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.

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