A reader posted a review, the first for HH, and I’d like to say ‘thank you’ !
It takes time, effort, and of course giving a hoot to write a review. I appreciate each and every one, positive or negative.
To all you readers out there that take the time to validate something I’ve worked so hard on, you inspire me to keep going.
What do we share? The telling of stories is cathartic but at what price? How much of ourselves do we put out there in an effort to relieve the ‘pressure’, vs. allowing people a glimpse into our soul?
How can you write that which you do not know?
For those of you who publish, if you’re like me then the release day is a culmination of immense anticipation and ultimately pleasure.
The pleasure of watching it go live, the first sale, and if so very lucky, maybe a rating or review.
Now though it’s been a few days and I’m coming down. Still riding the wave but starting to feel a bit sad, like we all do when something amazing is over.
I feel an emptiness, an aching for that experience which cannot be had because it is done.
I realized it was very much akin to ‘cum drop’, where post orgasm you experience regret that it’s over and don’t know when it will happen again. Feeling a loss for all that you’d suffered so long for, gone faster than you can ever prepare yourself for.
Both are cruel reminders to enjoy and embrace the NOW!
Whatever your passion, live it, own it.
For myself, I’m going to relax and savor the release of Hotwife Holiday. Every second of it, whilst awaiting the next tale to whisper terribly naughty things in my ear taunting me to engage it.
*** Warning Adult Sexual Content! ***
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, her finger swirling circles thru the pre-cum dripping out and pooling on the head of his rigid cock.
It was swelling within its own skin, the steel ring already encircling it a trap in itself.
The blood went in, pumped with relentless surety, as was his desire to experience chastity.
The ring however was a one way street, and that which went freely in, would not be freely allowed out.
Of course in his naivety, he was blind to all but that which was Her.
He closed his eyes and thrust his hips into the air desperately chasing further pressure from her touch.
He moaned in frustration as her finger danced away from him.
“Yes…yes!” he hissed, beside himself. He just wanted relief, his addled brain confusing her question with what her teasing finger promised.
“OK, just remember, you asked for this.” She smiled and leaned in, her hair falling around his face and tickling his skin in a million places at once. Her lips brushed over his, soft and warm, in direct contrast to the cold steel cage now pressed over his manhood.
“Shh, just lay with me, just relax,” she murmured to him, quieting him as she lay her head down onto his chest.
The sounds of the street below drifted into the small apartment, muted yet loud when contrasted with the silence of the bedroom within.
His breathing gradually slowed and along with it he softened.
The smell of her hair wafted into his nostrils, soothing him.
He finally relaxed, loosing himself in her presence and was startled at the sudden pressure on his shaft.
His eyes flew open as he realized she’d manoeuvred the cage into place.
He was about to open his mouth, tell her he’d changed his mind, that he wanted to fuck her senseless, that it was all just crazy talk.
He felt movement down there and she pushed up off him, turning to show him the key in her hand.
She smiled wickedly, “I’m glad you were ready, so am I”.
Warning, adult sexual content!
“What are you afraid of?” she asks me.
“I’m not sure, I guess everything” I admit.
Her hand tightens on my shoulder as she leverages herself to push the plug all the way in.
I grunt and relax slightly as I realize the worst of it is over.
Her breath is hot on the back of my neck and her lips tease my ears. “Do you trust me?”
I don’t hesitate. The bathroom mirror is directly in front of me and I nod as my eyes lock on hers.
She smiles and I turn, taking her in my arms.
All too soon our time together is done and she honks the horn with complete abandon, waving her arm out the window at me as she drives away.
I smile and wave back, and I feel good. It feels right. She is an amazing woman and I’m so thankful to be rocking this with her.
We lock eyes and my heart double times it.
I take her in. Savour her.
Sure enough she smiles, lips pulling up and my joy with them.
She purses her lips into a pert air kiss, watching me as I take it in.
Ensuring she’s made her point she looks beyond me.
To the man standing there.
I write about fetishes. There I said it. Hold on though, that shouldn’t be a surprise to you as a reader. After all don’t we know what we are choosing to read?
I know mine doesn’t align with everyone’s and I get that. I guess I assume when someone reads my work that they have a predilection for the topic about which I’m passionate enough to not only write about, but to publish as well.
Today I found a review that attacked me as a person because of emotions my story The Landlady evoked in them.
If someone feels powerfully about a story I write, please feel free to praise or decimate it as you see fit. I have broad shoulders.
Is it too much to ask that me and my life as a regular guy with a job, a wife, kids, bills, and oh my God yes , a mind that has fantasies, be accorded some modicum of respect?
Or should I ask after you eviscerate me as a person for daring to share my story, “What have you published?”
It seems to me that since I’m faced with some time off at home and f-all going on in the world around me, I may as well enjoy it as best I can. No feeling like I have to do anything in particular really, after all this is unplanned. Nope, I can enjoy it. Take a few hours here, some there and enjoy probably one of the quietest periods of my life doing some writing. Maybe get into something new or at least get some ideas down. I think many writers out there are thinking something similar and hopefully lots of stories come of it.
Hopefully everyone close to me and those close to you, are OK.
I think we all do.
We all have an image in our head of the perfect story told the way we always wanted to read it, regardless of genre.
Concepts, feelings and emotions, depth and detail, and whatever else not explored to our satisfaction as a reader in the genre we are passionate about.
For myself, I had to write The Good Wife, and even then I still didn’t capture everything the way I wanted.
That said, I am glad I did it because I found that getting it out of me and onto paper to be very “something”.
What is the word to describe how writing that story made me feel? Liberated, purged, relieved, satisfied, complete? I’m not sure there is just one word.
What I do know for sure is if you have an untold story in you, then I highly recommend getting it out and onto paper.
Even if you never publish, you will have done it!
Us readers hope you do publish though because you as a writer never know who your story may resonate with.