The best decision I ever made (besides starting a Patreon) was to become a writer. It was also probably the worst. I write this because while I love writing, some of the people my writing (or at least my erotic writing) attracts are just creepy as fuck. They seem to assume because I write erotica, I always have sex on the brain, and that’s all I want to talk about – even though they are complete strangers. It’s like just because they can create a fake social media account, they think it’s OK to talk to women any way they want. This is why I’m not a big fan of internet anonymity – it makes it too easy to assault people. I mean, they wouldn’t do this in real life because they would be thrown in jail, but it’s OK online. Why? I seriously don’t understand why sexual harassment is OK on the internet, but against the law face to face. Just because a computer is used, it’s acceptable?
In a way, it reminds me of a funny story that happened a few years ago with a close friend of mine, Nicole. We were out late as fuck one night, basically clubbing/acting fools and called an Uber to get us home safely. We were dressed up, of course, but Nicole – who looked like a straight supermodel – looked way better than I did. Anyway, the driver got us to our destination and asked Nicole if she was a working girl. My eyes widened because I’m a little hoodrat and knew exactly what he meant, but Nicole had no clue – she smiled and said something to the extent of “Yep! I be getting’ people’s money all day!” (she was a banker at Wells Fargo) The guy shook his head in dismay and said that he wished he had some extra money because she was drop-dead gorgeous.
She grinned; he looked something like a lost, beaten puppy. 🙄
We got out of the car.
As we watched the guy drive away, Nicole blinked a few times, and her eyes widened. She turned to me and said, “Wait – was he asking me if I was a prostitute?!” I laughed so hard I almost fell to the ground. When I told her yes, that was precisely what he was asking, she turned more shades of red than I ever thought possible. I wouldn’t let her live that down for anything. Loved it.
It does kind of illustrate my point though. Our jobs do not define us. Neither do our hobbies. We define us, and we are so much more complex than the paltry scraps of information we decide to randomly throw on the internet. I’ve been to college. I’ve accumulated five different degrees. According to the Stanford-Binet IQ scale (and a few others), I’m in the top 5% of the population. I’ve been told by several MENSA members that I should join, but honestly, the benefits suck, and I don’t need the validation. I did, however, pass the online test just out of curiosity.
I’m not writing any of this to brag: those of you who have known me for years most likely didn’t know any of the above. And there’s no reason you should. I don’t need to impress anyone, and I definitely don’t want to come across as better-than or egotistical.
No, I’m not trying to brag, I’m trying to illustrate a point. Despite all the above, and my general sweet-natured attitude towards strangers (I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt), I continuously get swarmed with stupid messages and unsolicited (and frankly disgusting) messages and pictures. All because I write erotica. I have several non-erotic pen names that I write paranormal, romance, science fiction, fantasy, and a few other genres under, but that’s beside the point – instead of trying to get to know me for who I am, people automatically assume that since I’m a girl that writes kinky things I’m online to be their personal sex outlet.
Please don’t get it twisted. I love to flirt, sometimes in lewd ways, but I have to know you first. Like, really know you – not just a few quick DMs…
On the writing front, I’m almost finished with the rough draft of the last book in the Exitium Mundi series, which should have been done long before now. Unfortunately, I keep thinking of things to add, change, and omit. So ridiculous. But it’s getting there, and all the changes I’m making are for the betterment of the story, so I really can’t complain too much. Of course, doing all that also means I have to go back through the rest of the other six books and change things, adding and taking out parts, etc. Luckily they are all short(ish), so it isn’t that big of a deal. Yet.
Oh! Before I go, please send my homiegirl @n0nlineargirl some love. And pictures of horse penises. She really loves horse penises. 😂 She recently broke her foot and may need surgery, so she needs all the attention she can get. I’m reasonably sure she doesn’t read my Diary entries, but just in case tell her I sent you. She’ll thank you, trust me.
Have You Ever Walked into a Room?
Have you ever walked into a room and found a vampire? No, not the sexy kind, but a foul creature with bony limbs and ashen skin? The kind that snarls as you enter, like a beast about to pounce? The kind that roots you to the spot with its sunken, hypnotic eyes, rendering you unable to flee as you watch the hideous thing uncoil from the shadows? Has your heart started racing though your legs refuse to? Have you felt time slow as the creature crosses the room in the darkness of a blink? Have you shuddered with fear when it places one clawed hand atop your head and another under your chin so it can tilt you, exposing your neck?
Have you squirmed as its rough, dry tongue slides down your cheek, over your jaw, to your throat, in a slithering search that’s seeking your artery? Have you felt its hot breath release in a hiss against your skin when it probes your pulse — the flow that leads to your brain? Has its tongue rested there, throbbing slightly as if savoring the moment? Have you then experienced a sinking, sucking blackness as you discover that not all vampires feed on blood — some feed on memories? Well, have you? Maybe not. But let me rephrase the question: Have you ever walked into a room and suddenly forgotten why you came in?
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