Patron Blog #1: Creation

(The following is cross-posted from Patreon. If you don’t know what Patreon is, basically it’s like an interactive Kickstarter, except that instead of funding one big project, you pledge a certain amount per creation, as much as you’d like to give, to support artists who are creating anything you can imagine. I’m trying this out as a way of gaining feedback and motivation to write my novel, and hopefully get a taste of what it’s like to actually make money for my art. I’m not trying to make a living on Patreon – not yet at least – but this is a great starting place for me. If you like what I write, or you like my music, or you just want to support me creating something in any way, you can become a patron and get access to a lot of neat stuff.)

patreon blog

I’ve always created stories.

As a child, the way I had fun was to wander around outside, on my own, using my imagination to create big adventures. My first inspiration was and continues to be video games, and I still remember when I was seven years old, running around the back yard with a stick in my hand that could be used either as a sword or a gun, whenever I needed it, and creating stories about my favorite video game characters.

The first game to ignite my imagination was Final Fantasy VII. I loved this game in a deep and profound way that can’t honestly be described. The music, the scenery, the vivid story hooked my attention and my imagination and never let go. I used to draw the characters on paper, then cut the pieces of paper out and use them as toys and have them battle. I would go outside and grab a stick, and sing the battle music and I executed turn-based combat all by myself, playing both the player character and the opponent, in what I’m sure was a hilarious sight to behold.

As I grew older I continued to play this way, and it’s the way I got out my creative energy. I never wrote down the stories that I made up, which started out as fanfiction, long before I knew that fanfiction existed, and even long before I knew that there were OTHER people who also loved Final Fantasy, Sonic the Hedgehog, Zelda and Mega Man the way I did. When I played with my toys, I created platformer video game style levels for them to hop around and pitted them against enemies in video game fashion. When I was thirteen, my method of play didn’t change, in fact it evolved. Now the stories I made up were a little more complex. There were villains with motivations, there were relationships between characters, and I even started to come up with stories that, even though they were heavily influenced by video games and television, were still my own.

At fifteen I continued to play this way by myself, only it was much more conspicuous to be seen waving a stick around and talking to yourself, especially with the emotion of someone acting a character on stage, so what I began to do was just go on long walks, and see the scenario in my mind, and speak the characters’ dialogue under my breath. When I was seventeen and started to enjoy listening to music, I would create dramatic music videos that often involved fight scenes between characters in the games I loved, or even my own characters.

I’m twenty six now, and I still come up with my stories this way. If I have an open space where no one can see me and a stick, I will indeed pick it up, use it as a sword, and engage in my own RPG style combat against imaginary enemies, create characters and soliloquize from the perspective of villains or protagonists. I also take copious notes and write a lot of scenes out of order, with the result being that many of those scenes no longer make sense in the stories the way they are now.

The first time I sat down to write one of my stories I was twelve. Well actually, technically the earliest story I can remember writing was a Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction when I was in second grade. My mother still has the paper. I also wrote one in third grade about James Bond, in the style of the Nintendo 64 game Goldeneye. But the first earnest attempt to write an actual book, a real cohesive story, was when I was twelve. It was a fantasy story, intended to be an epic in the style of Final Fantasy. The concept was that the story took place in a world which had once been devastated by a great flood akin to those in various religious mythologies (indeed, the first thing I sat down and wrote was a prologue that occurred during the Christian Biblical flood), and a certain demon who could take the form of a great leviathan had survived the flood, and was now out to kill a young man whose destiny it was to vanquish him.

Not the most novel idea, but I still say that it wasn’t bad for a twelve year old. I didn’t get very far with the story, but it stayed in my mind and continued to evolve. I created more characters as time went by, added subplots. The main character’s brother was killed in the opening scene, but when I started listening to My Chemical Romance’s Black Parade, I decided that he had faked his death to protect his brother. When I started listening to Queen, I added a scenario in which the main character was thrown into prison in a gladiatorial coliseum, and created a character named Dexter to help him out of the situation, and funnily enough Dexter actually survived and is now a character in the novel I’m writing. When I became interested in choral music I created a mournful scene in which Dexter lamented the death of his lover (no longer a part of Dexter’s character in the new novel, by the way).

All of this played out in my head, very little was written down. And this is the way my stories have always been. Pages and pages of dialogue are improvised by me and most of the time I never write any of it down. It’s still the way I’m most comfortable writing, although now I’ve learned to either record myself speaking, or take notes as I’m talking.

Every idea spirals into a series of ideas, and eventually they start connecting to one another, and then there’s an entire story, complete with subplots and character arcs and relationships… but it’s all in my head. I speak the characters lines when I’m in the shower, when I fall into depression and I feel lonely I play a scene in my mind of two of my characters cuddling and falling asleep. These stories are a part of me, and they go with me wherever I go. These characters exist. And I want other people to see them.

Music is probably an important part of everyone’s life, in one way or another. But the funny thing is, I actually hated music (that is, pop/rock music, anything you might hear on the radio or on a CD) until I was a teenager. My mother actually commented to me how weird it was that I didn’t like music, and I did ultimately start getting CD’s (the first one was In The Zone by Britney Spears, the second war The Very Best of Cher), but I hadn’t developed any kind of passion for music yet. But over time I realized: I DID have a passion for music and I always had, it’s just that it was all video game music. Sonic the Hedgehog, Final Fantasy, The Legend of Zelda, and theme songs to television shows, I LOVED that music.

I started learning to play piano when I was sixteen, because I wanted to learn how to play a song I really liked (it was Axel F from Beverly Hills Cop, as remixed by Crazy Frog). My chorus teacher taught me to play the song and I instantly wanted to learn to play others. The second thing I learned were the opening chords to Roxanne by The Police (simply because that was the nearest songbook on hand in the chorus room), and then of course one day I realized that Final Fantasy songs could be played on piano, so I brought him the sheet music to one of my favorites, the Final Fantasy VII battle theme, and watched him play it. I was amazed. I was really, truly hearing the music, in real life, coming out of a real instrument.

From that point there was no turning back. Video game music was why I learned to play piano, and as I grew up and discovered Tori Amos, Amanda Palmer, Imogen Heap, Amy Lee and other artists who use the piano to communicate their music, I learned to play their songs, and I learn more about how to play every time I play one of their songs.

And that’s the thing. I’ve always thought that I couldn’t be a writer or a musician because most of my ideas aren’t entirely original, they’re borrowed. I borrow my story ideas from Final Fantasy and Breath of Fire and Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles, I borrow my musical structure from Evanescence and Tori Amos. I’ve always thought to myself, “Well yeah I like to play music and write, but no one would pay for it, I can’t actually be a real artist, because everyone will see right through it to the sources from which I pulled.”

