Category: Uncategorized

It wasn’t easy for Jed, being gay over fifty miles away from a major city. Out in the sticks, well, things still weren’t quite as a forward thinking as he might have liked, but he did his best to act straight country, and he did like the look, especially cowboy hats which he wore almost all of the time, and he definitely liked country boys.

Well, country men, at least.

Yeah, he had a thing for trailer trash, and his small town had plenty of it, and a big Walmart–perfect for cruising some of his favorite guys. Sammy McKline, in particular, was one of his favorites. In his late forties, his hair and beard years uncut with a big full gut, and lips full of chaw, he was straight out of one of Jed’s fantasies. He was easy to catch too, because he did all of his grocery shopping on Tuesday nights, letting Jed show up and nonchalantly follow him around the aisles, but Jed had noticed something recently. Ever since a couple of weeks ago, when he was certain he’d been spotted, Sammy had started dressing…kind of strangely, and this week was crazy, walking around in a camo jacket, open without a shirt, just letting his big gut hang out for Jed to ogle. It was like…he wanted him to look.

Maybe he did want him to look.

Hell, maybe he wanted Jed to do more than look.

The butterflies in Jed’s gut weren’t going to subside anytime soon, and Sammy chuckled, watching the kid sweat. He could remember some of his first fantasies too, but well, the kid wasn’t his type. Way too young for one thing, and from the lack of a bulge, way too small for Sammy’s tastes, but watching the kid sweat, biting his lower lip and openly lust for his big gut was kind of flattering.

Jed was still following Sammy around the aisles, not watching where he was going, when he bumped into some other guy hard enough to send them both to the ground.

“Oh geez mister, Sorry ‘bout that, I wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’,”

“Heh, don’t worry about it,” the older man said, and plopped Jed’s cowboy hat back on his head, “Though I think you might have dropped this. Have a good night, Jed.”

“Wait, how did you know my name?” Jed asked, but the man was already hurrying off, and he felt a strange tingle from the hat work it’s way down into him, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He dashed into one of the changing rooms, and Sammy laughed. Boy couldn’t take it anymore, and probably had to have a wank. Maybe next week he’d come in one of his jocks and leave his fly open, see how he liked that. Sammy finished up his shopping and after a long wait in the checkout line, he paid for his food and wheeled his cart out to the car, where he stopped dead in his tracks.

Leaning up against the side of his truck was the hottest fucking cowboy he’d ever seen, shirt and pantless, wearing only a jockstrap packed full of what Sammy imagined might be one of the biggest cocks he’d ever seen. The cowboy took a drag off the cigar he was smoking and grinned at Sammy. “Been watching you all night, big boy–how about you and I take a ride back to your place? It’s chilly out here.”

I know it’s rather terrifying–just calm down and breathe–the water is warm and comfortable, nothing to worry about Justin. Yes, I know your name, I know quite a bit about you, actually. Now, it’s come to me from a confidential source that you aren’t a fan of rimming, Justin! Why, you absolutely refuse to give a man’s hole the time of day. Well, I’m here to show you the error of your ways, don’t you worry about that. We’ll have you right as rain in no time.

Yes, that’s better–just stop struggling and breathe. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here and who I am. Well, let’s just say that I’m a man who takes a keen interest in men like you–men who, for one reason or another, have put up these ridiculous boundaries against what you will and won’t do. You’re only here because, well, I want to expand your horizons.

Oh, look at you squirm–you don’t like that do you? It must smell and taste like someone just farted right in your mouth.

You’re going to try holding your breath? Really? I mean, the tube isn’t attached to your face, I won’t force you to do anything, but How long do you think you can last, Justin? Like it or not, those farts will keep you alive, but if you’d rather drown, I suppose that’s fair.

See? I knew you’d rather live. You appreciate that gas now, don’t you? Those farts are keeping you alive, and will be your lifeline for the forseeable future. Still, that’s not the only thing that I can feed down that tube, you know. How long do you think it will take, before you realize that you need ass and shit to live? Probably no more than a month, I think, with a few of my mindwarp tracks looping in that ear piece of yours all day and night. I can see you now, on your knees in the bathhouses, tongue buried up some bottom’s filthy shit chute. He lets out a cunny fart, and you breathe it all in, licking the frothy cum from your lips. Oh, you’re gonna be such a good asskisser, I can already tell. Well, I’ll come back and check on you next week, and see how you’re progressing. Enjoy yourself, and here’s a track to keep you company in the meantime.

I read your “Apologia” on NCMC, and I have to agree with your point. I find many types of TF stories exceptionally hot, especially leather, bear, and redneck TFs, and would prefer to see the whole spectrum of possibilities, and choose for myself. After all, if I don’t like it, I do not have to look.

*Sigh* I guess I might as well break the silence.

