Really universe?
I'm still sick.
I hate it and it makes me crankier than usual.
In writing news.
I found novel writing software I like. It's installed at home and ready for use.
I've not submitted anything else.
I've started collating the smut for my smutty chapbook. I don't think I'm going to try and buy the big pimping package via Lulu for it unless I either work a shitload of overtime or am suddenly gifted with cash. So far I'm looking at a collection of about 20 stories or so. Some super short others not so much.
I'm also editing a story I think I may want to submit to an upcoming Circlet project. However, I'm a little really nervous about that so I dunno if I'll do it.
I might just hang onto that one and put it in my anthology.
Um right I already said so on my regular blog but after the smut chapbook, I'm pushing myself and I want to put out an essay collection. Some stuff from the blog, some new stuff. About fatness, sex, blackness, being a teenager, growing up, drugs. Yanno all the bullshit from my 32 years of life on the planet thus far.
I've been crocheting madly while sick. I accidentally made some fake cableknit gauntlets and I have yet to figure out what exactly I was doing. I had intended on doing a fake cableknit short scarf, warm and foldable round the neck, with ends that are designed to tuck into your coat. But yeah gauntlets instead.
I also somehow made some ruffly gothy cuffs. I will take pics soonish.
That's about it.
I'm really fucking exhausted still and my goddamn chest hurts like a son of a bitch.
Under the cut, a snippet from one of the smutty stories. Clearly it's not entirely edited yet and my punctuation still sucks. I'm working on it.
Dear God in heaven how is it possible that one person can do this to me? I’m asking myself that while I’m on my knees behind some no name piece of shit bar with a cock down my throat. I’m asking while I have my hands wrapped around the backs of thick denim clad thighs and I’m sucking like I can’t get enough. Fact is, I can’t get enough. I never have gotten enough.
When I work my way up to my nose buried in his pubic hair I smell sweat, lingering soap, maybe an undercurrent of lube. When I feel his hand on the back of my neck I pull my head back just a little, he’s so fucking beautiful like this. It hurts to look up, I don’t want his cock to slide out of my mouth so I roll my eyes up. Mostly at first all I can see is sodium vapor light, his face and head just a fuzzy outline.
His face looks consumed by his burning eyes and twisted mouth, is he talking? I don’t know but he looks almost evil. All I can hear is the rush and pound of blood in my ears. His cock feels huge in my mouth, his hand feels like home on he back of my neck. He pulls me off gently and I know I must look crushed. He smiles at me, that wolfish but somehow gentle smile even as he's pushing me away and tucking his cock back into his pants.
I hate it and it makes me crankier than usual.
In writing news.
I found novel writing software I like. It's installed at home and ready for use.
I've not submitted anything else.
I've started collating the smut for my smutty chapbook. I don't think I'm going to try and buy the big pimping package via Lulu for it unless I either work a shitload of overtime or am suddenly gifted with cash. So far I'm looking at a collection of about 20 stories or so. Some super short others not so much.
I'm also editing a story I think I may want to submit to an upcoming Circlet project. However, I'm a little really nervous about that so I dunno if I'll do it.
I might just hang onto that one and put it in my anthology.
Um right I already said so on my regular blog but after the smut chapbook, I'm pushing myself and I want to put out an essay collection. Some stuff from the blog, some new stuff. About fatness, sex, blackness, being a teenager, growing up, drugs. Yanno all the bullshit from my 32 years of life on the planet thus far.
I've been crocheting madly while sick. I accidentally made some fake cableknit gauntlets and I have yet to figure out what exactly I was doing. I had intended on doing a fake cableknit short scarf, warm and foldable round the neck, with ends that are designed to tuck into your coat. But yeah gauntlets instead.
I also somehow made some ruffly gothy cuffs. I will take pics soonish.
That's about it.
I'm really fucking exhausted still and my goddamn chest hurts like a son of a bitch.
Under the cut, a snippet from one of the smutty stories. Clearly it's not entirely edited yet and my punctuation still sucks. I'm working on it.
Dear God in heaven how is it possible that one person can do this to me? I’m asking myself that while I’m on my knees behind some no name piece of shit bar with a cock down my throat. I’m asking while I have my hands wrapped around the backs of thick denim clad thighs and I’m sucking like I can’t get enough. Fact is, I can’t get enough. I never have gotten enough.
When I work my way up to my nose buried in his pubic hair I smell sweat, lingering soap, maybe an undercurrent of lube. When I feel his hand on the back of my neck I pull my head back just a little, he’s so fucking beautiful like this. It hurts to look up, I don’t want his cock to slide out of my mouth so I roll my eyes up. Mostly at first all I can see is sodium vapor light, his face and head just a fuzzy outline.
His face looks consumed by his burning eyes and twisted mouth, is he talking? I don’t know but he looks almost evil. All I can hear is the rush and pound of blood in my ears. His cock feels huge in my mouth, his hand feels like home on he back of my neck. He pulls me off gently and I know I must look crushed. He smiles at me, that wolfish but somehow gentle smile even as he's pushing me away and tucking his cock back into his pants.