But I didn’t realize that everyone pulls from everyone else. No ideas are entirely new, and in fact most of the best stories are retelling of mythological stories and campfire adventures, with characters who are archetypes. Some of the best musical pieces in history are variations on themes from earlier times. Good artists create using borrowed ideas as well as their own ideas, and what comes out is something unique that no one else can create in exactly the same way as that artist created it.

Everyone’s voice is unique. Their vocal ability, the playing of their instrument, and the way they write their poetry and their stories, it’s unique to them. Neil Gaiman says, “Tell your story in the way that only you can tell it.” Every artist fights against directly copying their inspirations, and it’s terrifying to see something you’ve created and know that a part of it’s skeleton is borrowed from another artist. The bones holding together my stories come from more places than just my own imagination, and the chord used to keep my songs going don’t come from my mind alone.

But that’s okay.

What’s important is that the creation happens. What’s important is the warm, beaming pride I feel when I look at the screen and see the words that came from me. Their origins may have come from other places, the ideas and the concepts might have been borrowed, but those ideas were churned through my mind and I created something that only I can create. Sometimes it’s better than other times. That’s okay. Kesha says “You have to give yourself permission to suck.” And it’s true. No one becomes a great writer by starting out writing something brilliant, and no one becomes a great musician by composing their master work on day one. But the important thing is to KEEP CREATING.

So that’s why I’m here. I’m here to create. I’m here to write the novel that’s been growing and living inside of me. I’m here to write the songs that I sing to myself, and to recite the lyrics that I hurriedly copy down on sheets of papers, sticky notes, and the notepad of whatever device I’m holding.

I want to share it with you, and I want to know that you hear me. I want to hear your ideas about what I’m creating, I want to know what you think.

Everyone is going to die. Most of us are afraid of that. I certainly am. But it helps me to know that I can create something that will be here after I’m gone, a record of my thoughts. A story that talks about the things that are important to me. Characters who address the things I’m afraid of, the things I long for, the things I wish were true, and the things I hope will become true.

There is much work to be done. There are more details to go into and more specifics to explain. But this is where it begins.

The simple explanation is: I’m writing a fantasy novel. I write poetry, I write fiction, I want to write a nonfiction book about my experience with religion and maybe even an autobiographical book of stories from my life. I play piano. I sing. I write songs.

This is the first step.

If I keep going, I might be a real artist one day. Someone who wakes up in the morning and does what they love.

That is my dream. That is my wish, and my goal.

Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for listening.

Let’s get started.

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Seduction of the Incubus

Seduction of the Incubus

a short story

He spotted the young mortal man through a crowd. It had been at one of those silly conventions the lovers of fantasy in this time so loved, a gathering of human beings dressed in the raiment of wild fantasy creatures, raiment like that of the old eighteenth-century nobles that was made from cheap fabric and sewn together by amateurs, and then of course the humans who painted their faces in all manner of colors to appear to be various creatures. They wore contact lenses that changed the color of their eyes, they washed into their hair dye which changed it to unnaturally beautiful colors like that of the grass of the fields or the blue sky.

And amongst that crowds he had seen this young man, standing with a book in his hand, waiting in line to have it signed. His heart had been beating in anticipation to the meet the author, someone he admired, but his face had been the mask of tragedy incarnate, sorrow in his eyes and his pouty, beautiful lips. His bright blue eyes actually sparkled with tears, but from the emotions and thoughts he sent out without knowing it, Jared knew that it had nothing to do with this event, or the signing of the book, but a deep depression that suffused this young man.

Jared could hear his thoughts, but not so much as words, more like images and feelings that he caught from the young man’s mind. He had come here to this convention because he wanted to die. He would wander through the sea of mortals until he found one who would take his life. He had had a troubled life, ostracized by family, abandoned by friends, scorned by lovers, but he was so young still, only twenty-seven years old. But his mind was far more advanced than the mind of an average human, indeed he had been told at a young age that he was a genius, that his IQ soared above those around him.

And perhaps that was what had led him into depression, had ostracized him. The mortal man would think of new and exciting ideas that were met with mockery and anger by those around him. He questioned the ways of the world, he questioned the fabric of existence, but no one ever took him seriously. Every now and then the ones he himself referred to as “stoners,” they would listen to him, listen to him talk about how he believed that there was some cellular structure uniting and binding all living things, that it could be harnessed some day and used to cure any disease, to prevent death, to grant the unending wishes of human beings and give them the purest happiness of any living creature before then. The young men and women who sat with him on the carpeted floor of some apartment, intoxicated by various drugs, would nod and sigh in wonderment, though they didn’t truly believe a thing he said, they only wanted to experience some moment of pretend nirvana, transcendence.

This young man sought endlessly to question the world around him. He didn’t believe in anything. He believed it was just as possible that the table in front of him where the author whose book he held was sitting was made from cells and dead wood as he did that it was made up of some unseeable cosmic fabric and that all life was an illusion that each person interpreted differently. He didn’t truly believe that any living being was really a living being, he suspected they were all illusions created by his own mind and that he was merely some small cellular organism in the vastness of the cosmos, interpreting images around him as “people,” “animals,” “things.”

What a fascinating and lovable mind had this young man. Jared had sensed first not his thoughts, but his feelings. He sensed the great disdain this young mortal had for the world around him, he sensed his disappointment in life, his desire to leave this world, but he himself knew that he had no courage to take his own life. So he had come to a convention, a place where lovers of fantasy came to share their art, their poetry, their literature, their extravagant costumes, where they had parties that lasted all hours of the night to the thrumming “rave” music, intoxicated by the drugs they inhaled or swallowed. He would come and find some criminal who wished to kill him, or simply take enough drugs to die without knowing who he was or where he was anymore. But he had come to this place with a death wish, and he never intended to leave this place alive. Indeed he had kissed the door to his bedroom back home in his apartment in the city goodbye before he left, and reached down and petted his little cat on it’s head, whispering his goodbyes to the little animal.

As the young man reached the head of the line and politely spoke his name to the author who signed his book (“Evan, ma’am, just sign it to Evan”), Jared remained standing in the corner, staring at him, picking up his thoughts and his emotions. Jared himself was wearing simple clothes: blue jeans, a tight t-shirt with the name of some musician he’d never heard of printed on it, he’d only chosen this shirt at the store because he liked the calligraphy and the image used on the shirt, black boots, and a black leather overcoat. It was assumed he was in costume by those who attended, and passersby would grant him compliments on his “makeup.” He wore no makeup. His face was stark white, his lips a pale red, and his eyes had large pupils, with irises around them that were almost white, but had tinges of pale blue. He could hear in their thoughts that they thought we was dressed as a “vampire,” one of those silly creatures from old fiction that had experienced a revival in the fantasy world of these times.

