Monday, November 30, 2009

The Prophetess

Walking down the road she was born on, vagina of her mother shitting her onto burning black tar mixed with crushed stones. She was vengeful and lucid. This dream would not pass before she found the woman who's coitus had created this monstrosity she considered herself. The deeper she went into this suburban hell though the more the cum caped doors beckoned her back to wakefulness. She fought; violently piercing all ten of her orifices hoping against hope that she would find her. Then in the distance she saw the abomination seething the world out from its silken folds. Mother and goddess engorged with undeserved ecstasy. The closer she came the deeper her naked feet sank into the deepening folds that the road was becoming. She began to swim through her mother's female cum; penis of her father tied tightly to her back. She had searched the world of dreams her entire life hoping that she could one day finish what her father started. And as she began to climb the maternal pubic forest she her mother began to moan; deep moans, moans that shook mountains, forced boy's to cum for the first time and impregnated untapped vaginas. This moan she was prepared for placing a single drop of semen into each ear as mounted the pubic mound. Feeling the penis of her father grow hard upon her bare back she knew what must be done. Carefully walking up to the sopping hole of her mother she inserted all that remained of her father.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Thanksgiving Smut

A mother stuffed her meaty arm through the turkey hole and deposited stuffing. A father stood next to her, pounding away at a can of cranberry sauce, demanding it enter the bowl underneath it. It would not budge.

Upstairs, a brother and a sister lay next to each other exploring bodies. The bodies were in a video game called Trauma Center that they were playing on a television. A younger brother walked in and gasped at this, then grabbed his testicles.

"I'm telling!" the younger brother yelled, then ran out of the room.

The brother and sister looked at each other briefly, then continued playing with each other.

The younger brother hurried down the stairs and tripped, falling flat on the floor of the foyer. As he began to cry, a dog came over and began humping his behind. A grandfather rushed out of the bathroom, pants around his ankles, and hoisted the dog off the defenseless, injured boy. As he lifted the dog, a poop came out his anus. It fell to the floor with a plop.

The boy stared at the poop and vomited. The father walked in to see what the commotion was all about, and slipped on the vomit. The mashed potatoes he was carrying went into the air and he went onto the ground. A naked aunt walked in and the mashed potatoes fell on top of her, dripping down her bust and vaginae. She licked some of it with glee.

The brother and sister from upstairs ran down the stairs and farted in shock at the scene in the foyer. The mother came in and was made horny by it all. She squirted milk from her breasts into the mashed potatoes on the aunt, which had needed more milk anyway. The aunt orgasmed as loud as a dog bark and then diarrhea struck everyone at once like it were the year 2012.

Just then, a mailman walked in with a package. It was the new mario system the children had been awaiting. The mailman took one look at the scene and his erection burst through his government-approved outfit like a football team through a banner with the name of said football team on it.

"You'll need to sign for this," said the mailman. "What's your last name?"

"We're the aristocrats," said the poop.

The whole family peed. The mailman shit his fart fuck dick with ass cum.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

How to Eat Cunt

How to Eat Cunt
By Berneard Depareadeaut
Translation by Cody Clarke

Eating cunt is a science-- biology, mostly. Let us discuss.

The cunt is a labia.
All of woman is labia. To approach a woman in such a way is ideal. What are the properties of labia? Sorbet. Women are always cold. If you warm them with your tongue they will be most comfortable. If you warm them too much they will be too liquid for cunt eating.

Cunt hair as power source.
Cunt hair are cilia for women using swimming. Like an amoeba. To disrupt this is unwiser of man. Leave hair alone. If remove: hide evidence so as not to disrupt feeling pleasures.

Rhythmic Pulsations.
A vaginae has a rhythm much like a basketball. To not dribble is to cheat. Dribble cunt juices on the vaginae for maximum pleasure comfort. Support fair-trade cunt juices at your local grocer.

The Orgasm Orgasm.
When the orgasm orgasms, you will know by a tone. F#. Tune surrounding instruments accordingly to heighten vibration of cum. Shake the penis with vibrations in the air at it. It will turn into cum. The woman will be proud of her venerability.

