It's happened. I've succumbed to the pressures of constructing and publishing posts dedicated to self exploration while providing narrative to a life filled with academic, professional and interpersonal stressors, yet balanced by unprecedented amounts of reward, ironically enough, from those very things. I'm really just that important eh?
With that...
I am writing because, despite my professional goals, I would really like to become a writer. Surprise! Of what exactly, i'm not entirely clear. I would like to believe that i'm free spirited enough to let the universe reveal this to me through a series of engaging, preferably humorous and ideally intellectually engaging events. But if this blog is going to be an exercise in self exploration, then I should be straightforward and state explicitly what it is that I believe I should write...at least as of the writing of this post...
Erotica. Yes. I said it. Actually, I typed it, but you get my meaning. Take a moment. Drink it in. For those of you who know me from high school years and beyond, stopping rolling your eyes at the computer screen. Yes, you've known for a while that i'm into this genre of literature. For my friends from college who i either played rugby with or lived with senior year, please take a moment and have the decency to collect yourself. Laughing loudly (be it in private or public) can be construed as rude and disrespectful and it could be downright embarrassing.
Back to it then. Erotica. I've been writing erotica on and off for the last 13 years. In middle school/high school I started writing short erotic stories. I imagined myself being an author who ensnared the senses with my stories. I imagined myself as having a lense looking into the face of a person privileged enough to pick up my story and loose themselves in it. In my mind, the masses praised my prose and told me that it was so surprising that such a young author could so convincingly evoke erotic scenes with such taste. People bowed to my works...
If you haven't picked up on my fantasies about delusions of grandeur, then I would refer you to a few sources. One Matt Buck originally from Paris, OH, one Charles Wharton from Jamaica Queens, NY and one Tiffany Graham from OH, like I, but currently residing in Los Angeles, CA. But I digress...
...I suppose having others validate me and my erotic experiences, lived vicariously through the characters i created, was my primary goal. I wanted my friends (primarily girls who I wanted to sleep with but ended up in the infamous "friend zone" instead) to tell me how much my words moved them. In my mind, I hoped to God that they were moved enough to remove their panties. In the slow and sensuous manor often described in my stories. Instead the only person who found them was my mother...Yes, my mother. Rather than being moved slowly by my words (as intended for women other than herself), she was moved rather quickly to anger.
Needless to say, those particular stories never saw the light of day.
When I was a kid, I was told from a variety of sources that God works in mysterious ways. Perhaps my mom finding these stories was God's way of killing two birds with one stone.
1.) He saved me possible embarrassment from the girls who I would have given the stories too (more often than not, the one's i though were hot and hoped would become muses for future works)
2.) God saved me from ridicule from the literary community by preventing such awful stories from ever surfacing.
I look back on some of the characters that I created, the scenarios that I envisioned and plots that I believed were tastefully constructed (but in actuality could not pass for a B rated porn director's script) and tried, pitifully, to weave them together into what I considered to be grand work of art.
In short, the God, in all his/her/it's wisdom, mercifully, spared me further embarrassment compared to what I was already experiencing at the time. "You're young yet Fritz. You have plenty of other works out there to embarrass yourself with. Give it time and you'll see." God is merciful indeed.
Needless to say, I took an intellectual vacation from writing erotica. I finished high school with some of my dignity intact (yet a depressingly high strike out rate with the ladies...le sigh...) and proceeded to spend a virginal year in France. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I spent a year in a country known internationally for it's sexual exploits without any sexual conquests. As far as the European continent is concerned, I'm as virginal as the driven snow...(double le sigh...)
Why have I not written about this chapter of my life? Who would honestly read a story marred with such a grand strikeout rate? I would have given Ryan Howard a chase for that title, except that at least he got a few home runs every now and then. I, on the other hand, was not so fortunate.
Ok, for those of you following along and realizing that I went from talking about why I chose writing erotic literature to my lack of high school play (pre and post france) I sincerely apologize for the sudden switch. Please take a moment and examine your neck. You may have gotten literary whiplash from such a drastic shift. Ok, I hope that you are alright and that you've been able to collect yourself. Please keep all arms inside the trolley as we continue examining what led me to where I am today apropos erotic literature and why I what I write and in the way that I write it. In order for me to do that, allow me to reveal in a tastefully amusing (ideally) way my sexual activities.
For those of you who are absolutely unconcerned with this chapter of my life, please feel free to skip the next few italicized paragraphs. They will not contain too much detail, but just the same, if you are comfortable not knowing me in this way, skip away my friend skip away. If you're masochistic (more on this later), truly that curious, that bored or have had a bad day and need something humorous in a "whew, glad that wasn't me. And i thought I had it bad" kind of way, then by all means please read as this blog intends...