But he didn’t mind. It was easier to blend in here. He didn’t have to try and come up with a clever explanation for who he was when inquisitive people asked him, he didn’t have to make up stories about skin or blood diseases to explain his hideous appearance. Oh, his face and his body were beautiful, yes, as they had been when he was human, but as drained and empty as he was now, he appeared a revanant, a walking corpse among human beings.

What was he, exactly? Well, “vampire” had certainly been a good guess. But he knew how these fantasy creatures gained sustenance, and it wasn’t nearly so crude for him. He didn’t drink the blood of his victims (though he had tasted it once, and was as disgusted as any human being might be), he didn’t even cause them physical harm. He didn’t need to use powers of persuasion to lull his victims into bliss, he gave it to them truly and purely, and took their lives when they were at their happiest, when they reached the moment of true transcendence.

And how he longed for this mortal young man. His body was attracted to his beauty, but his spirit was attracted to the mortal’s spirit. How melancholy was his mind, and how pure was his soul. Jared lusted after him immensely, wanting right now to snatch him out of this crowd and take him away. But that wouldn’t do, he could not be secretive that way, and it would cause too much trouble. He wanted to savor this moment, and savor this taking of life. For him, the victims were not truly victims at all. Sure, they died, they lost their mortal life, but they died for a purpose. They sustained him while feeling the most pleasure and satisfaction any mortal could ever feel. They died in a state of complete bliss, the gates of heaven opening for them.

Evan. The mortal human man with dark brown hair and green eyes, a lean body that beneath his clothes was covered in fine, dark hair. Even through his disdain for all things around him, Jared could sense Evan’s body picking up signals from the other mortals gathered around. He saw a young woman with breasts held tightly by scant fabric, dressed as some fantasy warrior, and his erection grew behind his jeans. He saw another person to whom his body reacted, a man walking around in absolutely nothing but a gold speedo, wearing a crown of laurels on his head and golden boots on his feet. He’d had a bulging member between his legs poking through the fabric of his speedo, and Evan’s erection had grown at seeing this, his heart beating faster and his head beginning to throb. Evan himself tried to put these thoughts out of his mind. The time for making love, he told himself, was done. It was time to die. He had come here because his favorite author had been signing books, and he would have a copy of his favorite book signed and dedicated to him, and he would die with that book at his side, however it happened.

Jared could respect that. He would honor Evan’s wish.

When Evan exited the building through the turning doors and headed for the lawn, Jared approached him. He gave him a simple tap on the shoulder, and Evan had turned, seen Jared’s ghastly appearance, and gasped. He put a hand to his fast-beating heart, “You scared me, man,” he said in a deep voice that was so gentle and sweet. It was calming to hear. “I guess you’re dressed as, I don’t know, an Incubus or something?”

Now that had been truly a miraculous guess. Jared himself was surprised and for a moment he almost let his facial expression betray himself. Then he spoke, “Something like that,” he said simply.

“Well, it’s a cool look,” Evan said politely, and then turned to walk away.

“Wait,” said Jared, and Evan turned around, “Are you here by yourself?”

“Uh, yes,” said Evan, and Jared could hear from Evan’s thoughts the secret desire that this man, strangely costumed or so it seemed, was some rapist or murderer who attempted to kill him. Jared would indulge this fantasy.

“Why don’t you come to my room?” asked Jared in a gentle voice.

“You’re asking me to your room and I just met you?” laughed Evan, “How do I know you’re not gonna chop me into bits and hide me in the floorboards?”

The funny thing about it was that as the words escaped his mouth, very convincingly making it seem as though he wanted none of it, Jared could feel Evan’s longing that it might happen. Evan had stopped caring about pain anymore, and he didn’t care if his death was painful or humiliating, he just wanted to die.

“Oh no, never anything so crude as all that,” said Jared with a smile.

Evan thought the strange man speaking to him was joking, but secretly hoped he was telling the truth. Jared was telling the truth, but spoke as though he were telling a joke.

Jared boldly reached out and grabbed Evan’s hand, and began to lead him. Evan followed without much of a word, and eventually when Jared let go of his hand, he continued to follow. They walked at a calm pace to the hotel where Jared had rented a room. He didn’t really need the room, he didn’t much like modern comforts, and preferred to sleep in the wilderness, but he had rented the room so that he might lure a victim here. And how simple now it was.

Neither of them spoke as they entered the hotel lobby, boarded they elevator, waited for the doors to open, and headed down to the room at the end of the hall. Jared used the little card he’d been given and opened the door, holding it open in a gentlemanly fashion for Evan, who slipped in past him and set his book down on the night stand, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking out of the wide window with it’s blinds pulled up.

The little hotel room had one large bed and a leather couch near that, along with a wooden stand that held a television, a closet, and a door to a small bathroom. The couch was perpendicular to the bed. Jared came around the bed and sat on the couch, relaxing with his arm on the arm of the couch, while Evan regarded him with curiousity.

“So, do you know why I’ve brought you here?” asked Jared.

“To have sex with me, probably,” said Evan in a voice that sounded vaguely disappointed.

“Would you like that?” asked Jared.

Evan shrugged. “I wouldn’t hate it, but I don’t really care anymore. I don’t care about pleasure or pain. I have a death wish.”

Interesting that he was so candid. Jared hadn’t expected that. Thoughts are always candid, words, not so.

“Why do you wish for death?” asked Jared.

“It’s too complicated to explain,” said Evan, “But suffice it to say I’m tired.” His eyes suddenly began to well up with tears like they had in line at the signing within the convention hall. The sun outside the window was already setting. “I’m tired of everything,” he choked through his tears.

“Oh, sweet boy,” said Jared with true compassion in his voice, and he stood up, walking to the bed and wrapping his arms gently around Evan, who laid his head against Jared’s chest, “Why do you cry?” he asked Evan, “When you say that you don’t care to live anymore? If you care not for pain or pleasure, why are you so emotional?”

“I wish I knew,” sobbed Evan, and he pulled his head back from Jared, wiping his tears and sniffing. Jared got down on his knee before him and smiled. He knew that to Evan, he looked terrifying, but Evan believed him to be wearing makeup, to be in disguise. He believed the terrifying white skin and the hideously white eyes to be trickery. He thought that Jared might shower all of this away and transform into a normal human being again. Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Evan,” said Jared in a quiet voice, “I have something to tell you.”

“How did you know my name?” asked Evan with a hint of fear in his voice.

“Oh come now, you wanted me to kill you when you met me, and you wonder how I know your name?”

“I didn’t really want you to kill me, it was a joke,” said Evan, but his voice didn’t carry any conviction.