An old joke of my grandfather:

Baker: Bastion, where are you?
Bastion: I am making cum.
Baker: Be quick of it.
Bastion: I am actually Bastionenne!

I appreciate your reading of. Thanks to you, your woman will think at you. Cum is shot. The penis.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Milkinson: Part 1

We all know how Milkinson died in 'Snow Falling on Peters', but very few know how he lived. This is Milkinson's story.

Milkinson Rogerst Jacobs Jr. was born in the Upper West Side of New York City. On his eleventh birthday, he decided that he did not like his middle or last name, only his first name. He threw a tantrum, threatening to burn his face on the stove unless his parents let him legally change his name to only Milkinson. They allowed the change, and a few weeks later, he was Milkinson and Milkinson only.

Milkinson had a penis like a woolly mammoth's face, sans tusks. When he was eighteen, he had sex with the captain of the women's badminton team at his school. She came several times, and by the end of it all, had a cunt like the inverse of a woolly mammoth's face, sans tusks.

The next day, she missed the final Badminton game of the season, as she was sick at home with cunt pains. The team lost without her.

Her parents were livid. They offered Milkinson a check for one million dollars to leave the state and never contact their daughter again. Milkinson took the money, and flew out to California the next day.

Milkinson had always wanted to visit California. As a youth he'd had a babysitter named Julia Roberts. She quit the job in order to pursue a Hollywood career, which devastated Milkinson. She had been his favorite sitter, and his first crush.

When Milkinson arrived in Los Angeles, he bought star map after star map, trying to find one with Julia's address on it. None did. At a bar, he complained of his woes to a stranger sitting next to him. That stranger turned out to be Robert The Niro.

The Niro took Milkinson over to the phones and showed him a phone book. Milkinson flipped through it, and lo and behold, Julia was listed. Milkinson was overjoyed. The Niro was aroused.

The Niro pulled his penis out and twirled it like a twirly snake at Milkinson. Milkinson clapped with glee; it was a phenomenal trick. The Niro dragged the now hypnotized Milkinson into the bathroom and fucked his face with his skinny twirly snake penis. The twirly snake penis slid down Milkinson's entire throat and into his stomach, where it drank all of Milkinson's stomach acid, then promptly left the way it came.

Milkinson lay devastated on the floor of the bathroom. The Niro was gone, and he was all alone. He had been robbed of all his stomach acid and would not be able to digest any food without it.

He ran out of the bar in search of a late-night stomach acid shop that was still open. None were.

If you think Milkinson should try and cultivate his own stomach acid in a basement laboratory somewhere, turn to page 68.

If you think stomach acid is overrated and Milkinson can do without it entirely, turn to page 99.

To be continued...

Monday, November 9, 2009


The chamber was beginning to fill up with water. It was about eight feet tall and about four feet wide and made of dark black concrete. There wasn't a lot of space in it. The male in the chamber looked at his female. He gazed at her lovingly as the gentle stream of water poured over her body. They weren't going to be able to escape; this was where they would die. They were captured spies and the foreign government would never let them go, for with them, dozens of secrets would flow out as well. Her pert nipples were showing through the rather minimal clothing she was wearing. The water had made her top into something far more diaphanous than the makers had probably intended. Her breasts were basically fully visible and begging to be caressed. The man thought about the things he had witnessed: rape, murder, poverty, and suffering, amongst other things commonly only experienced in nightmares. He felt himself beginning to become erect as he vividly recalled a car chase that concluded with the death of a poor family and the destruction of their neighbor's home. As he squeezed her firm buttocks, he thought about how he had just continued after the perpetrator, not even pausing for a moment to dig through the mangled bodies below his automobile. They bathed in flames just as he would bathe in the juices of his woman.

