I mostly hate when writers write about writing. But it’s the night before my 31st birthday, so fuck it. Aside from some conversations I’ve had with my therapist, I’ve never formally examined my writing habits.
I realized while redesigning my website that as a writer I’m somewhat prolific. Not Stephen King prolific, but I’m definitely no Harper Lee. I have about seventy erotic stories posted here, and the oldest one was published on Nifty in 2001. That works out to about seven or eight stories a year. (more…)
Repost from old blog, 11/10/2006
Sitting in the car outside the store, waiting for my boyfriend to get directions. I was engrossed in my cellphone, examining it absentmindedly, cleaning the dust out of the crannies, the grease off of the screen, not thinking of anything much.
Then, I thought to look up and out the window. There were some dead flowers sticking out of the ground, and next to those, some still-fresh purple flowers. Beyond these was the glass-enclosed entrance to the store, and I saw a bee trying to get out, its movements labored on this mid-November day. Over and over it bumped into the glass, perhaps futilely trying to reach those purple flowers.
I felt grateful that I had thought to look up and examine what was going on around me, instead of just staring down at my cellphone. The bee behind the glass was a tragic little drama that I got to witness as a result of my (almost randomly occurring) mindfulness, a drama made all the more tragic because – as I now noticed – both sides perpendicular to the glass were completely open. The bee would only have had to fly a foot to the left or several feet to the right and it would have been free. But it just kept doing what it was doing, bumping over and over into that glass, staring at those flowers.
That’s when I understood it. Before I’d noticed the bee, we’d both been in the same place – trapped in our narrow frames of mind, totally focused on the small details, unable to step back and see the big picture and how it would free us, make us able to experience all that the world has to offer.
Her new album IRM, a collaboration with Beck, while pretty great, also reveals a sad truth: that, as evident from at least a couple of tracks, Beck has written more quality Air songs than Air themselves have in the past five years.
Dear Handjobs: I really enjoyed your hot story Biology Lesson by Natty Soltesz in the November 2009 issue. The boys learned a lot from that sex pot teacher! How about a follow-up piece where Mr. Christianson invites the boys’ dads to learn a thing or two about their sons’ lusty desires, such as how they are horny to suck dick: each other’s and their daddies’? You could even have the teacher invite a sexy coach and hot principal to join the fun! All the horny young boys would learn to get fucked and enjoy having their nipples twisted as they shoot cum into the men’s faces! Love your yarns and sketches of naked boys! * Anonymous, CA
Dear Handjobs: I hope you have a continuation of Dr. Craig by Natty Soltesz from the March 2009 issue. * Jeff, TX
Dear Handjobs: You guys are the fucking best! Thanks for filling my order so promptly. God, that was fast. Be assured, my seed is gonna be flying all over the place. So is my boyfriend’s! We love you! Biology Lesson by Natty Soltesz in the November 2009 issue: Fucking A-Plus! Best piece I’ve ever read. I love teachers. * Chuck, IL
Note: My anal-beer-bottle-insertion-fiction masterwork is probably the story “The Hippie Down-Low,” which is from my book Backwoods and is also featured in the recently-released Best Gay Erotica 2010. I also have a pretty good beer bottle fucking scene in the story Hippie Crack.