What I've Been Up To

As of recently, writing on the computer has become a bit of a hassle. I have no laptop, and using my house Mac (and that disgusting chicklet keyboard) makes me want to bash my head against the wall.Right now I'm taking the opportunity to take advantage of a Dell keyboard, and gets to writing, or rather, typing.

I've been working on fiction, but it's been pen to paper. Because I have some stories locked in a coma on my external hard drive, but to access it, I think I need to be on a PC, not a Mac, at least to actually do writing and editing. I'm working on a story whose outline I wrote a long time ago. I'd tried to write this story, actually flesh it out, at least half a dozen times. I've done the first two scenes half a billion times in my head. Now I'm actually making headway.

One of the things that I've realized as a writer is that I need to not take my outline as the concrete plan I must follow. An outline has become just that, an outline. And because of the way the story started to flow, I've had to change the order of things, and I've had to add new scenes in. I think I want this story to be more romantic erotica than the teen angst erotica that I was going for, even though it's still a teenage story.

On top of that, I've also been working on doing small things, short pieces and flash fiction. I really enjoy doing flash fiction and the such because it helps strengthen me as a writer. There is a piece I've been trying to write as of late, I can see the character clearly in my head, although I'm not entirely sure of her back story. I know that she's a lesbian, but I'm not going to give away any more. Once I have it ready for outside eyes, I will put it up on here.

That's about it for now. More to come later.

Fiction Challenge

I have to admit something: I've been neglecting my writing. The things that I need to work on, one particularly long and daunting piece in particular, have made me wimp out. But I've decided that I will no longer wimp out, and that I haven't been putting in the time necessary for me to become a good writer.

I just got the somewhat brilliant idea to do a bit of a fiction challenge for myself, to see if I could write one piece of fiction a week; this is not going to be my only writing, but at least one piece a week for me to put up here, so that I can hold myself up to a different standard and judge. As much as I usually write erotica, I'm going to try to write more than just that.

And I haven't stopped reading: I've currently decided to read the book "Don Quixote", which I didn't realize had so much going on inside it. I'm already 3% in to the book, and I haven't gotten past the translators notes. There are a few different translations, but I think that the one that my story is, is something a bit more recent, although I'm not so sure. I'm worried that I won't understand it as well as I should, but I also think that I can understand it if I teach it to myself, and I take my time to fully understand.

I will read shorter things throughout reading "Don Quixote", so I will still have book reviews to write on a timely schedule. The biggest thing is that the schedule is timely. My biggest problem, my giant to slay, if I'm going down "The Warrior Girls" route, is the giant Procrastination. It's really messed me up in life, and makes me shirk my responsibilities. I can't continue to have it happen, so I'm going to keep myself on a schedule.

That's it for now, although there will be a lot more of me seen in the near future.

How Do You Write With an Aching Heart?

The biggest problem that I've encountered with my writing has been writing even when I'm depressed. I want to make writing my business, but so many times, words are said, their emotions are felt, and it hurts.

Quite often, I pretend that I don't have emotions so close to the surface, and that I have a heart that is made of stone, but it's a lie, and everything that is said to me, hits home. Sometimes I will hear something, and my writing will stop mid sentence, and I'm frozen, locked behind something that I don't know how to get through. I know everyone out there has felt this.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't a writer; I wish that words weren't the easiest way for me to express myself, that I had a talent in another field, or another something to which to put my passion. I don't know how much time I've spent crying, and believing the worst of myself to be my majority. Even right now, at this moment, I'm not sure if I should continue. I think that I should put my pen down, and pick up something that I know would make money for me.

Is there anyone out here that reads this blog, or at least this post, that has advice? Anyone that knows how to write and continue to write, no matter what feelings go through your mind? Please, any and all advice will be considered. I'd hate to think that moments like this will be the sum of my existence, that I might become known for my work after I'm dead. When I think like this, I realize just how young I am in this industry.

Fantasy versus Fiction: Shown Side by side

I've finally found two good examples of the difference between a written fantasy, and fiction. For the sake of this particular entry, I'm going to put only a few paragraphs of each in this entry. After this, I'm going to share a full fantasy scene, or a full fiction scene.

First, the fantasy:

            “Do you enjoy my lips?” Izzy asked teasingly, biting Catherine’s neck, kissing down over her collarbone. Izzy’s hands cupped her slave girl’s large breasts, squeezing them, enjoying their feeling. Soft moans increased in volume as Izzy’s skilled tongue and teeth brought her nipples to full attention. The blond gasped as she watched Izzy’s tongue stud harden its mate.

