless Woman stops her stroking and gives Max’s penis a hard squeeze, making his entire body jolt in reaction. Many more small drips of fluid leak out of his manhood, but he has yet to fully come.
Gripping onto his penis more firmly, she knows it wouldn’t be long before Max climaxes. She wants to give him the best orgasm he’s ever felt and intends to make this a reality. She also doesn’t mind being known as “The Nameless Woman” to him. She knows this is all an act, a charade, a game.
She knows who has the REAL power in this relationship.
The Nameless Woman releases her squeeze and Max moans in response. She gives him a second squeeze, then a third, then a fourth, then a fifth. By now Max is on another planet, perhaps a different universe. He never knew his body could produce such pleasurable sensations. He doubts he’ll ever be the same after this.
She knows he’s close. But she wants to tease him even further. She wants to see how far the rabbit hole goes…
Freeing her fingers from his penis completely, the Nameless Woman decides it’s time to change things up. She lightly brushes the tip of her fingers against his tightened scrotum and moves her way up. His penis has become impossibly hard, harder than it’s ever been before. Max’s body has never responded to a woman’s touch this way before. His little penis has probably grown to a size that even male porn stars would consider respectable. But he’s not thinking about the size of his Asian manhood right now. In fact, he’s not thinking at all. This is the power Nameless Woman has over him. She owns him, controlling him, claiming him as her property, her toy, her plaything.
Max takes in a deep breath as her fingers finally brush the sensitive tip of his penis, sliding around the rim. He’s about to blow and they both know it. She decides it’s time to finish the job.
The Nameless Woman encloses her fingers around his shaft once again and grasps it securely, as if her life depended on her hanging on to it. She caresses his shaft up and down again and increases her pace as she sees fit. Max knows it’s going to end soon and closes his eyes to soak up the entire experience. He knows he’ll never experience pleasure so transcendent again in his lifetime. He knows…
She stops stroking him and gives him one last hard squeeze.
“Ah!” Max moans.
She lets go and watches Max ejaculate all over the bed sheets. Normally when he climaxes, his penis releases three or four squirts of semen before simmering down, but this time Max spurts six or seven times, all more powerful and potent than he’s ever spurted before.
After his spasms finally subside, the Nameless Woman snickers as she sees a large white pool of liquid spread all over the dark blue bed sheets. Max is currently on Cloud 9 and could care less what mess he’s made. This isn’t the first time he’s stained the sheets and it won’t be the last.
Several minutes later, Nameless Woman leans over and stares into Max’s eyes. They share an intimate moment together, a spiritual form of communication that could never be replicated nor understood by anybody else.
He cannot even begin to thank her for the selfless pleasure she’s given him. Knowing she unselfishly gave him pleasure when she expected nothing in return brings tears to his eyes. The gift of her divine touch will be a debt he could never repay. But she doesn’t expect to be repaid for her gift. Knowing he’s at peace is enough for her. And this peace brings tears to her eyes as well.
Finally, they share a kiss that lasts for an eternity. Is it a literal eternity? Probably not, but neither of them care at this point. Max closes his tear-soaked eyes and concentrates on feeling her lips against his. She tastes sweet and powerfully feminine, a taste Max could never put into words.
He doesn’t remember exactly when he drifts off to sleep, but when he did the Nameless Woman disappears along with her surroundings. The sunlight stops shining. The waves stop hitting the shore. All of that goes away as quickly as it appeared. The shared experience they had together is now a distant memory that neither will ever forget. Whatever comes next is completely irrelevant at this moment, when all that matters is the beautiful fact that a woman just gave a man the greatest pleasure he’s ever known.
Max still couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming, but he knew one thing for sure:
This blog is my first ever venture into writing erotica.
And what an adventure it has been!
I’ve learned a lot from reading other blogs to see their approaches to writing online erotic stories. I’ve also learned quite a bit from flipping through cheap dime store romance novels. But I still do not consider myself to be a “pro” by any stretch of the imagination!
However, I do have my standards when it comes to the style of my writing.
Even though I haven’t been writing erotica for very long, I’ve already created for myself a few basic rules that guide my writing. I earned my B.A. in journalism, so I’m already used to following a written style guide (I use the Associated Press, in case any of you were curious).
My primary story, “The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi,” deals with many things, but chief among them: sex. And, naturally, when you write about sex, inevitably things are going to get a little dirty.
But let’s face it; that’s why we read erotica in the first place, isn’t it?
