In this final push of Smutathon 2019, I’m admittedly very exhausted. I’ve only slept 4-5 hours on most nights for the past couple of weeks because I’ve been so excited and anxious for everyone to arrive and pull this whole thing off. This morning was not without its hiccups — coffee emergency, being locked out, deliveries not making it in time — because of course. And now I’ve spent the whole dang day staring at a screen and pumping out smut and stuff for you guys.
So for my final act, I thought I’d dive into my ‘works in progress’ folders to see if I could find anything with enough of a skeleton for me to work with.
And I found… this.
I remember exactly where I was when I wrote it too, which it another reason why it was so important at the time. I was in Los Angeles for the first and only time, staying in my friend’s apartment. It was her couch I used as inspiration. (Mira, if you ever read this, although this is set in your apartment, it is not, I repeat NOT a true story!) I was two thirds of the way through an epic All-American road trip with my best friend, which took me over 4 weeks to complete. LA was where we parted ways to give ourselves a break from each other and meet up with our respective local pals.
I didn’t know it at the time, but it was on this road trip was that I started laying the foundations for becoming Bellesa’s first smut queen. I was writing at least one story a week all summer long, including while I was on the road, and in LA, I started playing with my voice a little more than I had been in the pieces that came (heh) before it.
I also met up with my creative twin flame and had a lengthy conversation about how I didn’t know what it meant or how it would come about, but I knew I was going to work in some faction of feminist adult media. Little did I know, 4 months later, I’d be meeting with the Bellesa founders and being offered the yet-to-be-created job of erotica commander in chief.
Anyways. Long story short, this short story is a very straight-forward, cishet, almost painfully plain-as-they-come vanilla story. It doesn’t really do too much in the way of tension building. There’s no character or plot development. The dialogue is quite weak, if not a little cliché.
And you know what? At the time of writing it, it was one of the best things I’d written so far.
As an editor who feels she has grown exponential thanks to the caliber of writers she has been able to work within this past couple of years, this is very interesting perspective. As I read through it, I actually laughed (nicely, not harshly) at loud at how endearingly green I once was. I did all the things every does when they start out.
I’ve only got 6 minutes left on the clock before Smutathon is over for another year, so I don’t have time to polish these thoughts. But I guess what I’m trying to say, particularly to all you new writers out there, and even more especially to the ones who have started to put themselves out there in the way of submitting to outside publications because they feel that their story is the best thing they’ve ever written only to have it rejected by someone else, is:
Don’t give up. With practice, taking risks, trying things that we don’t necessarily feel comfortable with yet, and unapologetic boldness, I guarantee you will continue to grow. Be gentle with yourself now. And when you look back on where you started, do so with kindness.
You’re amazing. Keep writing. Keep dreaming. You’re amazing. And thank you for being here today.
p.s. here’s my silly story:
He slipped out of his shoes and dropped his bag on the floor next to them.
When he walked the few familiar paces down the hall, around the corner and into the living room he found her facing him.
She was splayed out on the couch — spread-eagle, hair mussed, cheeks red, breast heaving, shirt askew, bottoms gone, breathing in all the bliss she had just expelled into the air around her, eyes peacefully closed.
It was clear that she had not noticed his arrival. Before alerting her of his presence, he took a moment to gaze upon her naked form. She rested her hand over her vulva. Her breasts moved up and down with the rhythm of her respiration. Finally, on a deep exhale, her eyes fluttered open. A dopey grin slowly pulled the corners of her mouth upward when she noticed him standing at the end of the couch near her feet.
“You’re home early,” she said softly.
“Really?” he said looking her up and down. “It looks like I might be too late.”
She reached both hands up over her head and stretched like a cat.
“Or…” She sat up and pulled her top up and off over her head. Then, with her bliss-drowsy eyes, urged him to come in closer. “Maybe you’re right on time.”
He took a few steps towards her and she reclined once again back into the embrace of their deep sofa. She closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh at the fading memory of her recent release. Her smile broadened as he got down onto the floor next to her, like a prince kneeling to ask his sleeping princess to wake.