            Izzy bit her lower lip as she slid her hands down over each of Catherine’s hips, her head slowly making its way between the smooth thighs. She alternated kissing each one as they spread, her nose catching the full bouquet of her slave girl’s excitement.

            “Are you always this easy to please?” Izzy asked nonchalantly, her index and ring finger spreading Catherine’s outer lips as her middle finger teased her clitoral hood.

            She gasped, grinning. “Only when someone knows the deepest truths of my body.”

            “Ah, so it only happens with someone like me.”

            “Oh yes, Mistress.”

            Moving her fingers down slightly, Izzy began stimulating her clit directly. Catherine moaned loudly, pleasure overwhelming from her sensitive pearl. As her juices began to flow more freely, Izzy’s fingers made their way slowly into the other young woman’s tight pussy. She could no longer go without tasting the juices, and began flicking her tongue over her clit, her sparkling brown eyes locked on the pleasure of Catherine’s face.

            “Mmm… Mistress… your tongue…” The words were barely intelligible between the sounds of pleasure, which aroused both of them further.

            The fingers within her passage curved upwards as Izzy switched from licking to sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves. The tell-tale orgasmic muscle spasms passed through Catherine’s body as she came, the juices now dripping from her entrance and her Mistress’ fingers. Izzy truly experiences the full essence of her sweet climax as she rubbed the clit in small circles, and moved her tongue deep into her entrance, the tip of it teasing her G-spot.

            Moans run out as orgasms rolled through Catherine’s body, her hands digging into her Mistress’ hair, pulling it rhythmically. Lips glistening, Izzy slowly came up, aroused by Catherine’s need to kiss and share her flavor. Although she had removed her moth, her fingers continued their stimulation of her clit, rubbing it roughly. Their bodies pressed against each other as Catherine’s hands slid between her Mistress’ thighs, and two fingers made their way into the soaked passage.

            Izzy moaned loudly, the feeling of her G-spot being stroked further wetting her things. Their speeds synced as they pushed their bodies together, each wanting to bring the other more pleasure. Catherine’s emboldened hands reached to grab and smack her Mistress’ large ass, the soft curves so different from the hard fucking they enjoyed. Their mouths worked together, kissing each other deeply, their tongues dancing. Izzy couldn’t find words to describe the pleasure that she was feeling, and opted to allow her incredible orgasm to speak for her. As her movements became more erratic, Izzy nuzzled Catherine’s neck, her muscles straining. The intense pleasure Izzy was getting caused Catherine to climax again, their bodies intertwined pleasure.

In this case, I actually gave the character's names; they're stock names, but names nonetheless. This story is not part of a longer anything. Granted, there's some before and some after, but it stands alone. Could I make it part of a longer something? Sure. I have enough of these shorty shorts to do just that.

Now, on to the fiction. This is an excerpt from Defying Destiny, a full length short story:

             I held his lower lip between my teeth as I stroked his growing member. He moaned loudly when I squeezed his shaft. Daniel’s hands made their way into my yoga pants, stroking my clit between his index and middle finger. I moaned loudly, the feeling of hand almost as intense as pleasure on the other realm. Pulling his pants off, I saw that he was fully hard. Turning over onto all four, I looked back at him, biting my lip, smirking.

            He grinned as he pulled my pants down, smacking my bare ass gently. His hands were entirely different from Damien’s hands; Daniel explored me with a curiosity and wonder of someone that had never touched me before, and took it as an adventure.

            “Beautiful.” He murmured, stroking my clit as he slowly slid himself in. It felt amazing and painful at the same time. My hymen was very tough.

            “You’re a virgin!” He moaned loudly, his voice full of surprise.

            “Not for much longer. Please fuck me, Daniel.” The words were soft, softer than I had ever spoken to a person, and the plea in their cadence was genuine. I clasped his bottom lip between my teeth. With a deep thrust, he pushed his way though the membrane, a loud yelp coming from me.

            I chose doggy for it’s carnality and yet, he was loving to me. He moved slowly inside me, his hands sliding up my ribcage to squeeze my small breasts. Moving with him, I moaned his name, my hands gripping the headboard.

            “Lucia,” he gasped into my ear, “I need you, Lucia.”

            Once again, his fingers deftly went to my clit, causing an orgasm to shake through me. It was the first time someone other than Damien had caused me to cum. I knew that Lucifer knew of the act, and a huge tremor was felt throughout the block. The miniature earthquake did nothing to distract Daniel from his pleasure. As my orgasm doubled, I felt him release his seed inside me.