I returned from France having not missed a beat from life in rural Ohio while also not having any girls find me worthy enough to take off their standard issue Frenchie lingerie and let me swash and buckle them as any good pussy pirate should. It was kind of an interesting time for me to return because 1. my home was no longer OH, but now it was FL due to my mom moving down there the year before and 2. my best friends family needed someone to watch the dogs . Well, as it turned out, a girl who I was somewhat obsessed with in high school was in town. She recently had broken up with her boyfriend and was killing time before she went back to college. Given that I had a thing for her going on 3 years and she was newly single, I decided that it was worth it enough to try the subtle approach. Now, don't get me wrong, this approach landed me decidedly in the friend zone on numerous occassions (and continued to do so for years to come...why wouldn't i alter my approach you ask? God only knows. Hey God, maybe it's time for me to actually make an ass of myself and go out on a limb with some of these girls. Stop saving me from making mistakes and giving me so many damn female friends...) but i decided, "what the hell? She's not enough of a friend for it to be awkward." So i called her up and asked her to come over and watch a movie. She gets to the house around 8 pm to watch the movie. I chose Save the Last Dance.
ATTENTION ALL SOCIALLY AWKWARD NERDY BLACK MEN BETWEEN THE AGES OF 18 AND 40. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF ALONE WITH A WHITE GIRL AND THIS MOVIES ON, PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT YOU MAY BE GETTING LAID IN THE NEAR TO IMMEDIATE FUTURE. OR IF YOU HAVE A GIRL FRIEND WHO YOU WOULD LIKE TO HAVE SEX WITH AND YOU'RE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TO DO, PLEASE SUGGEST THIS MOVIE TO THE GIRL IN QUESTION. IT'S RATING IS INNOCUOUS TO NOT RAISE ANY SUSPICION, YET IT WILL ULTIMATELY RESULT IN YOUR GETTING LAID (OR AT LEAST A HANDJOB/BLOWJOB/ UP THE SKIRT AND SHIRT). THAT IS ALL.
If you would be so kind, please follow how this particular experience went down.
About halfway through the movie...
"So, do you like the movie Deidra" (that's not her real name, but i like this name better)"
"Yeah, it's alright. I like the dancing in it. I love how he moves"
she's memorized by Sean Patrick Thomas' moves on screen...we have that affect on women...
In my mind, i'm thinking, "Go out on a limb and say something stupid"
"Well, you know Deidra, I have moves like that. Do you want me to show you?"
ok, so i didn't say exactly that, it's been 7 years since this happened. All that I remember is that I said something silly and she actually responded in the way that I wanted her to.
she looks at me and without a word, I take her upstairs to a bedroom. Given my lack of concern which bedroom it was, I chose the parents bedroom. Yeah. Not my finest hour. None the less, it makes for rather epic story telling. We start fooling around and making out on the bed. In my mind, i'm thinking "Holy shit, i'm actually gonna do it with Deidra"
Well, apparently, the requisite throbbing, ever-ready member that me and the rest of my race are supposed to have, all being like ron livingston's character from Office Space, didn't get the memo.
Failure to Launch anyone???
What makes it worse is that my pants and underwear are around my ankles, my shirt is still on, my shoes and socks are still on, her clothes are on the floor and i'm swearing on everything that if I perform at this moment i'll make Ghandi and MLK look like semi-concerned community members.
I performed alright.
30 seconds later, my performance lie spent at her side...
Say it with me now class...
Reader: "Fail."
Me: "Good."
After the act in question, we dressed silently. Awkwardly.
Dejectedly, I offered her, nay, pleaded with her to stay the night. But given that my moves didn't quite match SPT's (i'm pretty sure that he shook his head on camera at my performance...lack thereof...whatever) she wasn't in the mood of making feel even less of the "proud 18 year old black man" that I thought was. Or, probably, she just wasn't in the mood. Not anymore at least. I tried desperately to get her to stay by making out with her again, but in the end, with steely determination, she hopped in her shitty car and beat it down the country road perhaps to process what the fuck just happened. Or better yet, perhaps forget that the whole thing even went down. Another unintentional negative externality probably occurred too. Any black man that she might have found herself with thereafter who put this movie on immediately made her question not only his motives, but also, and understandably, his ability to move like SPT. Horizontally. Yeah. Sorry Fellahs. If you don't get some, you have my permission to blame me...
Ok, so for those of you who decided to skip the last few paragraphs, welcome back. To those of you who read through this. Take a second and collect yourself. As i said earlier, you're just embarrassing yourself by laughing so loudly. People walking by don't know what you're crying about and honestly, they shouldn't.
So here it is folks. Why I decided to pick up the plume and go back to Erotica:
To make sure that experiences like this never happen again.
In my story, not only can the protagonist move like SPT, he can swash and buckle her till the parents come back and discover the two lovers intertwined in their sheets. A rather fucked up version of Goldilocks.
"Yes Mr and Mrs. X, someone has been sleeping in your bed. And yes, that person is me. WELCOME HOME!!! HOPE THAT YOU HAD FUN ON VACATION."
In fact much of the stuff that I write/intend to write/have written is based primarily on sexual experiences that went wrong and what I would have done to get them right...
And yes, this does include making sure that those little Frenchie panties hit the floor with alarming regularity the moment i step off the plane till the moment i'm back on it on my way home.
'