But I don’t think of erotic fiction as being “porn.” Porn, more often than not, lacks any sort of art and only exists to titillate and excite. Erotic fiction exists to do those things but within the context of characters, plot and ideas. I don’t consider myself an accomplished erotic writer by any means but I would like to think I’m entertaining what few faithful readers I have.
(Thank you, by the way, to ALL of you who have read or stumbled upon my blog so far!)
I strive to write erotic fiction that still contains basic elements of storytelling even when dealing with sexually-charged subject matter. Just because a story deals with S-E-X doesn’t mean it has to be filthy. Filth is for children. Erotica is for adults.
That’s why there are certain words I will never use in my writing. I don’t want to sound like an elitist, but I have a distinct set of immature words that I don’t think belong in fiction intended for adults. These are words best reserved for the playground.
So, here’s a brief rundown of said words I will never use in my writing:
I don’t know about you, but these six words just seem a little too crass for me. Using the word “pussy” instead of “vagina” sounds too much like grade school kids talking about what they just overheard their older siblings talk about.
Additionally, “pussy” is often used as a derogatory term for someone who’s perceived as being weak or lacking self-respect. This sexist term doesn’t belong in my writing.
“Dick” also doesn’t sound right to me. I prefer the traditional term “penis.” Maybe it’s because “dick” is a derogatory term for someone who’s a jerk. This is another negative association I don’t want my readers to be subjected to when reading my stories.
“Cock” is another word I don’t like. Maybe because when I think of the word “cock,” I think about a rooster. “Cock” isn’t necessarily a crass word, but there are better alternatives out there.
The word “cunt” is so taboo that we often refer to it as the “c-word.” I don’t know much about the origin of this word, but it doesn’t seem necessary, especially when there’s that perfectly legitimate word, “vagina,” also available.
Is “vagina” such a taboo word that we’d rather use “pussy,” “cunt,” “snatch” and other euphemisms instead? Maybe a lot of writers don’t want to sound like they’re writing an anatomy textbook. I get that.
Two euphemisms I prefer to use are “manhood” when referring to a man’s genitalia and “womanhood” when referring to a woman’s genitalia. I find these terms more empowering and conducive to describing their God-given biology.
Of course, all rules are meant to be broken. There is one exception when I would (and eventually will) use these six words: in the context of dialogue. Dialogue between characters who would use these words is the only place where I’d be comfortably referring to a man’s semen as “cum.” What’s wrong with “semen?” Does it remind you of a group of sailors exploring the high seas?
So there you have it. I think language is important and what words you use can have a tremendous effect on your readers. Good erotica should stimulate the imaginations of your audience. Using middle school language like “pussy” while describing the act of cunnilingus might turn some people off.
Once again, I don’t claim to be a great erotic fiction writer. I’m just laying out my reasons for using medically-correct terms like “penis” and “vagina” when other writers would use “cock” and “cunt.”
If you want mature adults to read your writing, you should treat them like mature adults. There’s nothing wrong with reading smut, just as long as you have respect for the characters you create. Maybe it’s just me, but describing the act of lovemaking as “fucking her pussy so hard she cums like a bitch” doesn’t sound very dignified.
And if I do break these rules and use those six forbidden words outside of the context of dialogue, I give you full permission to punch me in the face the next time you see me on the streets.
Oh, wait. That would never happen. None of you know who I am!
My name is not Ryan Takahashi. These adventures are not in any way autobiographical.
If only, right?
What is true about me is that I reside in the Seattle area (I live in a suburb of Seattle, but who’s keeping track?), I’m Japanese-American, I’m a professional marketing copywriter and this blog is my creative writing outlet.
On this blog you will find several styles of writings: fiction, non-fiction, essays, playwriting and whatever I feel like publishing at the moment. For now, enjoy “The Adventures of Ryan Takahashi,” a continuing series of adventures of a protagonist who is not unlike me. We share several of the same personality traits, but we are definitely not the same person.
This blog will deal primarily with the interconnection of race and sexuality. Many of these posts will be sexually explicit in nature as they deal with my personal fantasies and fetishes. Do not read this blog if you find that sort of thing offensive.
Please note that I take sexuality seriously and make no attempt to be crude. You will find nothing crude or demeaning on this blog. I believe we should view sexuality for what it is: part of us all and inescapable in our everyday lives. I’m no philosopher, so I’ll leave the deeper analysis to the experts.
But mostly, these stories should be fun, harmless escapist fiction. If you have any feedback or comments, feel free to e-mail me at ryantakahashi87 (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Happy reading! I’d also welcome suggestions of other like-minded blogs and authors in the comments below. I’m always open to expanding my reading palette.