“No it wasn’t,” said Jared. He placed a hand on Evan’s hand, oh this warm, delicate hand, covered on the back with fine little black hairs, the hair running up Evan’s arms and all over his body. He had picked up images of Evan staring at his naked form in the mirror, the young man dissatisfied by what he saw. But how beautiful he was.

“Now listen,” said Jared, “I’m going to tell you a marvelous secret. When you met me, you said that I was dressed as an Incubus, one of the demons of ancient times.”

Evan nodded, “Yeah, I don’t know why, it just seemed that way to me. You’re probably a vampire though.”

“Actually I am not, nor am I dressed in any costume,” said Jared with a smile, “I am indeed what was in those old times called an Incubus, though I go by many different names now. I don’t have a preferred name for what I am, because I never divulge it to anyone. But I am indeed one of those old demons who steal life from their victims.”
Evan smiled and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t believe me I know,” said Jared, “But that’s alright, you’ll know soon enough. Because I am going to fulfill your wish, I am going to kill you.”

Evan’s heart began to beat faster. For a split second there was hesitation in his mind. Now that someone had threatened to do it, did he really want it? But it took not even another moment before he came back to his old feeling. Yes, he wanted death. But he didn’t believe this person in front of him was a demon.

“I know you don’t believe,” said Jared, “But touch my skin, do you feel makeup there?”
Evan reached out and gently caressed Jared’s face. Jared closed his eyes, his own heart pumping. Oh, to feel the hands of this youthful man touching him was ecstasy. “No makeup, alright,” said Evan.

“I invite you to touch my eyes to prove I am not wearing colored contact lenses,” said Jared.
And Evan did. It was violating somehow to feel fingers pressed against his eyes, a slight burning sensation when they touched, but Jared kept his eyelids open. Evan drew back his hand. “You really look like this,” he said in astonishment.

“Yes,” said Jared, “And though I am but an ancient demon, I don’t have the powers your modern fantasy creatures have. I live only to take life and sustain myself, but when I do, I give that person who dies the most pleasure they have ever experienced.”

“You mean sex?” asked Evan.

Jared laughed a little. “Sex does not begin to describe it. I’m going to take your life, sweet, young Evan, but you will enjoy every moment. It will not only be painless, but you will see what you’ve dreamed of, you will see the cosmic fabric of the universe, you will understand all questions. I know this because they all do, when they reach the final point just before death, my victims. And I try to read it from their thoughts or feelings, see what they’re seeing, but I never can. I just know that they unlock some kind of answer when they reach that point, and then I take their life and I am sustained.”
Evan was silent.

“Do you believe?” asked Jared.

“No, not really,” said Evan, “I think this might just be a fantasy game you’re playing. But I wish it were true.”

“Come now, my beautiful, my love” said Jared, and he placed his hand on the back of Evan’s neck, “Let me show it to you, let me give you the sensations now, let me prove it to you.” He rubbed his fingers against the little hairs against Evan’s neck. “Is there anything you wish to be done before you die? Anything you wish to say, anything you wish for me to do with your body?”

Evan smirked. “If what you’re saying is true, then yes, just one thing. I want the book to be with me,” he motioned with his head toward the nightstand, and the little hardback book there, “It’s the only thing I brought with me. I want it to be with my body when they find it.”

“That is all you wish?” asked Jared.

“That’s all,” said Evan. He still didn’t believe.

That was alright. The time for doubt was passed anyway.

Jared leaned forward and pressed his lips to Evan’s.

Oh, the kiss. How Jared reveled in the kiss. It was the first and most sacred part of the ritual. The lips touching, the heat from the lips penetrating Jared’s entire body, making his hair stand on end and his penis become erect beneath these tight jeans that he wore. Evan moaned. It was beginning for him, the feelings that humans only knew when they were in Jared’s arms. The kiss was not just Evan’s lips pressed to his, but his spirit, his energy, passing out of his body and into Jared’s. Jared’s eyes opened during the kiss. There was no physical change in Evan but already a slight bit of color had returned to Jared’s eyes, he knew it and could feel it. They were a little bluer than they had been before. And as he kissed deeply, passionately, moving his lips against Evan’s, feeling the eager and passionate tongue of the young man penetrate Jared’s own mouth, he knew that color was returning, very slowly, to his skin. His white hair was regaining it’s dark pigment, but only very slowly.

A kiss was simply not enough.

With skill, Jared laid Evan back on the bed properly, his head laid on the pillow, Evan’s eyes closed as his body was filled with warmth and bliss. It was like a trance, this part of the ritual, the human being always giving themselves up, body, mind and spirit. Oh, he would be so gentle with this beautiful spirit, he would not tarnish or harm it, nor the body. And what a beautiful body it was, Jared discovered, as he unbuttoned Evan’s shirt and his jeans, removing them, pulling down the tight-fitting underwear and revealing the cock that bobbled up between his legs.

Evan was completely naked now, his head thrown back, his body slowly squirming in pleasure, filled with the warmth of the spell Jared’s kiss had cast. His figure was lean, and his body covered in dark hair, surrounding his small, pink nipples, leading down to his naval and trailing into his pubis, hair everywhere on him, covering his testicles and the base of his penis, his thighs, his legs, his arms, the tops of his feet and hands. Like a child Evan drew himself up with his hands under his knees and turned to the side, not in pain but in pleasure and delight, unable to speak, his eyes closed, and Jared saw his small buttocks, covered also in the black hair, and the separation there between them. He leaned forward and kissed Evan’s beautiful, plump little buttocks, and darted his tongue between them to the little opening, and Evan sighed and relaxed and Jared skillfully worked his tongue into Evan’s sex, lapping at it, tasting the tangy saltiness of it and the little hairs surrounding it. When Evan’s opening was wet, Jared teased it with a long finger, and let it slip inside just a little, and Evan turned over onto his back, hoisting his body up a little to allow Jared’s finger to penetrate him, and with his finger he felt the warm inside of Evan’s body, and rubbed with his fingertip the gland within, the soft little spot inside that felt as though it were swelling in pleasure. Jared smiled and removed his finger, and Evan whined, opening his eyes and looking up at Jared.

Jared put a finger to Evan’s mouth, and skillfully began removing his clothes quickly. Jared’s own body was stark white, but his stomach had well-carved muscles, his buttocks were hard, his penis was thick, his chest was broad. He knew that he was beautiful, and with his white skin he appeared like a statue. He laid down atop Evan now, feeling the warmth of this young man’s body against his own, the warmth held there in all the hair along his body, and how soft and luxurious was this body hair as Jared felt himself wriggling around it giddily, enjoying the feel of it, and bringing his lips to Evan’s again. He kissed Evan passionately, long and deep, and allowed his lips to move for kiss after kiss, Evan’s tongue lapping the inside of Jared’s mouth with complete abandon now, as he thrust his hips upward. Jared bit very gently on Evan’s lip.

