From the moment literary critics pronounced Moby Dick the first 'Great American Novel' countless U.S. writers have dreamed of cranking out their own versions of epic greatness: I had the same ambition and my quest failed as badly as Ahab's quest for the great white whale.
The Sex Monster gobbled it up.
I started my quest by devouring every book I could find on how to write novels. I favored the ones written by successful novelists. Several writers revealed a curious fact: they had sharpened their skills churning out sex novels--so-called smut--before ever placing a manuscript with a 'legit' publisher. This seemed odd. Why waste time writing trash? I paid it no mind.
I plowed ahead with my plan. Any 'practice novels', smut or otherwise, seemed like a waste of my creative resources and precious writer 'mojo'.
I hunkered down with my notes and outlines and got down to the business of writing. I churned out hundreds of written pages but I always seemed to lose the thread somehow. My novel kept slipping away from me. So I took it apart, sorted things out, and tried to tighten it up.
After my third or fourth re-write I had a pile of lifeless pages that fell apart at the seams before the story ever really got started.
I felt I needed to practice writing stories that had a distinct 'beginning', 'middle', and 'end'. I needed to get a feel for how a story should develop.
That's when it hit me. Maybe trash *was* the way to go. I could practice developing a story arc by writing smut. I decided to do my own soft 'porn' novel.
The thought of authors 'honing their chops' writing smut had seemed odd. But it actually made sense when I thought about it.
Sex had built-in conflict--a basic ingredient of every story--and, where sex is concerned, who doesn't let their emotions overrule common sense? That requires heavy doses of rationalizing self-defeating behavior. That seemed like a good vehicle for irony--I loved irony--so I decided to give it a try.
I had nothing to lose but my novel-writing virginity.
Right from the start I felt less pressured to write perfect prose. It was strictly practice, and it was 'only smut', so the words flowed easily and characters and situations popped up out of nowhere.
I set my novel in a telemarketing office. Like most first novels it was loosely based on true events. That's Novel Writing 101. I wrote what I knew.
I had jockeyed phones for an inbound telemarketing company. Afternoons were always slow with infrequent calls. Hours passed with nothing to do.
We were free to make use of idle time as we pleased. Most phone reps sat and gossiped. I read books.
I got paid to read and learn. I read my how-to-write-a-novel books. It was like having my own on-the-job writer's scholarship.
One night my gossiping coworkers played a 'Name Game'. They took turns naming a person and the rest of them voted on whether or not the person named was hot enough to have sex with.
I kept my nose in my book but I couldn't help overhearing.
They started off with movie stars and celebrities and famous politicians and such. No one agreed on anything. One person's fantasy was another person's nightmare.
The talk turned to absent coworkers and whether or not they were bedroom material. Again, no one agreed--until Mildred's name came up.
Mildred was our section leader. She sat at the head of the room and--in contrast to the rest of us--she always seemed to keep busy doing some work-related chore. The crew started talking about her while she took a rare break to have a smoke.
Mildred had the most perfect set of legs I have ever seen on any living person. They were dazzling. They were sexy. They were actually mind-boggling. I would look at them and try to figure out what it was that made them so perfect. I couldn't. A thousand other women must have had legs that were almost identical to hers--but not quite. That slight difference made all the difference in the world. Mildred's legs blew my mind.
There were times when I'd thank God for the simple pleasure of having Mildred's legs to look at on long boring nights.
The first time I saw Mildred I walked up to her from behind; checking out her bun-hugging short skirt and her excellent legs in high heels in the process. Her auburn hair swung about her shoulders as she turned to face me. I'd have guessed her age to be anywhere from 18 to 29--until she faced me. She was every bit of 60. I nearly gasped with surprise.
Mildred's age startled me but it didn't dampen my admiration--or my lust--for her legs. They were still absolutely flawless; smooth and shapely; without a trace of blemish such as 'spider' veins that woman much younger than her are often prone to. She was a genetic marvel.
I know I'm going on and on about her legs but her whole body looked hot; at least with her clothes on.
She stood 5' 6" barefoot. Weighed 105lbs. Measured about 34-24-34. Slim and well proportioned. So imagine my astonishment when her name was offered up for sexual review and the response was immediate, unanimous, and completely negative.
Most of our crew was composed of young women, so there may have been an element of jealousy involved with them, but even the guys expressed disgust. It all boiled down to age. It didn't matter how hot and sexy her body was they wanted no part of a 60 year-old woman.
The entire crew freaked-out at the thought of anyone having any kind of sexual contact with Mildred. They wouldn't touch that lady if their lives depended on it.
Their attitude ticked me off!
I slammed my book down and was all set to tear into them. I was going to shout that they were all crazy--out of their freaking minds--and announce that I'd go down on that woman in a heartbeat if I had the chance. But just then Mildred walked in. Luckily, I saw her before I let loose; I held my tongue.
An awkward silence passed.
Mildred hadn't heard anything. As far as my aborted outburst was concerned the crew all thought I was angry because they were making so much noise while I was trying to read.
No one had any idea I was about to defend Mildred's sex appeal.
All the time I'd been working there I'd taken it for granted that everyone felt the same way I did about Mildred's legs. I hadn't noticed that no one had ever mentioned them. I wasn't the type to make sexual comments or gossip but her beautiful legs seemed so obvious it went without saying. After that I made sure to keep my feelings hid.
My first novel, 'Acme And Ecstasy', was an idealized fantasy of what might have happened if I had told everybody how I felt and Mildred walked in and heard me.
She could have had me wrapped around her little finger.
That temp assignment provided plenty of material for stories dealing with all manner of sex. That's why I say the Sex Monster devoured my Great American Novel. One sex story led to another while my Epic Novel simmered on the back burner and I never really got back to it.
An audience existed for this type of 'Office FemDom' before I even knew what to call it. Readers are the ones that 'TAGGED' it for me.
Hundreds of readers paid good money for it online right from the start but things really exploded with Amazon Kindle.
If I had never read those particular How-To books that mentioned smut novels I would probably never have tried it. If I hadn't worked at that particular temp assignment I would probably not have written any sort of FemDom.
That particular office was female-dominated. Women were the bosses and overwhelming outnumbered men. And because the night-crew atmosphere was so relaxed sex topics were bandied about like we were partying at a bar or something. The sex talk was usually from a woman's point of view. They reduced men to mere sex objects and held them up for ridicule in terms of intelligence or maturity. That's the main reason my stories came out with a FemDom theme.
The way it played out I simply had to imagine how things would be if normal sexual inhibitions disappeared and the women were given free rein to live their sex fantasies at the office and force men to give them their way.
The rest is history...
Most stories are filed under Erotica because that is what most closely describes them but I prefer calling them simply Sex Stories.
Many readers have a fixed notion of what constitutes Erotica as a genre. I don't. To me it means that sex is a central component of the story. Other than that the story should not be confined to a certain pattern or construction.