It’s been (nearly) a year since I wrote that piece, and I deliberately took the stance that I wouldn’t comment on it–that I would say my bit and then move on. Of course, I wrote the piece kind of quickly, for fear of losing my nerve and because the internet’s attention span is short, but I don’t think I was as clear as I should have been about what I wanted to communicate, so maybe a couple points of clarification / elaboration are in order, now that the thing is settled.

You know, a lot of people took that piece as a plea for tolerance–and while that was my takeaway, it wasn’t really my concern at all through the bulk to the piece. Rather, it was concerned how community rules and regulations ought to be constructed, and with what I’ll call the three ‘C’s’–Clarity, Consistency, and Communication–all of which the NCMC fails miserably at.

Here was the problem put in those terms. First, the rules the NCMC has to guide submissions are pretty vague. A lot of people wanted to say that the “No characters under 17” rule was precise, but in my piece, I pointed out that the entire question of age in these stories becomes very vague, very quickly. There was a lot of “letter of the law” vs. “spirit of the law” debated back and forth in the comments, but that was the point–if your letter doesn’t match the spirit and intention of the rule, then you’ve written an unclear rule, and maybe you should revise it to make it more accurate. Trying to build a community around rules that shift under people’s feet is not a very good foundation.

Second, the rules were never enforced consistently, especially the final rule restricting the use of copyrighted characters. Goodness, if ever there was a rule that no one seemed to care about on the NCMC, it would probably be that one. If you run a community enforcing rules at random, you aren’t enforcing rules, you’re arbitrarily picking things that are approved or outlawed according to personal preference and whimsy–again, not a very solid foundation for a community.

Finally, there’s no way of communicating with anyone in charge of that website about the nature of the rules. No appeals process, no way to ask how to change a story to make it acceptable, no way to ask ahead of time if this story or that story crosses a line. The NCMC says:

The NCMC aims to be fully automated. The largest tool required to achieve this is trust. Please don’t violate the spirit of the website by posting stories or comments from outside the guidelines.

That’s all fine and good, but that’s not how the website is run at all. Mystery webmaster’s rules are unclear, his enforcement of those rules is inconsistent, and so this strange approach of hands off / hands on is a recipe for disaster. It’s no surprise that the website is struggling with a massive spam problem which crippled it to the extent that comments have been disabled for months now–the webmaster can’t bear to see the website inundated with spam, and yet his doctrine of “automation” urges him to not become deeply involved with the comment process. The result? Just disable them altogether! No spam comments he has to deal with, and still perfectly automated–just a community completely devoid of constructive feedback. You might also notice that, for a while, there was an announcement that a new comment system was in the works, but that announcement has, not very surprisingly, disappeared. The webmaster’s desire to be hands off is running completely contrary to the stated goals of the website, because the website he wants to run requires him to be present. And so, it’s stuck in limbo.

My solution? If you want to be hands off, then be hands off! Let people post what they want. Stop your distance policing, and this strange compulsion to control every minutiae of the website without ever showing your face, or your hand. If you actually want to trust people, then fucking trust them. That, or if you want a community built around a set of firm standards, then be clear about what those standards are,enforce them consistently, and communicate with writers and readers about those standards to be sure they are understood.

So, that’s the upshot of what I was trying to say, and what I said rather poorly. Not that I’m not proud of that snarky little story, it was great fun to write, and I still snicker my way through the comment section on occasion. 

Also, people were calling me a pedophile, and I wasn’t about to let that stand without a reply. Who would?

Is it possible to write erotic stories with characters or settings outside of your own race/ethnicity/culture without being racist or offensive, or should you just “write what you know”?

Well, there’s degrees, I think. The worst thing you can do is write other cultures in a way which is degrading, stereotypical and disrespectful to their cultural experience. Just…don’t do that. 

Better than that, but still not great, is to essentially write what you know–remain within your own cultural box, and essentially turn a blind eye to everything else. This is, generally, what I tend to do, and what I’m struggling with. While it succeeds in not insulting people, at the same time, it means that I’m essentially limiting myself to the dominant white perspective which, to be honest, can grow boring as fuck. I mean, how many fucking older bears’ selfies in front of bathroom mirrors so they can raise their self esteem do I have to wade through on tumblr to fine one remotely interesting image that might make for a potential caption? Fuck, that’s exhausting.

And when I see a picture of a very attractive black/hispanic/asian/etc. man that I want to use, I always censor myself. How do I insert them into a story, addressing their race, but in a way that isn’t insulting, and I realized that the solution is to use those pictures in the same way I use every other picture that ends up in my caption.

To say that the approach is “colorblind” or something like that isn’t quite right. I don’t want to erase that racial quality from the stories, because that’s counter productive–it erases part of why that picture appeals to me. However, writing the characters born from those pictures in ways that they grow beyond the color of the skin is the goal. That said, I haven’t done this yet–but that’s how it fits in my head I suppose. Hope that makes sense.