He kissed Evan’s neck, sucking gently. He could feel the blood rushing to the spot where his lips sucked, he could feel the energy inside Evan’s body coalescing there, but this was only the beginning. This was not how it would happen. The energy would release inside of Jared at the very end, at the moment of transcendence. Still, a little color came back to his body, his white skin now looking less like that of a statue and simply very pale. He didn’t seem to be made of granite anymore. Jared didn’t have to see himself to know this, he’d seen his own body go through the changes before, marveling at it, but that was long ago.

Jared placed a kiss over Evan’s beating heart, feeling there more than anywhere the warmth, the energy, and the pure love radiating from it. They always fell in love during this, the old ritual, and they died in love too. Jared was happy it was that way. It was the most beautiful way to die. And he licked with his tongue Evan’s sensitive little nipple there next to his heart, and then the other. He moved down, feeling Evan’s cock slip past Jared’s own testicle and bob up toward his stomach. He leaned down and kissed the young man’s stomach, and there was a strand of clear fluid streaming now from the tip of Evan’s cock. He lapped it up greedily.

Traces of semen, of Evan’s seed. This was the sweetest taste of them all. This was the pure life force inside any man, his seed. To Jared it tasted different than it would to a mortal. Oh, the tangy taste was there, but it was so warm, almost burning in his mouth, and this was just the fluid meant to lubricate his penis, it wasn’t the true seed. That would be at the end.

Jared touched every part of Evan’s body with his fingers, avoiding the cock, saving it, massaging gently Evan’s fingers and hands, his arms, lifting him up and running his nails down Evan’s back, feeling the plump little buttocks with their covering of fine dark hair, and running his hands through the hair on Evan’s legs, back up across his stomach and his chest, breathing deep this young man’s scent.

He leaned down to Evan’s cock. He kissed it’s head. It was a beautiful member, not too long or thick, but perfectly proportioned and a little too big for Evan’s body, just one simple upward curve that was not too pronounced. His testicles were large, filled with seed, and burning hot, for this young man hadn’t experienced sexual pleasure in weeks. Jared leaned down and kissed the testicles, sucking on one and then the other, running his fingers gently along the soft skin of the scrotum, and down the trail of hair leading to Evan’s anus, penetrating it again with his finger.

Evan was circumscribed, and Jared shot his tongue out and licked the little gathering of nerves on the underside of the shaft, below the head. Evan moaned. Jared let his finger find it’s way deeper into Evan, touching again the prostate, the warm gland within him, and more of the clear fluid came rushing out of the tip of Evan’s cock. He licked the tip and then allowed it to pass through his lips, taking the whole cock in his mouth.

How warm, how delicious of taste and intoxicating of smell, this organ. The energy in Evan’s body was all concentrating here, in his penis and in his testicles. Evan’s body was positively glowing with color and the hairs on his body even seemed to darken. During these final moments when the energy was so freely moving through every spiritual chakra, every physical cell of the body, Evan was coming alive as he never had before.

Jared sucked hard on the organ, feeling it release more of that warm, flavorful liquid into his mouth, his finger playing gently within Evan, and then pushing hard on the gland, begging it for more of the liquid that now came in little spurts into his mouth. But it was not the seed, no, not yet.

Jared removed his finger and climbed atop Evan, whose head was lain back on the pillow, his eyes closed, lost in complete bliss. Evan’s body was alive with pleasure, every pathway inside of him allowing the blood to flow, the energy to flow, and as Jared reached down with his hand and pressed the head of Evan’s cock to his own small opening, he felt the burning ecstasy there, as no mortal would ever feel it with another mortal.

Jared let the wet cock slip inside of him, and it penetrated him easily. He breathed a sigh of deep pleasure and relief as the cock slipped it’s full length within him. Though Evan didn’t look up at him, his hands began to move up and touch Jared’s body, pinching Jared’s nipples, gliding down Jared’s abdominal muscles, and then finding Jared’s thick cock and squeezing it. A little fluid escaped Jared’s own cock.

Jared began to ride Evan gently, and then bucked harder. The cock inside him hit his own prostate, and the warmth there within him, inside his opening, was astonishing to him as it always had been. Every time Jared experienced this it was as though it was the first time. He threw his head back and reached down to hold Evan’s hands.

“Yes,” he whispered, “Yes, my sweet,” and Evan began to thrust hard inside Jared. “Pleasure me, and take for yourself all the pleasure you will ever know in this world, take it all, my love,” breathed Jared.

Evan opened his eyes now and moaned loudly, his lips moved as though to make words but all that escaped him was a meek cry of pleasure. Jared smiled. Evan’s entire body was glowing, his eyes were the deepest color green they had ever been, his lips becoming blood red, his dark brown hair full and luxurious, his skin animated, tanned, full of life. Evan’s cock pushed inside Jared again and again, hitting Jared’s secret little spot, making his entire body rock with unspeakable hunger, unspeakable pleasure, and he bounced on Evan’s cock, the young man’s body full of strength and he held Jared in his strong young arms, the sweat beginning to form along his body, in the hair of his chest and his stomach, and he breathed deeply and in bursts, noises escaping his mouth that no mortal ever made until he had reached this point. The energy was collecting there in Evan’s cock as he thrust, Jared giving himself over to his lover’s sublime strength, Evan’s body working frantically to gain more and more pleasure, his cock now nearing the point of release, and Jared felt it, the spiritual energy all through Evan’s body coalescing there inside his penis, his testicles tightening.

Evan screamed, an unabashed scream of undeniable ecstasy, and the semen burst from the head of his cock within Jared, streams of it jetting out within Jared, and Jared’s own body did the same, the orgasm touching his own cock and sending fluid out onto Evan’s stomach and chest, and from within Evan’s mind and his spirit Jared saw it, from within the roiling pleasure the shook Evan’s entire body from his toes up into his burning eyelids, concentrated there within his cock as more and more seed than he’d ever given released, Jared could see for a moment that great cosmic fabric binding all things, he could see the universe in it’s entirety through Evan’s mind, he could feel it, nirvana, ultimate transcendence, and Evan screamed again, his deep voice full of weakness and pleasure as his powerful cock shot more of the semen, Jared’s own semen rushing out of his cock that had never been touched, landing on Evan’s chest and on his neck.