            Pressing his body into mine, I screamed, a burning sensation coursing through shoulder. Falling onto my back, I saw a piece of my flesh bubbling on a gold cross around his neck. A token of his faith that was so small, I hadn’t noticed it. Unfortunately he did, and was snapped to reality of what we had done.

            “What are you?” He asked me, smelling my sulfuric flesh.

            I couldn’t answer before he looked at my bare pubic bone, and saw my triple-6 birthmark.

This scene is definitely part of something longer. The narrator has a secret, there's a bit more going on in her thoughts, and near the end, it doesn't just stop once the orgasms are over, it goes back to the plot of the story. It is only a link, with plot before and after, and more interesting twists and turns. Having this scene on here is supposed to make the reader want to know what's going to happen. This scene does not stand alone, and I would probably get plenty of complaints if this is where it all ended.

I hope that this clears up some of the questions about my writing, and sexy writing. I'm thinking of putting a full super short scene on here, maybe in the next entry or so.

What the Fuck Do I Write?! Or One Author's Exploration into Publishing

I don't even know how to begin this post... I don't quite know where it is going... I guess I should just start from the beginning.

I have my Writer's Market. I'm reading it, and I'm actually beginning to look through magazines and such for publishers and agents that want writing similar to what I do.

I didn't realize just how hard it is to categorize my writing. I don't want to sound like a neophyte, but I'm so confused! They use words I don't know, and fancy terms, and so very few seem to want anything to do with writing that is like mine. Most of the places specifically say no erotica. I understand if you publish, let's say, Christian writing, you wouldn't want stuff like mine. Totally understandable. But there are places, that say things like "we want great fiction, no matter the genre" and then two sentences later put something like "no erotica or werewolves because it's overdone". Really, really?

The more I look through the stuff that is selling, the more I wonder exactly what I would consider my writing. Yes, most of the time it has graphic depictions of sex, but there's also a bunch of other good stuff going on in the pages. There is a plot, and great story telling, and dialogue that the reader will laugh at. The one thing I do have in mind when writing, is how a reader will enjoy it. It's gotten to the point where there are some markets that ask for some niche things, and I'm going to do custom pieces just for them. You want Black lesbian literature? You got it dude!

I don't know if I'm going to continue to read through it right now (I think I need some coffee just to begin to comprehend just how small of a viewership this makes me feel I'll have). I think I have to regroup, and come back to it. I'm just so.... I don't know... confused? Anxious? Unnerved? I think all of the above, in a blender, on high.

Will I have to modify my writing, and make it more marketable? Or should I stick to my guns and continue to wallow. This just further cements that I will need a full time job, this writing is not going to pay my bills any time soon.

Religion in my Writing

I love writing about all different subjects, especially taboo ones. I love writing activities that, if done in reality, would result in lengthy jail sentences. I write things that fringe groups would devour in heartbeats, that aren't acceptable on many  writing websites.

Out of all the taboos that I write, I realize one that I actually tend to stay far away from.

Religion.

Now, this isn't a post about my personal belief system, or how I don't blaspheme against one divine being while leaving all others fair game. No, this is about the one thing I tend to avoid all together.

I remember when I read 120 Days of Sodom, the pure shock of the blasphemous things uttered by the characters. I had never read blasphemy like that before (except those few blasphemous dudes the Bible mentions), and I was actually a bit uncomfortable. It was as if I felt a higher being reading over my shoulder and I would say inside my brain "You know I don't agree with this" to err on the side of caution.

Religion has only come up really and truly in one of my stories, Defying Destiny. It has a quasi-Christian-ish feel to some parts, and the basic Hell I describe is very Dante inspired. For all I know, the Lucifer in my story could have redecorated to look like the book.

I have another story, that has characters from the Middle East, and I'm toying with the idea of having some of the female characters veiled; not because of religion, but because they're Owned, and their Owner does not want any eyes but his own on them. I'd hate for someone to read that and think I'm making a (no pun intended) veiled nod to Muslim people, because I'm not. If my characters were Muslim, I'd say that outright

Most of my work is freaky and weird, but there is at least one button I don't want to push for people. I'm a firm believer in believe whatever you'd like. Who am I to judge your belief system, or lack of one? Maybe one day I will write something deeper on religion, but I don't see that day happening any time soon.

The Difference Between Fiction and Fantasy

Sometimes, when you share with people your writing, especially writing of the scintillating variety, their first question/comment is: "This is what turns you on?"

When I hear this question, it makes me feel all sorts of ways. The first thing it does is confuse me. It almost makes me feel as if I should have some sort of control over what comes out of my pen. I have as much control over what I'm drawn to write, as I have control over the thickness of my glasses. Especially when it comes to graphic writing. I'm seriously contemplating writing a post about the difference between erotica and sexual writing, because many people consider them to one and the same.