She was wet, both externally and internally. She wanted him before she died. They would not worry about contraceptives, even though they had both been briefed time and time again about their importance in the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases. Although spreading sexual disease would be a wonderful way to get back at terrorists and bad people, no one wanted to sleep with a tainted spy. She wanted his ejaculate in her pussy, just as badly as their government wanted answers so that bad guys could be killed. She was sucking on the tip of his penis, just gently flicking her tongue around the head. She saw in her mind the body of a guard as it fell over the railing. She heard the sickening crack as it hit the pavement below. It coincided with a slight shudder in the man as his body was filled with pleasure. Foreplay could not last long, however. They would soon be dead and needed to fuck quickly. For if they did not, it would never happen. For her, this brief delay was acceptable because of her need to suck one last cock before she could never suck another again.

They became one conscious body and mind as they fucked. Together, they shared memories of torturing terrorists and murdering those that prevented access to terrorists. As his cock rubbed against the edges of her pussy, a knife cut the flesh of a bad guy's throat and blood began spurting out. They imagined the water was a flowing stream of blood, soaking their bodies. It was the blood of success. They had served their government bravely and now they would continue to fuck. The water continued to fill up until it was just about at their faces. The man, through some strange maneuver, was able to hoist the woman's cunt and his own cock into the tiny accessible space above them and shoot his proud cum into her. She too, would come, exactly when he did. They would float on the surface of the water, imagined refugees of a destroyed military vessel that they were nearly killed protecting. However, defending a ship had never been so pleasurable. The two began to cough as water filled their lungs. They died with his cock still inside of her, his cum coating her insides. These two, engaged in such intense fuck, had died as heroes because they killed enemies.

Seeing Miley Cyrus Live

Last night I saw Miley Cyrus live. It was so cool!

The doors were opening at 4, so I got to the mall at around 2PM, and was on line inside at around 2:08 PM. Even though I was early, the line stretched from the doors of the venue all the way to past the food court. The length of the line was intimidating, which filled my '<3' with ':S'.

Everyone walking past, just going about their day, would gawk at the line. Sometimes we would go 'Woooooo!' as they passed to make them go '?' and then we'd 'lol' in our hands. This cheered me up a bit. Also, I talked to a few girls behind me about where they came from. They were from Boston and had Miley Cyrus baseball jerseys on. They played for an all-girls little league team, the Robert's Pizza Miley Cyruses. Too cool!

A little bit later, Miley Cyrus came by and cut in line in front of the baseball girls. I was standing NEXT TO Miley Cyrus! She looked at me and smiled in her Miley Cyrus way, and I stared at her face. Then she spoke:

'Are you here to see Miley Cyrus? :)'


'Want to be best friends?'


'Hehe, you're funny. You also have four mouths.'

'Now just one: :-)'

'Oooh! You look much cuter with one. Your nose is a little long though :\'

'Is this better? :)'

'Yessss! You cut yours off like me! VERY cool. :)'

I felt like the luckiest grown man in the world. We talked and talked, hitting it off and off, reciting our favorite Bukowski poems in grizzled Bukowski voices and cracking each other up. It was the most fun I ever had with someone while waiting to see them.

When the line started moving inside, she grabbed my hand and held it tight.

'I don't want to lose you in the movement of people!' she said.

'Me either, Miley.' A tear came in my eye, but I brushed it away.

As we entered, she hurried me over to her favorite table of the venue. When the waitress came by we both ordered virgin Long Island Iced Teas. We only got to have a few sips before Miley had to go perform in the show.

As she hurried off, the lights went down. Then, bright lights on the stage as her whole band was suddenly there, performing wildly. Everyone went wild! The cuts and dissolves were amazing. I didn't even realize I was watching a commercial until everyone faded into a giant Coca Cola logo.

Then, the giant TV screen curtain came up and there was Miley, LIVE! She launched into her hit, and then another hit, and then another hit. After every few songs, she'd stop and talk to the audience, always in a raspy Bukowski voice. This was her letting me know she cared.

She told the audience stories about New Orleans, back when Jazz was first being invented. She talked about Jelly Roll Morton and Cinnabon Jim. Back then, all those guys were sponsored by sweets companies, so why were people making so much of a fuss about sponsorships now? The crowd retweeted in agreement.

After the show, Miley and I walked around NYC talking about current events. When the topic of pedophilia came up, it turned out she was a staunch supporter! How lucky, I felt, to find someone who shared my beliefs.

