Apr 112006

I’ve had this story in my mind for about two weeks. I knew the point I wanted to get across and the sex I wanted to write about, but I was stuck on that little niggling detail I couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t decide HOW I wanted to tell the story. I have this problem where I don’t like to repeat myself. Taking into account that I will repeat myself, I try to not fall into patterns. Yes, every Shon Richards story will most likely have some hair pulling, but I don’t want it so predictable that the reader feels free to skim through the plot through everything they have read before to get to the good parts.

So I’ve been wrestling with this story in my head for two weeks. Yesterday I was in the grocery store. It was a wonderful warm day so I was wearing shorts. My hands were full as I was carrying a basket of groceries in one hand, and a deli foot long sandwich in the other. As I am standing in line to the checkout counter, my mind is wondering back to the story problem and BLAM! I have it figured out.

Now that I know how I am going to tell my story, I start plotting fast and hard. I’m naming the characters, I’m planning the scenes, I’m thinking of the sex and I’m thinking of whether to do the blowjob scene before the spanking scene and other delightful details.

Unfortunately, this means I get a monster erection. and because of the arrangement of my loose boxers and my shorts, this erection is pointing straight out. There I am in line at the grocery story, hands full, with an obscene weapon trying to escape my shorts.

I try to think it down. I try disturbing mental images but my mind is still hardwired into the story. I’m thinking of a kneeling maid. I’m thinking of her being spanked while she is on all fours over a mop bucket. I’m picturing her cleaning her house in her too tight outfit. In other words, I am doing a terrible job of subduing the beast in my shorts.

The rather nice looking woman behind me makes a shocked sound and quickly turns around to intensely study the candy bar rack.

The older woman in front of me is unloading her cart which means she has to keep bending down. She sees my erection and keeps stealing peaks at it every time she gets another item from her cart. I swear, she started unloading less and less items.

When it is my turn to get to checkout, the prettiest African-American girl in the whole world is running my items through the checkout. She looks like she is barely out of high school but it isn’t killing my erection at all. Worse, she has GLASSES, which is my number one turn-on. At least I have the counter to block my erection from her view.

“Wow, it must be really hot outside, you look so flush,” she says.

I just smile and it dawned on me. I have to walk outside, hands holding bags, with my shorts looking like a pop-tent. Worse, I am now picturing this cute glasses-wearing girl in a maid’s uniform. The erection has now been given at least another half hour of life.

The hazards of being an erotica writer never end.

  One Response to “Hazards of the Hobby”

  1. I know these are really old posts, but the more I read, the more I smile, and the more I smile, the more I fantasize about meeting you (unknowingly) at some event somewhere.

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