The second thing I feel in annoyance. I always specifically say that my writing is fiction. With some stories/ideas, like Big Brother, I'm technically not driven to arousal by the graphic parts. In that, I'm using the sex scenes as specific tools to get across an idea. I know many people will find the scenes/story stroke worthy, but it's not my cup of tea. It's not something I would participate in. Hell, I root for the sake of justice in those stories.

Now, I'm not saying that I find none of my writing sexy, because that would be a lie, but I am saying that I don't often write my fantasies into stories. For people that have read a lot of my work (all four of them), they can tell the difference between fantasy and true fiction. When I'm fantasizing about stuff, I usually have nameless characters (a Master and a slave), blurry descriptions with only the most basic physical traits given (dark hair and eyes, full breasts, long manhood). It's not about the characters, it's not about their stories, it's not about their love, concerns and fears. It's about seeing them fuck. It's the literary equivalent of making your dolls have doll sex. Many of these never leave my computer/journals, because they're not actual stories, they're PWP-- Porn Without Plot. To be honest, it's very difficult for me to write a story around a fantasy, because I don't think of the characters outside of their sexual terms. I don't care if the Master is a lawyer who is under a lot of stress, or if his Fortune 500 company is being indited on a scheme. I don't care if the slave was the neighbor-girl he held captive until she broke, or if she's a runaway that followed him home and won over his heart with her charm and grace. It doesn't matter. I think I'm going to post a short PWP scene, and then post a graphic scene that comes from a story.

Yes, I will scour my writing, and find something from both categories and post it... I'll probably do it some time in the upcoming week.

Heart of Darkness

I've had this book on my Kindle for one year, without actually reading it.

I know, shame on me, because this book is amazing.

It's by Joseph Conrad. I did a quick search about him (the only reason I knew he was important was because there was a Jeopardy question about him and the book), and I've found that he is considered one of the greatest authors in English (although he himself was Polish). When I typed his name in to the search engine, Google immediately associated him with Heart of Darkness which means one of two things: either it is indeed his most famous book, or many a student has tried to skip over reading it and find Crib notes.

Now, on to the story.

Marlow, the narrator, is telling the story whilst aboard a vessel. The entire story (save some brief interruptions and comments by the listeners) is told by him. It's a very interesting way to tell this story, especially considering how the novel progresses.

It takes place as the story teller is making his way into "the darkest heart" of Africa on an expedition. There is a particular man in the heart of the forest, who brings in more ivory than all the other individual camp leaders combined. This man, Kurtz, becomes one of the sad focuses of the story.

I'm not going to give away what happens, but I will say that the title of the book is very important for a number of different reason. Actually, out of all the books that I've read, this one by far makes the most references back to the title. When I first read the title, and the synopsis when I downloaded it, I assumed that the story was so named because the character was voyaging into the darkest heart of the Dark Continent. But as Conrad weaved the tale, especially during the climax of the story, you know that the continent isn't nearly as dark as the hearts of those "exploring" it.

I will say that Conrad uses the word "nigger" a couple of times, but it honestly wasn't much that I would take offense to. I did give the side eye a few times when reading some of his descriptions of the few black people that were described. It seemed as if they were just there for their physical, and that there wasn't much going on in the Black people's noodles. Now, he is in no way HP Lovecraft status.

As for reading the book... I'd suggest having a dictionary (specifically one that you know will have archaic/poetic terms) nearby, or having a proper digital download of it. It uses language that can be tricky if you're not familiar with older English writing. Conrad also uses very, very long sentences, so I had to read some of them more than once, just to get the flow and cadence right. This is definitely a book that I will have to read again. I won't say that I have to study it the way I want to study Venus in Furs, but in order to get everything out of it that I can, I will have to revisit it a few times. It is the kind of book that at times, you start to read aloud, to test the power of the words in your own mouth. I will admit, I tried to read the first page of the story a few times, and I thought it was going to be boring, but I implore any reader, read the first five pages of a book before deciding whether or not it is something that you want to read. Sometimes the first page is a little slow because the setting is being established, as are the players.

Since reading this, I'm definitely going to look into more of Joseph Conrad's work, especially one story I've found called The Nigger of the 'Narcissus'. The synopsis looks really nice, and I know that Conrad really has a way with words.

I can't say that from reading this book, I've gotten some direct inspiration going down my fingers for me to begin to write so magnificently. I think it's far more subtle than that. I'm not even going to try and begin to write in such a manner, and I know that it's going to take me years to even begin to get as deep as Conrad did.

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.