Later, I gave her a promise ring and told her I loved her. She told me she loved me too, and began to nibble the candy jewel. I stopped her and told her that if she loved me, she would not eat the ring pop until our wedding night. She nodded in her Miley way.

I hailed her a private jet and she took it home. I was to visit her in LA on her dime next month when her tour was over. We were to be married in a hotel bed, naked, protesting a war or something. Months later, I would be assassinated, and her music would get better and better.

R.I.P. Cody Clarke (1972-2010)

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Breast Haiku

Big titty parade
outside my window today
Window of my soul


Beauty and The Beast sat down to dinner one evening. The Beast was wearing a king's outfit. Beauty was wearing lingerie. It was Halloween.

"Pass the gravy," said Beauty. The Beast passed the gravy to her. She poured the gravy on her mashed potatoes like the shit grew on trees.

"Does that gravy grow on trees?" The Beast asked. Beauty ignored him. He asked this every time they had gravy.

Beauty slid the gravy back angrily. It sploshed all over The Beast's food.

"Rargh!" The Beast exclaimed. The Beast hated extra gravy more than walnuts. Beauty stifled a laugh.

"What's so funny?" The Beast asked.

"Nothing," said Beauty.

The Beast pushed lots of things off the table. They crashed to the floor with ease. All the appliances and utensils that were sentient beings were injured by this.

"Do you see what you make me do?" The Beast asked.

"I don't," Beauty replied. She had been blind many years from a rogue cum shot.

"How convenient," said The Beast. He stormed towards her with a fervor and picked her up out of her seat. She pounded and pounded on his back with her fists as he carried her all the way to the bed room upstairs and tossed her violently onto the bed.

"How dare you," said Beauty.

"Time for dick," said The Beast. He pulled out his fully hairy dick and dicked her then and there. Beauty moaned in delight like a delightful woman. He knew she was not one, but he dicked her anyway.

"Dick me harder," Beauty pleaded.

The Beast dicked her hard like a crossbow full of dick bolts.

"Perfect," said Beauty, "I am making cum."

Beauty made cum and it shot down her labia and out over The Beast's dick. His dick was so aroused by Beauty's cum shot that he in turn shot a few cum shots up into Beauty. Then, Beauty dripped his cum back out onto his dick and he came a second time from the sensation of this.

"I apologize for the gravy," said Beauty, with a sigh.

The Beast ripped open her chest and devoured her insides. He kept eating and eating until she was just bones and bits of sinew on the bed. He was, after all, a beast.

Later he went out and got himself a bunch of new women. Women with no cunty dispositions.

Moral: A bitch in time =/= nine.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Famous Smut-Related Quotes

"Tis' a small cock for man but one giant cock for a kind man-child" - Buzz Aldrin

"Four whores and seven beers ago our foreplay bonked forth this great pair of knockers" - Albert Lincoln

"Fuck is our response to our highest erections, and can be nothing else" - Any Rand

"Fuck without pussy is lame, eyes without fuck is blind" - 'Detroit' Abraham Einstein

"100% of thrust you don't make don't go in her pussy" - Bruce Wayne Gretzky

"kcuF" - remlaP aruaL

"An eye for an eye and the whole world has cum eye" - Gumbi

Unsafe Sexnet; Senior Thesis

Today the internet connects millions of cocks and gavs ("gav" is an internet slang term for "vagina") around the world. It is considered the great pornographic product of the information age, and massive corporate projects have been undertaken to increase its sex appeal to teens and young boys interested in computers. However, the potential for sexual bodily harm is a serious issue facing internet safety experts in the already well endowed nations. Oftentimes the victims of computer related sexual injuries have only just crossed the digital divide, usually coming prematurely, according to sexual sociologists. The predominant safety issue today involves the modification of computer hardware to accommodate human sex organs as direct input devices.

