A friend and I are doing a writing challenge. 10,000 word erotica novella. For me the whole goal was to write a short story from beginning, middle to the end. We created polishing/editing breaks in the middle as well so that at the end of the challenge, we should be ready to publish it. If either of us fail the challenge, we have to pay the price or receive punishment. His punishment (because he only likes FemDom) is to write a Male Dominated Erotica at the end. My challenge is to go to a bird pet store (I have an unnatural fear of any flying animals.) Needless to say, neither of us wanted to lose.
Round One: The First Draft
The challenge started on March 5th and went to March 19th. The goal of this round–for me–was to word vomit until I got a beginning, middle, and end to branch off of. My main character is a firefighter so I organized it by sections: Spark, Ember, Flames, Fire. They weren’t complete scenes, but at least I had a skeleton.
Review Edits Lull One
After round one, my challenge teammate and I exchanged our first drafts and gave feedback. I also took it to my writing critique group and between both parties, I had another bout of inspiration for the next round.
Round Two: The Polishing Draft
The second round of the Erotic Challenge started on April 9th and will end on April 23rd. I’m liking this challenge so much that I’m thinking of opening it up to more people. So, if you like the idea, send me a message, and we will get you linked up to our socializing channels. Or if you want to start from the beginning, I’m thinking of doing another challenge after this one is completed.
The Bodice Ripper is now available on Amazon. You can read it free with Kindle Unlimited or purchase if for $2.99.
An Unusual Superhero.
Long flowing blond hair. A bare chiseled chest. Wash-board abs. And lithe, seductive, ever-moving hips. The Bodice Ripper is a virile visitor from the Deep South with powers, abilities, and techniques far beyond those of the average male escort. He can arouse the desires of stingy prudes, and pop cherries with his bare hands. And who, disguised as a southern hick, a crude-mouthed farmer, fights a never-ending battle for indulgence, debauchery and the American way.
Guessing the size of a woman’s chest is really hard work. Especially with monocular vision.
If I get her the large-sized shell brassiere and her nipples only reach to the mid of my palm, she may think my eyes disillusioned, my opinion of her lacking. But the tiny brazier would hint to yearnings of pebble-sized tits and unshaven pelvises. My desires, no different than those Talian Dolphins—the pedophiles of the sea.
It’s hard being a one-eyed Milky Cyclops. I am purple-helmeted underwater Spartan of Love who has been claimed from balls to head by the most beautiful mermaid in all the seas. All I want is to tell my lady love how my albino asparagus ripens at the attention of her creamy, strawberry-shortcake skin. How I yearn to gaze upon her snake-scaled fin with my large bulbous eye and slither between the taut mounds of her gilled breasts.
Just the thought of my forever love’s webbed face gleaming in glee makes me giddy and sprung like sticky sap atop Morning Wood.
That is why this gift must be perfect, it must be the wooden spear to strike her unawares and garner her attention, because not only is it a confession of my hymen-hammering intentions, but it also represents the shells of my love which shall lie forever next to her heart.
I purchase the large-sized shelled brassiere.
If her slime-covered flesh doesn’t fill it, I’ll feed her the spoils of my clam digging until she grows plump from my affections.