One of the first things I learned after deciding to become a writer — I didn’t know near as much as I thought I did.
There’s some truth to “write what you know” because readers and online critics are going to pop out of every crack and crevice and rip your lines apart. But what the average person knows could fill about half a novel and a few short stories. A writer has to be willing to open the brain cells, be in a state of constant researching, constant learning. Learn more and you can write more.
Yeah, I read that Fifty Shades of Grey book the moment it started popping up everywhere on TV, the Internet, in all my magazines. I’m a larger girl and I’m smart and the thought of being with a guy who’s larger and smarter really turns me on. I like being pinned down and helpless, outwitted and surprised in the sheets, being bitten, having my hair pulled, you name it. Yes, I’m a grown ass woman, but I still love getting hickeys in little out of the way places — reminders of where I was a few hours ago before the rest of the world showed up. And the best sex always leaves little reminders behind, sometimes days later. I could easily start writing this BDSM stuff. It might even be easier to write than the mushy, gooey I had a reputation for.
But the Fifty Shades critics stepped up to the plate. IN DROVES. And they scared the ability to put pen to page right smack out of me. Oops! Maybe I better shut my happy little small town girl word processor back down.
But I didn’t want to give up. I read the manuals — John Warren’s The Loving Dominant, Claudia Varrin’s The Art of Sensual Female Dominance, a couple of Tristan Taormino’s Guides to Kink. Then I started on the fiction (my favorite part). I was introduced to Rachel Kramer Bussel via her bisexual anthology Twice the Pleasure and it opened the door to a long history of hot BDSM themed anthologies — Please, Sir, Please, Ma’am, Yes, Sir, Yes, Ma’am, He’s on Top, She’s on Top, the Best Bondage Erotica series — you name it, she’s got it! (Looking at the private bookshelves in my bedroom, I feel sorry for whoever has to go through my personal effects when I kick the bucket. They just think they see a chunky nerd bookworm constantly scribbling in a back corner somewhere. Surprise y’all!)
I learned a lot with my research. BDSM is an art form that has as many endless ways of expressing itself as there are practitioners and the only confirmed rules are safe, sane, and consensual. And I’d like to speak from my new education and say maybe those unhappy online critics need to get laid a little more often and be happy.
Then, finally, the put-up-or-shut-up moment arrived. A story submission call for a Rachel Kramer Bussel BDSM anthology appeared via email in an online writer’s group I subscribe to.
I can do this. — Oh hell no, I can’t! — Well, maybe? — ARGHH!!
I spent forever trying to think of something, anything worthy of the higher than I’d ever dared aspirations I set for myself, writing a story I’d never written before to an audience I’d never stood before and being edited by a personal idol of mine. I froze like a deer in the headlights and closed my eyes so I couldn’t see my own violent smooshing.
I gave up.
Days before the deadline, I sat at my rent paying job desk with a blank sheet of ruled notebook paper in case a writing idea filled my brain between work assignments. Typical me behavior. In walked the BILF (my beyond hot boss) to do some of his paperwork on my computer. We started talking about normal inane stuff and for reasons I can’t remember I suddenly decided I was bad ass gangster.
“Just call me Alannah Capone,” and I tipped my Department of Agriculture baseball cap like it was a wicked old school fedora.
“Alannah? That’s an interesting choice in names.” He wrinkled up his cute little nose.
“Don’t knock it. I can’t think of another feminine Al.”
“How about Alicia?”
Ooo, it sounded way more hip, way more cool. The BILF left me to return to his side of the work site acreage, but the name Alicia didn’t go with him. What kind of girl would Alicia be? Everybody has a story. What’s hers?
For some reason, once I had a character name, the scared-stupid wall came crumbling down. By the time my shift ended, I had a complete story idea in my head and two handwritten notebook pages — front and back. I just barely made the deadline.
“That Moment When” is my first attempt at serious BDSM writing and I have to say — I’m proud of me.
THAT MOMENT WHEN
by Martha Davis
“You aren’t his normal type,” said one of his old college buddies the first time we were introduced, “but you’re adorable. I can’t help but like you.”
Later, I asked, “What did he mean?”
Under much prodding, he confessed a past in which he tied up his lovers and did totally indecent things to them. My charming, sweet-tempered, easygoing Wes — who would have thought? How intriguing!
“Why don’t you do those things to me?”
“I don’t do them to anyone any more.”
“Sometimes subs don’t realize they can push a Dom’s limits, too.”
“So you retired? How sad.”
His eyebrows arched.
I surfed the Internet for days, studied the pictures I found, fantasized. Wes’s mouth dropped in amazement when I tossed a picture in his lap and said, “I want you to do that to me.”
Wes’s version of “No comment.”
A full week passed, making me half crazy wondering what else I could do or say, I researched even more. He acted like nothing happened. Then last night, after dinner and a movie, we returned home and I found a dusty cardboard box sitting on the living room coffee table. He must have put it there before we left when he came back in for his forgotten wallet.
“Take all your clothes off. Turn slowly while you do so I can see every curve.” He spoke soft and deep. “Then get on your knees with your hands clasped behind your back. Open your mouth wide enough to hold a dick.”