Connecting one's part ("part" is a gender neutral term used on the net that refers to the personal sex organs) to the ports on a personal computer has long been considered risky, but no serious study has been published detailing the possible negative side effects, and sexual hardware manufacturers exert powerful influence over policy makers through lobbying and PR. This has left many governments mostly powerless to stop the practice of "dialing in" to a computer with your dick. Indeed, with the recent introduction of the Personal Cock-Computer Interface (PCCI) onto the market by eCum Ltd, the problem appears more severe than ever.

According to urban legends, some eager boys' dicks have been completely absorbed into the information stream of the world wide web from use of the PCCI. So the rumors go, dicks and gavs, once dialed into a PC physically, immediately become at risk of being converted into information. In one instance, in London, a young boy allegedly "went in after his little cock", according to a friend, and remains in a coma at hospital. This has led to widespread social hysteria surrounding the use of PCCI and other part-port devices. Several firms have taken advantage of the public outcry and have produced a great variety of software programs which advertise the ability to recover assimilated sex parts. These programs often sport interfaces similar to the latest and most popular video games. From the PCCI scandal has risen an immense online community full of speculation, conspiracy theories, and pseudo-scientific examinations of the phenomena that has become known by part-port enthusiasts as "horny ghosting".

Seemingly little can be done to curb either the spellbinding appeal that the part-port world has cast on waiting young boys' cocks, or the growing number of cases of horny ghosting. Until more scientific investigation takes place, the spontaneous digitalizing of young dicks and throbbing waiting gavs can only be considered the stuff of science fiction and fearful hysteria. Nonetheless, the part-port world will require close scrutiny as the world moves into the era of internet-enabled global sexual connectedness.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

The Trench Twist

A thousand miles away and as many years the soldiers ran. They ran up towers packed so full that from your home you could see their pulsing mass perched, so high. They ran down deep, so deep, bellow your feet. Their grenades a rhythmic quiver. Above you see their white parachutes coming, so close, then blown away blood dripping down upon your face. Your AA fed by the roughest hands of your roughest soldiers penetrating the sky with tracers. This night of nights rocked your homeland bringing you to the brink, but whats that...? An unnoticed siege has found the spot and as he lays down beside you his paratroopers cum raining down upon your captured homeland.

Girl Cube

He felt around in the dark. “What have I gotten myself into this time?” he thought. She was in the bed somewhere. He dug through the blankets until he finally found what he assumed was his date for the evening. She was drunk and passed out. He was extremely riled up; six months without sex had driven this man to near insanity. He began losing his mind and ended up at his co-worker's party; the man was normally content with sitting inside on a Friday evening, curled up with a good book. She had invited plenty of people over of all shapes and sizes and tonight. He could not leave without sex.

He forgot to bring a condom. “It doesn't matter,” he thought. He remembered earlier when she had said she was on the pill and hoped that she took it routinely. This man's sexual desperation, however, would have led him to fuck her regardless of her birth control status. He was usually a rational man, but he would resolve this matter in the most animalistic fashion and hope for the best.

He continued to dig. Finally he found her. He began to count her sides. “Six,” he cried. This was the woman. Although she was passed out, he still went through the routines of foreplay. He talked dirty to her and rubbed himself all over her body, sometimes gently and sometimes a little more rough. He would kiss her deeply and prepare to actually penetrate her, something he had been waiting for for the longest time. He would feel the surrounding warmth of her wet pussy around his cock. He would fill her with his cum and go home much happier after doing so.

His throbbing cock was ready; he couldn't find any openings, however. “This is a girl, right?” he said to himself. He remembered how beautiful she looked earlier at the party. He basically drooled over her voluptuous breasts and curvacious body. Her hair was beautiful, long and flowing. She would run her hand through it as she dug in her mind for a topic just on the tip of her tongue during conversation. He found her mannerisms to be utterly adorable. She was a beautiful woman and he was fortunate to be concluding a six month dry spell of sex with her. The man's cock was leaking pre-cum and he was ready to fuck.

