Friday, August 26, 2011

Emmie Writes About Sex & Erotica

Not this site, but DEFINITELY this not read unless you are over 18...
FAMILY WARNING: do NOT read if you are The Father, The Pastor, or Baby Brother....Angry Brother, you will gag, and The Mother...go ahead and read it, we write about you a little, you might as well be aware.

What can we say, I like dirty sex. Anybody who knows me (Emmie) knows that. Some of the stuff I like to do scares the others, (do we call them “The Others”…do we capitalize that shit? Meh. Like I care)

Among the dirty things I like in the bedroom, I also like writing erotica. I wrote some when we were in high school, I’m pretty sure it was mentioned somewhere in a post before. I wrote it for a boy I liked, it got extracted from his locker and circulated, and a couple of years later during graduation (yeah, we were in the 9th or 10th grade when I wrote it), a boy sitting in front of us during grad ceremony practice turned around and said, “Hey, remember that dirty story you wrote”.

I don’t recall how we handled that, but we didn’t stab him (we weren’t really Stabby in those days, even though Sam was a part of us by then, but he was younger). We probably laughed uncomfortably at the fact that that was one thing we were remembered for, sitting there on our graduation day. Whatever we may have felt, I’m damn proud that one of the things people even knew us for was the dirty story we wrote to the boy who we used to grope, and make out with obscenely in the stairwells of our high school. Ain’t nothing like rubbing up against a boy before classes in a public place when you’re in high school.

Yeah, we were that kind of girl in high school…sometimes, and only if I was involved; otherwise the others made sure we got decent grades and stuff…for the most part.

Dirty stories. Erotic Literature. Lots of women like erotica, some men too, but we’re pretty sure the statistics on people who read it are higher for women, we could be bias, but men are notoriously more visual. You must also not dismiss the huge range of Harlequin Romance novels published (but, wait, do they still publish those?)

We started reading erotica at a very young age, or rather books with erotic passages/scenarios, but not Harlequin. Even at the very young age of 11 we knew that that was crap literature. “Literature”…too predictable, you could almost turn to the same page number in each book and find the “good stuff”. No, we liked a good story too.

The two I remember clearly, the books we broke our teeth on around the tender age of 11, are ‘Clan of the Cave Bear’ by Jean Auel. I do believe that book is the one that taught us how to give a proper blow job, and the first man who we tested it on, at the age of 16, had a hard time believing it was the first time we had put our mouth around a penis, but it was true.

He was our first real boyfriend, in that we didn’t have many in high school and eventually we lost our virginity to him (at 17, he was at least 3 years older), who then broke up with us because he was going to jail for stealing a car, crashing it, and parking it the lot next to our workplace. He wasn’t very smart. Clearly we had great taste in men even in those days. He’ll always be remembered for the gift he gave us, two stolen cassettes, one of which was Pink Floyd ‘The Wall’…which such a great gift, really. Floyd rocks…and it was influential to us.

One incident that is just plain funny that I have to mention, to further illustrate the kind of guy he was, and the people he hung out with.

We showed up at his house one day and he and a couple male friends were pulling ski masks on. We turned to one of the other girls who was hanging out; there were always random amounts of people lounging around, he had a huge house, and his dad was never home;
“What are they doing?” we asked, in 17 year old naiveté.

“Oh, they’re going across the street to rob the convenience store” she said rather nonchalantly.
That’s the kind of guy he was.

I remember him acting so…pre-juvenile. Goofy even…far too goofy to pull off a convince store heist, yet there he was, dressed in black and pulling a ski mask over his head. He was a pot head criminal who had spent too many years in a juvenile detention center.

The night we had sex with him for the first time he didn’t even know I/we had planned it. We were paranoid/cautious and despite the fact that The Mother had tried to put us on birth control pills at 13, we never did start using them until after the first time we had sex, so we came armed with spermicidal foam and condoms (which probably shocked/surprised him)…but no matter how prepared, It was probably the worst sexual experience to date. It was clear that despite his bad boy exterior/repartee…he had not had much experience with the ladies.

