Gorgeous Model Tries to have Sex with Me as Aliens Land and Name ME Governor General of Milky Way Galaxy (that would be YOUR galaxy)
The neverending thrills and joys of my life continue unabated. Obviously, the title says it all. There is really no point in sullying my hands and your mind with the gory details. The amusing part of this is that I have friends who would think about the above title and honestly ponder if I was telling the truth.
On an unrelated note, I finished my erotic novel. I have the usual problems with the final draft. First of all, I am confused on several important pseudo historical points. My view is that this is not a history book – this will be purchased by horny men at the airport. As long as it fits in their pocket and matches their particular fetishes, what do they care? Still, there will be some horny nerdling who will no doubt write the publisher about ‘my neglect of historical fact’ so I will head off those annoying whines by taking your anticipated issues, one at a time:
1. “Women did not wear 5 inch stiletto heels in the middle ages.” Well, okay, so I call them dancing shoes nine out of ten times. (Uh… Yes – there are MANY references to slutty shoes. Sue me!) Maybe women SHOULD have worn them – nobody would have treated them like second hand citizens if they wore come-fuck-me pumps, I guarantee that. Also, some of them are not 5 inch stiletto heels – they are 6 inch stiletto heels.
2. “People stank. They barely ever washed. It was considered unsanitary.” I don’t actually discuss if any of the characters stink. I talk about perfume and scent and what not, but not the underlying stench of their body odour (note the subtle, snobby-cool use of the British spelling).
3. “Your characters don’t talk in brogue or acceptable medieval language.” Now, when I masturbate, I like to engage in elaborate linguistic analysis to go along with the images of luscious sin pervading my subconscious. Obviously, I do not assume the same for my readers. If this is a fatal flaw, run me through with a pointy vibrator.
4. I don’t have a 4, but 4 is my magic number.
Writing sex made me realize how ignorant I am of …the appropriate descriptions necessary for its mechanics. Think about it. The next time you have sex, write it down. In the most elaborate detail you are capable of. “She laid on her back and I entered her and she screamed and screamed and we both came” just simply is NOT GOOD ENOUGH. In fact, “she got on all fours and screamed and screamed and we both came and the donkey just brayed with anguish” is NOT GOOD ENOUGH. There must be a thoroughly shifted gradient of filth filling the tributary of sensual awareness (wow – I think I will write that down – hey, I just did! This is the sort of thing you write a blog for – coming up with good lines that you could write in a book or an article and make money with, but instead, you put it on your blog, which makes you no money whatsoever).
:: sigh :: now I want to put a poem on this blog and I can’t because I promised I wouldn’t and I am now officially resenting this restriction because THIS poem is so on point… It is called Cherry Pie and it really would fit here. Oh well. This is my life – circumscribed.
Unrelated note 2: I found an eyeglass frame – it is completely wild and wickedly cool and it is made of titanium and you should send me lots of money to support my titanium habit. (So now that I see habit I think of the nun’s uniform not the ingrained set of behavior customarily referred… blah blah blah…
On an unrelated note, I finished my erotic novel. I have the usual problems with the final draft. First of all, I am confused on several important pseudo historical points. My view is that this is not a history book – this will be purchased by horny men at the airport. As long as it fits in their pocket and matches their particular fetishes, what do they care? Still, there will be some horny nerdling who will no doubt write the publisher about ‘my neglect of historical fact’ so I will head off those annoying whines by taking your anticipated issues, one at a time:
1. “Women did not wear 5 inch stiletto heels in the middle ages.” Well, okay, so I call them dancing shoes nine out of ten times. (Uh… Yes – there are MANY references to slutty shoes. Sue me!) Maybe women SHOULD have worn them – nobody would have treated them like second hand citizens if they wore come-fuck-me pumps, I guarantee that. Also, some of them are not 5 inch stiletto heels – they are 6 inch stiletto heels.
2. “People stank. They barely ever washed. It was considered unsanitary.” I don’t actually discuss if any of the characters stink. I talk about perfume and scent and what not, but not the underlying stench of their body odour (note the subtle, snobby-cool use of the British spelling).
3. “Your characters don’t talk in brogue or acceptable medieval language.” Now, when I masturbate, I like to engage in elaborate linguistic analysis to go along with the images of luscious sin pervading my subconscious. Obviously, I do not assume the same for my readers. If this is a fatal flaw, run me through with a pointy vibrator.
4. I don’t have a 4, but 4 is my magic number.
Writing sex made me realize how ignorant I am of …the appropriate descriptions necessary for its mechanics. Think about it. The next time you have sex, write it down. In the most elaborate detail you are capable of. “She laid on her back and I entered her and she screamed and screamed and we both came” just simply is NOT GOOD ENOUGH. In fact, “she got on all fours and screamed and screamed and we both came and the donkey just brayed with anguish” is NOT GOOD ENOUGH. There must be a thoroughly shifted gradient of filth filling the tributary of sensual awareness (wow – I think I will write that down – hey, I just did! This is the sort of thing you write a blog for – coming up with good lines that you could write in a book or an article and make money with, but instead, you put it on your blog, which makes you no money whatsoever).
:: sigh :: now I want to put a poem on this blog and I can’t because I promised I wouldn’t and I am now officially resenting this restriction because THIS poem is so on point… It is called Cherry Pie and it really would fit here. Oh well. This is my life – circumscribed.
Unrelated note 2: I found an eyeglass frame – it is completely wild and wickedly cool and it is made of titanium and you should send me lots of money to support my titanium habit. (So now that I see habit I think of the nun’s uniform not the ingrained set of behavior customarily referred… blah blah blah…
posted by Balázsy András at 7:55 PM
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