Reading About Writing, Trying to Write More

I've been reading Stephen King's On Writing.

I haven't finished it yet, but I've already read two places where I was--am lacking-- as a writer. Besides my horrible habit of having passive verbs (which I'm still not even sure I can identify while reading), the worst thing that I've done to my craft is not writing enough.

King suggests, at a minimum, to write two thousand words a day. Two. Thousand.

There's a short story (it's more like an elongated scene to be honest) that I'm writing, and as of right now, it's 1700 words. It has taken me three of four days to get up to 1700 words. I'm supposed to crank out more than that every day.

That's like five pages (regularly spaced) a day. If I write more than one page a day, I feel like a G, a super ultra mega G. Hell, if I really write five pages, it's surely not for the same story. It's like doing one of my stories that has an outline, and writing a bullet point a day.

That's really imposing for me. I have to admit, I have almost no discipline. I can barely spell the word. The worst thing, at least for my writing, is that I type up most of my stuff on a laptop that has the internet.

If there is any one particular thing that I can say fucks with my writing, and really helps me procrastinate, it's the internet. On my laptop, I can surf through thousands of pages of ridiculous stuff. It's not intentional, and sometimes reading other things actually helps my writing. For the most part, it just keeps me from doing what I need to do.

I think that I'm going to have to implement an entire routine just to make sure that I do everything necessary to increase my writing skills.

Today, I'm going to change the way my desk is sitting, so that it faces a wall, and while I'm having my writing time, there is no use of the internet. If I can't write, I'll read (I should read right now anyway instead of watching this documentary), and if  I can't read, I'll throw around ideas. For that entire period of time, I have to do what I need to do.

I think that's what i'm going to do, start getting my room together, to get my reading together, to get my writing together.

All this makes me want a blunt... but no! I'll smoke after I make some progress in my writing.

Deviant- A Story That's Part Poem

My first strike was probably the flirting.

            The second strike was giving him my number; saying that I wanted to “buy some of the art pieces”.

            The third strike occurred when I picked up the call from him.

            “Hello?” I didn’t recognize the number, but them again, it could have been one of my friends of someone else’s cell.

            “May I speak to Cat?”

            “Who may I say is calling?” I screened my calls, sometimes pretending to be my personal assistant. The male voice was familiar, but not one I readily recognized.

            “Maxwell Carter.”

            “Well, Maxwell, this is Catelynn.:

            “Pretending to be someone else?”

            “Not really, I didn’t know it was you.” I actually stopped writing, his voice making me smirk.

            “Now you know, and you like it, don’t you?”

            “Like what?”

            “Talking to me.”

            “Well, I could be writing right now, so you must have something important to say.”

            “I do. I’m in the City. I want to see you.”

            “What about Gabrielle?”

            “She doesn’t mind you seeing me. And we both know that you’re more my kind in private areas.”

            I chuckled and crossed my legs, loving his style and how he didn’t beat around the bush. “True. Where do you live?”

            “Sixtieth and Fifth.”

            “I’ll be there in an hour.”

            “Great. See you there. The towers penthouse. My doorman will know you’re coming.”

            “Nice. See you there.”

            When I finally got off the phone I turned and saw my roommate/best friend Jyll standing there.

            “Who was that?” She asked, grabbing some granola bars from the kitchen.

            “Gabriella’s boyfriend.”

            “The art dude. Cool.”

            “I’m going to his apartment right now.”

            “Giggity goo.”

            “Word. I’m probably going to bang him.”

            “Eh, yo no sabo. I’m not going to tell you what to do, but I’ll say you don’t want to mess things up with her.”

            “True. I just want to bang him, no relationships.”

            “Good for you. Have fun.” She smirked as I got up to take a shower. I knew what I wanted to do, and I didn’t care that he was in a relationship. If she was handling all her business, he wouldn’t have called me. That made me smile a little as I got dressed. I put on a nice pair of heels (fuck me pumps), a cute bra and panty set and an oversized shirt dress.

            It was enough clothes to look nice, not too much to take off/find. My hair hung down on my shoulders in messy layers. The cab ride from the Village up there was relatively fast, and I arrived fashionably late. His building was gorgeous, a classic design, with a few modern twists. I knocked on the door to find him standing there, smirking.