‘Ashes in the Wind’ by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss (first published in 1981) was another title that sticks out in my mind. We read more titles than those two, but those are the ones that stuck in my mind. Turns out it’s easy to swipe your mother’s books off of the bookshelf when your parents aren’t really paying attention, and your father doesn’t know what’s there in the first place.

We’re not sure if that’s common, eleven year old girls reading that kind of literature, we’re sure the eleven year old girls today are reading and looking at things far worse though…but we can only guess. We’ve heard things about what those young girls do at parties. Things that make me jealous.

Reading such literature at that age probably had an impact. The same kind of impact experiencing our first adult toy store, accompanied by The Mother, at the age of 14; or our first gay bar at the age of 14; or checking out Michael Bolton’s erection pushing through his jeans at the age of 14 with The Mother at our very first big music concert, using a pair of binoculars; and let’s not forget, our mother modeling a strap on dildo that she used for her then girlfriend, Unpleasant Woman, while we sat on the edge of her bed in an apartment she lived in with the woman who would eventually molest us.

Let’s not let that put a damper on things, some mothers just don’t know how to be a mother, and ours didn’t at all. She always told us “I want to be your friend, not your mother”…but some little girls probably need a mother at some point…

It’s hard to be mad about all the things that went wrong, all the things she was a part of that created some of us, because we love us, and I can’t imagine a life any other way without all my friends, safely inside our mind, sharing everything, sharing a body; especially since I am finally able to use the body for things I want to do.

Back to the fun stuff.

Erotica is essentially works of art, (literature, photography, film, sculpture & painting), that deal substantively with erotically stimulating or sexually arousing descriptions. (citation from Wikipedia, to read more

This is my most recent erotic story, Franks been hanging on to it, she (someone) wrote about the time we wrote it, and by now it’s clear who we wrote it for.
Image Source: 

To clear up confusion, about why we were at a church, the place we used to work was connected, physically, to one.

FAIR WARNING: This is violent…so if violent erotica disturbs you, please do not read it. Like I said…you’ve been warned. Also, not my best work…we wrote it on our cell phone while on a date with a guy (Icelandic Giant) who was playing video games with his friends…

“The doors to the church sanctuary were open today and I thought about having sex in there with you. 

Tonight while masturbating I imagined that I was in the church sanctuary, at the front (I think there is some sort of alter/stage). I'm wearing a short skirt, fishnets and high heels. You come up behind me and put your hand over my mouth, I struggle at first but as you push me to my knees and threaten me I give in. 

You slap my face and order me to take my shirt off while you unbutton, your pants. You pinch my nipples hard and order me to suck your cock, I take your hard cock in my mouth and suck it until you tell me to stand up. 

You bend me over the alter, rip my fishnet stalking off and slap my ass hard, repeatedly - until you leave marks, you make me tell you I am not worthy of your cock. You thrust your hard cock into my wet, throbbing pussy, making me moan loudly. 

I finger my clit, bent over the alter, while you put a finger in my ass and increase your thrusting. You tell me I'm your dirty godless whore. You make me repeat it. I say I'm a dirty godless whore and you tell me 'no', you slap my ass hard, and then harder. 

I cry out and you pull your cock out of my pussy and put in my ass. I rub my pussy and my clit, sliding two wet fingers in and out. You tell me to say I'm YOUR dirty godless whore. I repeat it as you thrust hard, pull out and cum all over my ass.

If anyone has read my writing, which honestly there is not a lot of on this blog, but some is here and so far Frank has taken credit for it (that’s going to change) – you’ll understand more about me.

One thing I've been given proper credit for, because she let me "sign" my name, is 'Love Juice...We're No Cosmo Magazine But... '

Yeah. I’m dirty, Yeah. I’ve gotten some of our girls to do terrible things, but I’ve done most of them myself. [Just ask James (our boyfriend)…he knows the sort of things I like, and is all too willing to be my slave, or let me be his…I miss you, James. XO]

Erotica. Must love.


1 comment:

  1. Emmie, I miss you too. I'll be back soon baby. I love you. xoxoxo