I just need to think of one…
See this lack of imagination I have been going through for about two years now is making things difficult for me. I used to be able to sit down, decide to write and “poof” be literature! Ok so maybe not Literature, but now things are strangely quiet in BrainLand. I didn’t think writer’s block could go on this long.
For a while there I wrote good porn, but that’s an oxymoron in itself. If writing porn was lucrative, I would have already quit my “oh so rewarding” current digs and gone around the world pimp style, but alas, tis not. I have journals full of porn. Porn too good and way too bad to ever be read by anyone but me. Porn that made up for the lack of female centered hard core porn. Harlequin would blush. I would need a pen name and a change of address and to disappear from the face of the planet for ever being a woman and considering such things. Yeah you probably would like it and no you can’t read it, so don’t ask.
The other issue, I can’t even write porn anymore. I have written it all, done it all and done all that I have written, well, within reason that is, and yet here I am still trying to find out the new edge. The way to make porn good to read... how to take the brain wasting empassioned flaming loins out of it. Make it a book for the whole family. Yeah!
No, wait that’s not right, the issue is that I can’t write the story part of the porn. It’s just porn, sex and the ten minutes leading to it and the three minutes after in most cases. I care not when I read it how the two (or more) met, what they talk about during dinner or their pet’s names, I just want the fuckin' (insert pimp accent). Fluff. I have a problem with fluff. So does everyone else. That is why movie porn so often comes in ten minute intervals, the rest would just be fast forwarded through anyway. So I write short story porn. All the sex, less crap before and in the middle and after.
Porn is not very rewarding. If I ever did manage to publish anything it would never be widely read anyway, and if I ever did manage to come up with a good thing to write about, its predecessor would ruin any chance I would ever have at being viewed in a positive light. “Oh that Black Eyed Dog, she writes PORN I hear”
Therein lies the daily dilemma for today. I want to do things with my life. I want to become a better person who does something she loves, hence the teacher thing, but a career in sex… well Christ, that’s rewarding and fun! So the solution came to me one day. Be a sex teacher.
Easier said than done. I had a teacher in college. She taught Human Sexuality 101. She was about 83 years old and still had to deal with giggling. I don't want to be 83, talking about something I haven't done in 20 years and still getting giggled at by the virile.
So I decided to leave the sex out. Just the teacher thing for now please. Boring, but honorable, noble and rewarding right? Besides, sex is messy and smelly and demeaning… oh wait, I meant demanding. Then again, that is what I love about it.
Hey I promised you a story didn’t I? Smack me when I get to rambling on like that, I know it’s hard to bear. “Oh great another excuse from the Dog as to why she sucks monkey nuts”
Because they taste like bananas.
I like bananas…
STORY:
I was walking along the pier one day when to my utter delight a seagull crapped on my shoulder. I looked up in the sky just in time to see him pointing me out and exchanging high fives with the other seagulls like jocks who had just scored a touchdown. In dismay I sat down next to an older woman on the nearest bench and began searching for a tissue. The nice old lady handed me one, one that I was sure had been stored in her pocket for the past couple of days like all grandma’s have. She laughed gently at my dilemma and said quietly “I love seagulls, they always know how to make a person the center of attention.” Choking back tears and a smile I nodded in agreement, thanked her for the tissue and resumed my walk down the pier. I passed fishermen who smelled of bait with rods and ice chests ready for the catch that never came. I caught the random banter they throw back and forth about how the fish were that day, the weather and the usual blaming of the weather for the bad catch. By the time I reached the end of the pier I was full of voices and information I still can’t fathom. I had gone from being the person who got shit on to a nobody again in a short walk, which I was oddly thankful for. I leaned over the cement railing to stare at the barnacles below. I watched the jellyfish hover and drop and even managed to catch a glimpse of a reflective scale as a fish skidded by under the shadow of the waves. I felt the salt air collect on my eyelashes and my hair escape to tease my face with tickles. I stood there a long while and then, I jumped.
See? My porn is much more entertaining. I lost it. I had no where else to go really!!
Maybe I could go to trade school?
:D
Black Eyed Dog
"He talked about how he cared about my everlasting soul and I just laughed."
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