Another jet of semen within Jared, another still, less this time, and then the final shot, and the warmth filling Jared’s entire body. He smiled and lifted his body from Evan’s cock. He got up from the bed and stood, naked. He wandered over to the door to the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror there.
Oh, what sublime warmth filled his body now, every muscle, every sinew, every pore tingling and warm, and there was his reflection. Great majestic blue eyes, deeply tanned skin, the hair on his body light brown, the hair on his head a deep brown. His body and his spirit were alive, the energy flowing through him entirely, the nirvana still touching him from within.

He smiled to himself in the mirror. Such beauty, his own form. How satisfying to see himself restored.

Jared opened the door to the bathroom and grabbed one of the towels, and came back to the bed, wiping his seed from Jared, cleaning his beautiful body, now stark white, drained of color, drained of life and spirit. His soul was gone from it now, and his colorless hair and colorless irises were just a part of a vessel that he had left. His energy was within Jared now, and as for his soul, should it exist, well, Jared knew no more than anyone else in the world might know. He arranged Evan’s body with dignity, and he placed the hardback book from the bedside table on Evan’s chest, above the colorless chest hair there, and folded Evan’s hands over the book.

Jared put on his clothes and walked to the window, looking out at the convention center. He had accomplished what he’d come here to do, he had answered the call of one who sought death and granted him divine oblivion, or divine absolution, Jared couldn’t know, for he was immortal, but still alive. He was as human as anyone else, really, he had been human once before he’d been given the curse. But no matter all of that now. It would be months before he’d need to take the energy from someone again, and yet he found himself feeling gluttonous. Surely there was another with a death wish, another who could be persuaded to give up their body, their energy, their spiritual being, for a moment of unparalleled pleasure?

With a gentle laugh to himself, Jared turned to walk to the door, but stopped to look at the body that had been Evan’s. He so hated to see the bodies like this after it was done, but out of respect, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “May you find peace, little one,” he said gently, “May your soul find the answers it longs for, and may my gift to you be joy that you carry with you, wherever you go.”

Jared found himself shedding a tear, a fresh, salty tear, full of life and energy, out of respect and love for the boy. How he loved him, and how he would always remember him, the way he remembered every one of the people who had given to him their energy. He smiled. He walked to the hotel room door and opened it, then gently closed the door in reverence of Evan, and left to find another who sought release.

What Happens in School…

“What do you think it is?” He extended his finger, on the end of which sat a small, faintly red speck. It honestly looked a bit like a scab. I held his finger, simply for the sake of holding his finger, and peered in for a closer look, ready to milk this situation for all it was worth.

“Definitely not a flea or a tick or anything.” I said in my best medical-analysis voice.

“I don’t know man, but I thought you might know, ’cause you, uh…”

I tilted my eyes up toward him and raised my eyebrows, “Because I deal so often with the penis?”

He looked embarassed, and a little ashamed. That just made him, and the situation, a thousand times cuter. “Somethin’ like that.”

My heart was already racing, because the plan had formed in my mind, and I was almost certain that execution was possible. I felt blood pumping hot into my brain, and took as deep a breath as I could without breaking my relaxed appearance. Stay calm, you have to play your cards right. I told myself.

Finally I spoke. “Let me take a look at it and see if it left a mark.”

“What?” He asked, shocked, but not too shocked. Almost like he knew it was inevitable. I was, after all, the closest thing he had on hand to a urologist.

“Let me see it.” I said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. Not threatening, a little lilty. Perfect intonation.

He glanced around the bathroom. I read his thoughts. “No one’s going to come in, we’re in the most derelict section of the school.”

“The most what?” he asked.

Damn. I forgot I had to speak football-player.

“There’s nobody here, school’s out. Nobody’s gonna come down this hallway.” I assured him, my voice both soothing and leading. I think some part of me actually felt guilty, it really was like taking candy from a baby. A large, muscled, and perhaps well-endowed baby.

He checked around the room again and undid his belt.

Oh my god, he’s doing it! A voice in my headed squealed.

Shut up! Pay attention! Another voice responded to the first.

I agree, I butted in, we have to keep our head in the game here. We’re almost home.

My heart continued to race and my eyes went blurry for just a moment when he pulled the zipper down. Underneath his jeans were Calvin Klein boxers that were probably once a soft red, but now a light shade of peach from wear.

The waistband wrapped tightly around his hips, and a happy trail that was either naturally scenic or well-manacured led down into the depths below. It sounds weird, but I swear I could smell the pheremones coming off of him. So much testosterone, and I was actually about to get to see where it all came from.

His thumbs nervously reached into the elastic waste band. For an agonizingly long few seconds, he looked around the room again. His jeans were at his knees, but as he began to pull his boxers down, the jeans dropped to his ankles.

It happened so fast, and yet the situation was so stunning that I couldn’t believe it. He inched his boxers down slowly at first, and then, as though in defeat, he whipped them all the way down to his ankles and stood straight up

Holy. Fucking. Jesus.

There it was. My life was complete. I now understood that every insult, every slam against a locker, everything anyone had ever done to me because I was gay, everything that had ever kept me up at night, crying my eyes out, had led up to this moment. God way paying me back what was owed to me. He was saying, “Sorry it took so long, but here’s something to make up for it all.” And did it ever.

It was magnificent. His cock was hanging there, semi-erect, either from some socially-repressed homosexual desire, or a yet undiscovered exhibitionist spirit. In it’s current form, my guess was 5 inches, but it was very slowly growing. It would be something to behold when fully erect.

Make it so, an oddly Yoda-like voice in my head commanded in response to that thought.

I didn’t hide the stunned expression when I first laid eyes on it, I knew he’d like that, but I did attempt to remain businesslike. He had, after all, come to me in a moment of fear. Stupidity, but fear as well. He was actually afraid something was wrong with his dick. Indeed, a close examination was in order.

I got to my knees in front of his cock, like I had imagined myself doing a number of times that will remain unspecified. I gingerly reached out a hand and pulled the shaft up from his balls (they were low-hangers, God help me), and brought my face a little closer, making sure that my gesturing was one of close inspection and not necessarily indicative of my well-hidden oral desires.

“You said it was on the head?” I pryed my eyes away from his cock to look up as I asked the question. It would make me seem more businesslike, and I also got to see the scared puppy-dog look in his eyes.

He nodded, and I think I heard a little gulp.

From this angle, I could see every inch of it, and believe you me, the mental camera was taking a frame-by-frame for what was sure to be thousands of later instant replays. His pubic hair was actually well-kempt, and extended up each side of his shaft just a bit. The dorsal vein running along the top was large, even though his cock was still semi-erect. I could see the large vein running along the side, surrounded by all the smaller ones. His balls, as I mentioned, hung low, the left hanging lower than the right, and he hadn’t made too much of an effort to shave his balls, only trim them, so the short hairs covering his sack were both expected and added an even more “straight” feel to his cock. I was dying to know if his perineum and his asshole were shaved, I was betting on there being about a 90% chance they weren’t, but I wasn’t about to push my luck.