            “Hello, Catelynn.” Stepping out of the way, I went inside. I have to say the thing I was most curious about was his personal style. Some kind of guys loligagged, others tried to act as if we weren’t going to do it… very annoying stuff.

            “’Sup, Max. You have a nice place.”

            “Thank you. Care for a drink?”

            “I don’t drink.”

            “Weed?” He pulled out a ziplock bag three quarters full of some sticky icky shit.

            “What kind is it?”

            “Sour Diesel, super potent.”

            “Hell yeah. Got a pipe?”

            “No.”

            “Bong?” I was more hopeful.

            “I don’t really own any of those things. At least, not in NYC.”

            “Good thing I have Mergency Nipple.” I looked in my messenger bag and pulled out a small pink and yellow pope.

            “What?”

            “My pipe. Let’s get comfy.” I grinned, sitting on his couch, taking my shoes off and curling at one end.

            Maybe my openness shocked him, but he sat near me. I finally looked at what he was wearing, a t shirt and jeans, neat and nice. I liked that he sat close to me, like a friend.

            He turned to Music Choice, and I packed a bowl, taking a large hit, passing it to him so he could inhale as well. Even though he seemed to not so often, he only coughed a little, which is more than I could say.

            “So, you write and paint?” He asked, turning the music up.

            “Yeah.”

            “Did you like my gallery?”

            “It was fucking disturbing, and I could see some BDSM themes… pretty fucking awesome.”

            “Did you like me?” He put his arms around my waist and pulled me on to his lap. I laughed, kissing his lips playfully.

            “What do you think?” Our smirks grew as I slid off, and headed with him to the bedroom.

***

            My body pulsed with the high building inside my system. His hand was almost cool to the touch as I first saw his bedroom. It was gorgeous. Drapes hung like a cloth covered wall, the entire thing a window. The lighting came from special fixtures on the walls that gave everything a soft, pale glow.

            A king-sized mattress sat on the back wall; red linen was a little cheesy, but I couldn’t help finding it cute.

            “Niceness.” I chuckled, taking another deep hit before putting the pipe on his nightstand.

            “You’re incorrigible.” He slid the dress off my shoulders, letting it fall down around my ankles.

            “Thanks.” Gently, I kissed him, his lips soft, working with mine easily. I undid his pants, the button and zipper making a delicious sound. Once the T shirt was thrown to the side, I could see just how long his torso and body were, almost like Jack Skellington.

            Maxwell slid his hands around the perfect curves of my hips, kissing my stomach, small tickles making me laugh. That was, until he pulled them down, touching my clit gently with his tongue. Gasping, I quivered, my leg resting on his shoulder.”

            “Got dayum…” The words dribbled from my mouth, unexpected. Silently, I wondered if Gabriella had him do this to her. At the rate his tongue was going, I guess he was famished for pussy.

            Balancing as I clutched the footboard of the bed, his tongue made its way in and out of my pussy, the tip gently flicking my G spot. He really enjoyed the taste of my wetness, barely letting it actually come out before it was on his tongue.

            Randomly, his tongue sped up, touching it just enough to make me go crazy, building me up to an awesome oral climax. No words formed as I shuddered, every muscle in my body contracting fast. It was the best orgasm that I’d gotten from pussy eating.

            As he came back up, I held myself steady, looking at him, and his boner. Pushing him to the bed, I was fully prepared to do the same for him. As I headed down, his hands ran through my hair, gripping it tightly.

            “I don’t want you to.” His words came out a constricted mouth.

            “Well, maybe you need to tell your cock that.” I stroked it, feeling the odd tissue that made up the shaft.

            “He doesn’t listen too well.” Pulling me back up, I saw him reach onto the desk drawer for a condom. He didn’t have any issues with the next part, sliding it on his cock, and me over it.

            It wasn’t insanely long, around eight normal cock inches, but it was thick, and curved up towards his bellybutton. As I felt it slide into me, I held my breath unconsciously.

            Even though I usually would make a smart/sexy comment, for the first time in a very long time, nothing came to mind. Grinding into him slowly, I took my bra off, and let my hips move in whatever serpentine manner they desired. A low moan came from my lips, his hands on my hips, guiding me. When our lips locked, everything felt right. Maybe it was because his hands swept over my sides, or how he hit my G spot without fail.

            It didn’t last for too long, both of us enjoying it too much. I orgasmed first, biting my lip, trying to keep from grinding on him too hard. When my hips paused, his continued to pump, him cumming as well. It was strong, but I didn’t really feel it because of the rubber.