The hot dew on her skin glowed softly in the sunlight that was beginning to dance into the room around them. Without opening her eyes, she reached up into the space in front of her to find his head, and ran her fingers through his thick mat of hair.
She blindly guided his face towards her, trusting that he was watching where he was going while she kept her eyes closed. He followed her lead and found the softness of her plump lips with his. Her head sat heavy in the cushions, so she pulled him in even closer with her hand behind his head to display her approval.
Without forcing their lips to part ways for too long, he crawled up on top of her where she lay, allowing his weight to sink into hers. She wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him more deeply. Her hips rolled in towards his. He met this with a wave of his own until they moved in place together.
She pulled his grey t-shirt up over his head and felt the warmth of his torso press into her chest. This warmth seeped from his back along her forearms as she wrapped them around him once more. Through his jeans, she felt his erection press up against her groin as his hips rolled into her again.
He kissed her neck and along her clavicle, making his way down to her breast. Her nipple stiffened as he took it between his lips and swirled his tongue around the areola. Her other nipple was hard before his hand came up to cup her breast. He grazed his thumb gently back and forth over the engorged tissue, and she felt a subtle shiver run down her neck.
Tension rose in the room as their bodies attempted to match in hue and temperature with their blood rising to the surface. She noted how this tension grew more intensely than before, this time from the greater depths of her loins, influenced by his presence.
She licked her fingers and slid her hand back down between her legs. He took this as an invitation to help her out and made his way down her front with a trail of kisses until he reached the patch of soft hair on her vulva. He kissed his way around until he found her swollen clitoris still wet with her saliva.
He was gentle at first, gauging her post-orgasmic sensitivity with the tip of his tongue. She was still sweet from her climax and she rippled with excitement from his touch. He kept one hand on her hip as if to keep her from falling into the couch while he licked up and down her labia.
She felt a hunger growing inside her. As this yearning grew, she grabbed his head and pressed her him into his mouth. It wasn’t enough. She needed him. All of him.
She placed her hands on his jaw and coaxed his face back up towards hers. While she tugged at the button on his jeans, she thrust her tongue into her mouth. He shimmied out of his pants and let them fall onto the floor. She reached down between them to find that he was fully erect. After teasing him by slowly stroking up and down his shaft a few times, she guided him in towards the pool between her thighs that they had built together.
He glided in with familiar ease, but the ecstasy he felt was nothing short of overwhelming. The effects of her recent orgasm had increased the strength of her grip around his girth and he was already worried he would explode. He bit his lower lip and arched towards her, leaning his forehead into the crook of her neck. Though he was at no risk of falling of the couch, she wrapped her legs around his waist for good measure.
He leaned back to neutralize his spine as she lifted one leg to rest on his shoulder. She let her other leg dangle from the edge of the couch and root into the floor for support, and let her hand find her way back to her clit in the new space that they had created. He looked down to watch as she rubbed circles just above where he was plunging in and out of her.
The imagery was certainly not helping his stamina in that moment. She noticed him bite down on his lip again and couldn’t help but laugh at this dance of strain versus pleasure.
He leaned back a little further and held her raised leg in place as she continued to stimulate herself between thrusts. Applying a light pressure, her encouraged a mild stretch in her hamstring that helped increased the growing pressure in her hips. She increased the rate at which she traced her circles until she found the urgent cadence that she had tapped into moments before his arrival.
Another eruption, equal but entirely different that what she had felt on her own, washed over her. Her lower back arched and jerked in the opposite direction of his thrusts as he slowed his pace to match her contraction. She felt the room sway, and her eyes lolled back into her throat as the tension there blocked her breath for a moment.
She melted back into the dwindling waves of pleasure as they washed over her. Her limbs went limp, and she paralyzed and disconnected from herself. She noticed that he had stopped his rhythm altogether to watch as she came back down to join him on that plane of reality.
As she came back into her body, all she could feel the throb of his cock competing with the unyielding thump of her pulse.
And that’s it. I don’t have time for a better conclusion. Time is up. I’m going to drink my champagne now.