My own cock had left an ever-growing wet spot in my underwear, and it pressed furiously against my jeans to get out. Not now, I told it unconsciously, this isn’t about you. Yet.

Snapping back to the situation, I remembered that I was supposed to be examining his head. I wanted to just marinate in how awesome of a situation that was, but I decided to keep things progressing. “Left side or right?”

He brought a shaking finger down to touch a spot on the right side of his head. I took two fingers and gently pulled the head up to take a closer look, not actually inspecting because clearly his cock was just fine, but making it appear that I was formulating an analysis. As I brought my face closer, the smell hit me. I don’t know why it hadn’t yet, but when it hit me my eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head. It was coming from every inch of it, every pubic hair, and radiating from his balls.

“You see anything?” he asked.

You can’t actually hold his cock all day. You have no more reason to stay down here. A voice said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Shut up! I’ll think of one. I told it.

If you ever want to get a chance at sucking this monster, now is the only time. Finally, a voice that was on my side. Once this is over, he’s going to be so ashamed of himself that he’ll probably never speak to you again, much less let you back in his pants.

Then what do I do? I asked the voice, which must surely have belonged to an  angel, because he was here on God’s work.

Make your offer. He said.

I actually nodded visibly, but luckily it came off looking like I had made my decision as to what the issue was. I sat down a little on the backs of my shoes, bringing my head further down so that his cock was now slightly more aroused and hanging a few inches from being between my eyes. I looked up at him calmly, and in a your-test-results-are-in voice, gave my analysis. “I think it was a scab. A very small scab, you just jerked it too much.”

“It’ll scab if you jerk it too much?”

Wow, you really are a dedicated athlete if you can’t even devote enough time to jerking off to leave a scab. A blister, at least!

“Yes.” I replied calmly.

He sighed in relief, and his cock bounced slightly with the moving of his body. I could now see the trail of hair leading from underneath his balls into glorious realms I would probably never get the chance to probe.

There was an awkward pause where he clearly wanted to pull his pants up, but neither of us knew what formality had to come before that.

And besides, I had much more adventurous plans anyway.

“I could suck it, you know.” I don’t know why I said it, I didn’t even think the words beforehand, they just came out.

His eyes widened a little.

Fool! one of the voices screamed.

Stay calm, you’ve still got him. He hasn’t run away yet. The angel rebutted.

“Uh, no, that’d be pretty gay.”

“Not really.” Again, I was not thinking about this, the words were just coming out, calm and resounding. I think my subconscious had decided it was going to take over the straight-guy-molesting. Fine with me.

“Yeah, really.” He replied, slightly defensive. However, his cock actually jumped a bit, and came very near to touching my forehead. I smiled back at him. Your body is giving you away.

“A mouth is a mouth,” my subconscious continued speaking for me, “And gay guys are much better at it than girls. You’ve probably never had a really good blowjob. Girls don’t know what they’re doing, they don’t know how to work it. But I know what every inch of your cock feels like, and I can make you come like you never have before.”

Damn, subconscious, that was a little strong wasn’t it?

Of course my subconscious wouldn’t have the courtesy to respond.

Guy looked a little puzzled, clearly having an internal battle. His cock jumped again and he sighed in defeat. “Alright, but be quick.”

Hold on a second.

Frozen.

The world was frozen.

He actually agreed.

I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

I couldn’t think.

The smell.

It was in my hands, plumping up with his excitement.

And now it was in my mouth, passing gently through my lips, and I fit half of it into my mouth.

Oh my God, it tasted so good. My cock pleaded for release beneath my pants. I had a feeling if I rubbed it against my leg the right way, I could probably come right now.

I normally had a gag reflex. Thankfully, my subconcious, or God, or whoever, decided to remove it for the moment, that I may better do my duties. This was, after all, a mission of holiness.

I sucked. It’s important to actually suck. “Sucking” cock is not just a term, you do need to literally suck. I wasn’t aware of this for a long time, but of course by this point I knew better. My bag of tricks was ready, and I was pulling out all the stops.

The first step was to suck, pulling it into my mouth without using my hands or even inclining my neck, just sucking it into the back of my mouth. I tried to run my tongue along the bottom, but it was in too far, and that would definitely trigger the gag reflex. Considering it hadn’t kicked in yet, I wasn’t about to look the gift horse-cock in the mouth.

My fingers found their way to his balls, and tickled them lightly, because as I mentioned his sack was covered in fine hairs, and light touching would stimulate them more. I started to work my head forward. Girls in porn don’t know how to suck cock, they’re all theatrical. Guys in porn usually do a better job. I do a better job than both. Seriously, I’m the blowjob master.

My head was moving in something of a pile-driver motion, my neck inclining just the right way for me to keep pushing his cock into my throat without gagging, and have it actually go down. My throat was warmer, and tighter, and he would enjoy the feel more. Every now and then I pulled back to about halfway through the length to give myself a moment to breathe, during which I found myself moaning unintentionally. After the first moan, I got really into it.

My inhibitions were gone. I wasn’t hunting anymore. I was in for the kill, and I was going to enjoy the hell out of myself. An oppurtunity like this might never come again, and while it was true that my body and mind were basically gone now, the voices in my head all watching, awestruck, and I working purely on animal instinct, I had enough brain power to recognize the gravity of the situation.

During one of my breaks for air (I never actually took his cock out of my mouth, that’s an important rule to follow, especially for a great blowjob, which this was lining up to be), I looked to see his facial expression. He had leaned his head back, his mouth was open, and he was breathing heavily. I tasted precum amongst the buildup of saliva, and knew he was getting closer. My hands grazed the underside of his balls, daring to journey further, in the direction of his asshole, and he actually opened his legs to allow me access to his perineum. It was just as hairy as I imagined, and I rubbed two fingers against it, massaging his prostate from the outside.

The only drawback to a blowjob in which you never remove the cock from your mouth is that it’s hard to swallow all the saliva that builds up, and at this point I was willing just to let it overflow. Spit was dripping down his balls, and I lunged forward to take as much as I could, my eyes tearing up from the exertion as it pressed against my throat and jumped inside my mouth.

His breathing turned vocal, and I felt his hand grasping my hair. He was definitely getting close. I tasted more precum, and tried to keep his cock as close to the back of my mouth as possible, and rubbed harder against his perinium. I couldn’t taste his cock very well through the excess of saliva, but it didn’t matter, what was important now was to coax the sweet nectar from his cock that I was craving more than I’d ever wanted anything.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and began thrusting his cock into my mouth, banging against the back of my throat and causing me a fair amount of pain, but I was willing to accept it. “Fuck,” he continued thrusting, and pulled on my hair, actually having the audacity to push my head closer. He did know that I would die if I didn’t breathe, right? I didn’t care. His cock was thrusting in my mouth, and he was moaning. Moaning! I was hearing the moans of a straight football player, his heavenly cock plump and rigid above my tongue and between my lips.