“I'll just masturbate and try to find her vagina when I'm about to cum,” he thought. He simply couldn't wait any longer and being as she was passed out, there wasn't anything she could do for him. He began masturbating. The room was dark so he did his best to illuminate his mind with the vivid memories of her body from the hours before. He continued to rapidly slide his hand up and down the shaft of his cock as he approached orgasm. His body was quivering with anticipation. With his free hand, he began feeling around her six sides. He was going to ejaculate very quickly. “Shit,” he yelled as he realized he wasn't going to find anything to penetrate. His body relaxed as the jet-stream of semen was produced. It shot out of his cock and landed on at least two of her sides. After recomposing himself post-orgasm, he lay down, lonely and miserable from another failed attempt at sex.

He had tried to ejaculate inside her, but he could not; she was a girl cube.

Snow Falling on Peters

A long time ago, an evil witch lived in an igloo not too far from here. It was a large igloo with everything a normal house would have in it. From the inside, you wouldn't even know you were in an igloo. From the outside, it was quite obvious it was an igloo. She made such a good establishment with magic.

She was very good at magic. Card tricks, mostly. One day, three college students were wandering around looking for a beer or something when they found on the igloo.

"Dude, look," said Brad.

"Huh," said Geoffreh.

"*Fart noise*," said Milkinson.

They all went inside the igloo easily because igloos don't have doors. Inside, the witch was watching 30 Rock. She hit pause on her DVR.

"Who are you?" asked the witch.

"Brad," said Brad.

"Geoffreh," said Geoffreh.

"Milkinson," said Milkinson.

"How dare you set foot in my igloo. I will put a magic on you for this," said the witch.

The witch shot magic out of her face, mostly her eyes. It hit all of them easily.

"Ahhhhh," said Brad.

"EEEeesh," said Geoffreh.

Milkinson farted.

The three were affected or effected by the magic (I can't remember which) in a very specific way. They all became her sex slaves instantly and they all were given massive erections.

The witch ordered her slaves outside, and they went out there. Then she made them all strip and lay on their backs. All of them had great peters. She really lucked out.

Their peters stuck straight up in the air as if to say 'ride your pussy onto me.' She did so. She fucked each peter one after the other. Her witch vagina was truly a good vagina. Wet and pink as a watermelon lollipop with saliva on it, but with hair everywhere. Everywhere. (Even on her bum)

After she fucked all the peters she told them, "Your curse is you must lay here paralyzed forever. Snow will cover your peters and then the plow man will come by and plow your peters off. He won't know he's done it."

The three could not respond, as she had now paralyzed them. The witch went back inside and finished her episode of 30 rock, all the while college cum dripping out of her vagina and down her chair.

Later, she would take a shit with the door open. She did this often.

The End.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Smut Chase

“I can help you write better smut,” he said proudly. She gave him a good looking over. He was attractive, but he seemed misguided. “I know no one would help you before, but I am certain that I can actually help you. In fact, I'd love to help you,” he added.

“That would be great,” she responded. She still had her doubts about him, but what could it hurt? They would try to write smut and it would be good or bad. They could go their separate ways and write their own smut, or still collaborate. She already had a smut collaborator; he did good work, but it was not the best work and he knew she was looking for inspiration and encouraged her to seek it out. She could remember a brief time long before that where her smut was the finest ever. It was raw and realistic, oozing with the sensibilities of the classic writers of smut. It had been so long ago though that she had forgotten how to write that way. When she needed to write smut, she would, even if she didn't enjoy it. If someone contacted her and needed a story, she would provide. It would keep them from complaining or being displeased with her.

What she wrote was considered excellent by some of the simplest crowds; she could quickly adapt it to the needs of the contractor. However, it lacked the classic appeal that her earliest work had. She had began her career in smut as innocent as anyone. Her ideas were easily visualized and mesmerizing to her readers. The way she could seamlessly weave plot elements and complex interactions into the smut was incredible to say the least. But those days were over; she did simple, straightforward smut that was useful only for masturbation material. Those who loved her trademark sex-metaphors and allegory would be severely disappointed as they would read only the raw thrusting of a pen against paper.