            Pushing off him, I smiled, and tried to catch my breath.

            “Wow…” I finally said, smiling, my skin still tingling.

            “You’re good. Really good.”

            “So are you… that was fun.” I sat up, about to look for my dress (underwear weren’t that important).

            “Where are you going?” Sitting up, I saw him light a cigarette.

            “I thought… after, I would leave.”

            “You don’t have to. Really, sit, smoke some more, unless you really have somewhere to go.

            Laughed, I leaned back, got Mergency nipple, turned to him, and threw my leg over his. “Better?”

            “Mmm… much better.” Laughing, his hand rubbed my thigh gently.

            “What are you doing here with me?” I asked, the talkative part of my high kicking in.

            He kissed me on the lips. “I’m having all the fun I can’t have with my girlfriend.”

***

            Catching a cab finally wasn’t hard; they seemed to be lined up outside.

            “Weehawken, please.” I said to the cabbie, sitting alone in the back, four fifty dollar bills in my pocket for the cab. The driver took off without a question or conversation, which was a good thing considering how exhausted and high I was. As far as looking different after fucking, my hair was a bit flatter, and all my makeup, save some lip gloss, was sweated off. It was hard for me to leave (I literally had to pull myself from his arms) but I had things to do the next day.

            By the time I got back home it was around 2 am, and my roommate was nowhere near sleep. Stumbling in, she sat on the living room couch, watching Animal Planet.

            “Dude,” she muttered, frosted shredded wheat sitting dry in a bowl, “these hippopotami are sick.”

            “I fucking love Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.” My smile, already Joker sized, grew larger, a giggle escaping.

            “So… how was it?”

            I screamed, jumping up and down. “He is amazing! Absolutely fantastic in the sack, a pot smoker, and he loaded.”

            “Um, isn’t that last one a little gold-diggerish?”

            “Hell no! I have my mown money, but when he wants to get me something, do you know how awesome the bong would be?!”

            She laughed. “Can someone say ‘fiend’?”

            I pulled out the half smoked sandwich bag, grinning. “Can someone say ‘you’re not getting a single puff’?”

            “…Fiend isn’t a bad thing.” I threw it at her, and she loaded a bowl as I went to take a shower.

            When I came out, she was schmaked, and I was ready to smoke some more. She was on Pandora, jamming to Panic at the Disco. The apartment bong sat in front of her, the smell of weed stuck in the air like the scent of friend foods.

            “Is there anything left?” I laughed, sitting down, lighting the rainbow glass piece.

            “Hell no, I smoked it all.” She tried to hide the bag, grinning.

            “Good, isn’t it?”

            “That shit is awesome, I ‘m fucked up son.”

            "As fucked as I feel."

***

            The art was gorgeous.

            Stunning.

            Provocative.

            Erotic.

            Lifelike.

            Everything art should be.

            Flat-ironed hair and a short black dress

            I was a Cat on the prowl

            Maxwell hadn’t seen me yet

            Or so I thought

            A hiding spot, the perfect niche to watch and not be noticed

            “You made it.”

            The voice behind me was smooth, charming.

            Max at his best

            “Gabby thought I’d enjoy myself.”

            “Have you?”

            “A bit.”

            “I can make it better.” He leaned against my backend.

            “Your girlfriend’s out there.” The dress rose up my thighs.

            “You look stunning tonight.” Kissed my earlobe, quickening breath.

            “I suppose you’re the same.” The people at the opening went on with their business

            “I suppose so.” I heard the gentle unzipping of his pants.

            “Are we going to do it here?” I breathed in faster, turning sideways, glimpsing him.

            “Right here; right now.” He slid my panties down as I looked at his art instillation.

            Backed my ass up as he put on a rubber and slid in.

            He moved slowly.

            I spread my legs and moaned quietly.

            Someone almost looked our way.

            His breath was on my neck

            Sexy.

            Fingers touched the boarder between two worlds.

            Too much noise and we would be discovered.

            Carter rubbed my clit in slow circles. Even with weak knees I was still up.

            Gentle thrusting.

            I came faster than him.

            Turned on by our public display of afucktion.

            He came when Gabrielle came close to the window looking with friends.

            Blissfully unaware of us fucking

            It was amazing.