“Fuck,” he chanted, “fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come. Oh shit, oh fuck I’m gonna come.”

In one motion my hand squeezed his shaft and began jerking him as my mouth pulled off, and I watched in spellbound anticipation.

“Fuck,” he repeated, “fuck I’m gonna cum.” I jerked him faster. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna… I, I, I’m coming. Oh shit!”

His cock tensed and shot a huge volume of his warm semen onto my lips. I hadn’t thought to open my mouth to take it in, so I did so now as he shot again, even more coming this time, warm as the first, some hitting the side of my mouth and some going in to land on my tongue. It tasted so fucking sweet. The third shot actually reached the back of my mouth and touched my throat. I almost coughed, but I was okay, and I kept jerking as he shot again, less this time as it touched my bottom lip, and I reveled in the taste of his still warm semen sitting on my tongue. He shot once more, much less now, it touched my chin, and a final shot that barely grazed my chin as his cock tensed and the semen fell in a long strand, presumably to land on his undies below.

He was leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. I closed my mouth and my eyes, moaning as I tasted his come, and swallowed. I looked up and smiled, my lips open, his semen on the side of my mouth, across my lips, and now dripping from my chin.

“Good wasn’t it?” I asked.

“Oh shit, man.” He breathed. His cock left my hand as he actually stooped down, and took my face in his hands. My eyes widened.

Dear God, surely you wouldn’t be so merciful. He’s not actually going to…

He kissed me. He closed his eyes, inclined his head, leaned forward, and kissed me, actually sucking the come off of my lips. He licked it from the side of my mouth and licked it from my chin, and then kissed me again, this time slipping his tongue in, mine gingerly touching his, as if questioning if it were allowed to do more. He pulled back from me gently, tenderly, almost lovingly, and smiled very slightly.

He stood up, reached down, and pulled his boxers and his jeans up at the same time, covering up that gorgeously-crafted penis and hiding it from me for what could be the rest of forever. I looked up at him, the tiny bits of come he missed still drying on my mouth, and the expression on my face was surely a mixture of confusion and bliss, my eyes wide.

He half-smiled. “Pretty good, man. Maybe I’ll call you next time I need one.”

With that, he patted my hair, as if to say, “Good boy.” and calmly walked out of the bathroom. I listened to the sound of his shoes touching the tiled floor outside, and then he was walking up the hall, and then I couldn’t hear him anymore.

I fell down on my butt on the disgusting bathroom floor.

“Oh my God.” I said aloud. I looked up to Heaven, wearing Guy’s cum on my mouth like a badge of honor. “Thank you so much, God.” I said to the heavens. “You are truly a merciful God, who has blessed me bountifully.”

Being of a generally impish nature, and familiar with my routine, I found my way into the stall and jerked off, coming in about 4 seconds and shooting cum onto the wall. I just let it stay there, cascading down and drying on the wall. Some people wrote dirty messages with markers. I was more poetic.

I Think I Might Write Erotica

I’ve known for a while that I want to write, but I’ve never been able to figure out exactly what genre it might be. I’ve always been very interested in fantasy, but I’m not sure that at this point I really have the ability to tackle a serious adventure novel. When I used to write a lot of fiction, I found myself naturally pulled toward romance, and I always wanted the sexuality of the romance to be a real thing that wasn’t glanced over or ignored. And in fact, I’ve always felt that in whatever genre I write, sexuality will be a part of it; serious, real, and uncensored.

What really got me thinking about this though, is a book I got from my boyfriend a long time ago called Best of Best Gay Erotica 2. It’s been sitting in the top drawer of my dresser for a long time, and every now and then I get it out and read some, but the more I’ve read it the more I’ve noticed how great of a quality the collection is. It’s a series of selections from novels, and the thing that I noticed is the wide range of writing styles. Some are in third person narrative, some are spoken in conversational first person, and one was written in this really cool style that was like a stream of conciousness; the words and sentences flowed as they would in the narrator’s mind and speech. It was actually really effective.

I’m starting to think that erotica is a completely underappreciated literary style. People treat it like it’s dirty, but it’s actually beautiful. The stories I’ve read come from a real place and have heart, they’re not just quick sexual descriptions for the reader to get off to; they’re exciting, emotional, and deep.

When you think about it, isn’t it a tragedy that erotica would be so frowned upon, when, of all genres, it is the most personal, the most intimate, and the most touching? There is such a thing as sexual art.

Think about it. Why would you think pornography is a bad thing? Because society teaches you that sex is dirty and watching other people have sex is dirty, and so you’re conditioned to think it’s dirty. But why can’t it be beautiful? Can anyone truly have emotionless sex? In the moment of orgasm, is there anyone who is not completely enraptured, anyone who does not for one moment truly reveal themselves on some level?

I’m beginning to think that life is not so complicated, not so full of “bad” things as we are taught to believe. There is a right and a wrong way to go about everything, and there may be some erotic fiction that is lazily thrown together and comes completely from a place of lust, but then again, is lust such a bad thing? Can an emotion so profound truly inspire anything dirty or bad? I’m not so sure.

Sex is not a bad thing. I think I’m beginning to understand that. There is no reason why sex should be wrong, because it’s true and human and beautiful. It is a complicated thing, and in a relationship, it should be handled in accordance with every individual’s needs, but why should it be considered wrong, or dirty? We have restrooms in all public places because there are things we need to do to survive, and everyone accepts it. But sexuality is repressed, and when we begin to become sexual beings, society teaches us to keep it in our pants and never reveal our whole selves in front of the public, and so sex becomes something that must take place in secret, behind closed doors. There are positive effects to this: it becomes that much more intimate; but think: if society embraced sexuality, wouldn’t we all, for one, be having a lot more fun? And apart from just that, sexuality is such an important part of ourselves, especially for young people who are feeling the first burst of sexuality, that to hide it is to deny who we are. We have this idea that we are civilized, and above other things, but we are still living beings upon this planet, who experience the same cycle that all other creatures do, and sexuality is a beautiful, beautiful part of our existance. When you step back and look at it, it really is an amazing thing: we have this drive to go forth and be with one another, to literally enter and touch and feel one another, we are so drawn to the scent and the taste of one another that our heads become dizzy and our minds become numb, and for a little while, we forget that we are in this society of “civilized” people, and we strip ourselves of our clothing and we reveal ourselves. How can that not be a special thing?