This era of simplicity had been reactionary; she had a period where her she found some of her most complex works to be under-appreciated and ignored. Changing attitudes of readers and a lack of legitimate critics transformed her previously creative works into something more mechanical. The smut-writing that she once loved became no different than any straightforward work. She did it to the best of her ability to satisfy her bosses so that they might not complain to her. She hated to hear complaining, especially since she never heard compliments anymore. The satisfying silence was far more appealing to her ears.

This man would try to help her write better smut. However, he would get wrapped up in his own smut-writing. He would obsess over his own characters and the degrees of penetration. He would give her poor advice as he stroked his own smut-ego. “I usually have better ideas,” he would say with a shrug after a failed brain-storming session. She would still feel hopeless, but satisfied by the nothing that she used to replace her quondam excitement. This man had seemed interesting enough and he was pretty; however, he was definitely not interested in her, at least not then. He had a specific fan base he was appealing to, and he brought that along to her smut. How could he not know that smut-circles never mix well? Smut, one of the most beautiful works of literature, is exclusively enjoyed by small groups of readers. It sometimes takes years to change the tastes and preferences of comfortable readers.

Even despite the man's failed attempts, he would continue to try to help the woman write smut. Her loneliness would allow the man to stick around, despite his deep narcissism. He would say over and over again that he could help her write smut like she did before. He insisted that he could make it happen. But time and time again, he would fail. He would try just as hard as he could, but with his previous ties, he would be stuck in a state of perpetual failure and poor advice. Brain-storming would never really develop into anything special, as he was just looking for ideas for his own smut. She would turn to her collaborator during this time. He seemed to understand at least. He was focused on writing smut with her, rather than overwhelming her smut with her own. She at least found some comfort in this fact. And although his smut wasn't the finest, he was certainly writing better than the new guy. She would keep both smut-writers around, but they wouldn't interact. When she became overwhelmed by the failure of her new helper to actually assist her, she would turn, with joy, to her long-term collaborator.

When the new helper got word that his works were no longer selling to his most consistent audience, he would initially panic. He had gotten so familiar with this audience and knew exactly how to cater to them that a shift like this would be devastating. However, rather than doing something drastic and causing further harm to his career, the man instead opted to focus again on the woman he wanted to help. See, she had began denying him the ability to help her. After a prolonged writing session with her long-term collaborator, she became disinterested in him and made him feel unwanted, something that had been the case for a long time and he had not known it because he was too wrapped up in selfish pursuits that just seemed to vaguely involve the woman. His new energy, however, would force him to press on with his focus on the woman who had began to instill in him such joy, oblivious of the disinterest that lurked inside of her. Perhaps if he could help her, he could actually help himself. He would push on toward an obvious, albeit completely non-existent prize.

Eventually, swimming in the sea of his new energy, he would grow to focus on her needs. He would help her write page after page of smut, which, after much deliberation, would prove to still be weaker than what it once had been. She would state that she had lost her edge. Her inspiration for the once-powerful smut topics had depleted. It lacked the raw energy and innocent excitement of a fresh new writer. She felt detached from the smut. She was so distant from it that sometimes she wondered if she even knew what it was anymore. This would frustrate the man. However, he would continue his quest to help this woman, sometimes behaving in irrational manners to try and assist. His efforts would pay off; she needed to be writing romance, not smut. She had lost the capability to write smut as she had experienced more of the world. Her writing had matured alongside her. He would take this angle as he helped her and she would suddenly begin to thrive again. Her work expanded near immediately and her mind was filled with thoughts of joy and pleasure as she filled up page after page with beautiful sentences and ideas. And although the other collaborator had been helpful, he had never touched on this idea. It was all that she needed to thrive, and oh how she needed to thrive again.

As his excitement grew, the new helper's output would shift topics and increase as well. He would begin filling page after page with raw, unfiltered smut. He wrote the dirtiest thoughts and ideas, and she loved to read them and imagine. His house became filled with his works; they overflowed from chests, drawers, desks, and anywhere else they could be stored. The two people would take the next logical step forward in their relationship and combine their works. He would combine his smut with her romance to create something that stimulated both the sex organs and the mind. They would make love on the piles of smut. Their tangled, pulsing bodies, full of pleasure, would be forever captured in the pages of beautiful, romantic smut.