It Started With A Dick Pic

Share Our ShitBefore I go any further, I should point out that I was coerced; honest m’lud…

I’ll get to the meat of this (as it were) in a bit, but first of all, I’ll back up a bit.

Under the guise of my hirsute alter ego, I had been tweeting and posting naughty stories since early 2011. I had, in fact, been posting stories online since about 2001, but it was during a period of illness in early 2011 that I discovered twitter, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Although I had a blog, of sorts, on which to post my stories, I wasn’t actually a blogger as such. I did the odd bit of writing as the mood and inspiration took me, and that was as far as it went.

My writing did, however, bring me into contact with other writers of erotica, and from there I discovered that there was a rich and vibrant online community of writers and bloggers with whom I identified with and was becoming increasingly a part of. I still wasn’t a blogger though.

Very much still a lurker, I began commenting on the blogs that I was reading. Those comments meant that other visitors to those blogs “discovered” my site and started visiting and commenting on my work. A certain momentum was inexorably building.

Enter (not in the biblical sense) two very, persuasive women, Cheryl Kaye and Charlie Powell (or @HornyGeekGirl or @sexblogofsorts to use their twitter names) and we get, eventually, to the point of this post.

Between them they waxed lyrical about the dearth of male sex bloggers and how much they wished for “more cock on #SinfulSunday“. Eventually I took the bait and, three years ago this weekend, I posted my very first #SinfulSunday submission.

I had actually guest posted on Cheryl’s blog a few weeks earlier and, thanks to the favourable reaction my photos were receiving, I would later re-post that article on my own blog as another of my #SinfulSunday entries.

So there you have it, the story of how this introverted occasional peddler of filth was unleashed on an unexpecting internet.

Cheryl/Charlie, if you are reading this, the credit/blame is all yours…

ZeN

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Comparative Reality

Wicked WednesdayWhere does truth end and fiction begin?

I read this post  by the wonderful Girl on The Net recently, and if you haven’t read it, I can’t recommend strongly enough that you do so.

No.

Seriously.

Stop reading this and go and read her post, then if you can be arsed, you can come back here and finish reading this drivel.

Now, as anyone who follows her knows, GoTN. unlike me, is a woman and she writes freely about her sex life. If you have now read the post, you will have got the fact that while she writes honestly, she may, sometimes inadvertently, sometimes deliberately, change certain things and/or leave certain details out.  Does that make what she writes any less true? I don’t think so. And, after all, if she hadn’t told us, we’d all be none the wiser.

Now me, on the other hand, I dress things up. Yes, I can happily ramble on giving you my opinions (whether you want them or not) on everything from pubic hair, to why I enjoy cunnilingus, to why I will never give you a mark out of 10 for your blow-job skills, but when it comes to actual sex; actual people actually fucking, I mostly resort to writing fiction.

Now, I do happen to say on my stories site:

My writing is a mixture of experience and imagination in varying proportions.

And this is true. Well, kind of…

Some of my stories actually do correspond pretty closely to actual events. In others, the sex may be based on an actual shag, but I’ve changed the setting or the circumstances that led to it. In others, the sex scenes may be a distillation of the memories of a number of different shags, possibly with different partners, but I have chosen to weave them into one story, one scene.

And, of course, because it’s fiction, no one ever breaks wind when they roll over, the protagonists never spend 5 minutes swearing at each other because her hair has caught in his watch strap, no one ever accidentally gets elbowed or kneed somewhere painful as positions are changed, or gets a dead arm from lying in one position for too long supporting the weight of both partners.

In fiction, even when based on reality, the sex is idealised.

Some sex writers may include such details when regaling us with their real life exploits and adventures. GoTN is wonderfully frank in her writing, and does sometime choose to share snippets of such sex “fails” with us; but if she never alluded to them, would that make her “stories” any less true? In my opinion no. It might make them slightly less funny on occasion, but it doesn’t change the underlying event, in the same way that watching the Match Of The Day highlights doesn’t change the final score.

So, “truth” is true, and fiction can contain truth even when it’s not entirely true. Is one form of writing better than the other? I don’t think so. Even when not related to sex, I enjoy reading non-fiction as much as I enjoy reading fiction. It’s all down to the taste of the reader and the style (or lack thereof in the case of your truly) of the writer.

The truth can sometimes be stranger than fiction, but it can also be closely intertwined with it too.

ZeN

PS: The book that inspired this was, of course “How a Bad Girl Fell In Love” by none other than Girl on the Net herself.

Talking Dirty

#MasturbationMondayTRIGGER WARNING: This post will probably make me sound like a massive bellend/pious twat.

Filthy…

Dirty…

Illicit…

Sinful…

Wicked…

Bad…

All words that are frequently used to describe aspects of sex. Also words that are used in the names of some of my favourite blogs and blogging memes; blogs and memes that promote body/image/sex positivity.

Yet, despite all the good things about these, I have one niggling problem them; the names.

Now, I must emphasise that I am not having a go at the bloggers and writers involved. The problem isn’t with their blogs, or what they write, or the photos they post. After all, I participate in these memes, posting both my writing and photos. My problem is with the language. Not the language used by my fellow bloggers/writers you understand, just the language that has grown up around sex itself.

Now, when it comes to writing about sex, I am as “guilty” as everyone else; I describe it as dirty/filthy/naughty/etc. The problem is, the negative connotations of these words goes against the sex positive message we try to put forward. Somehow, while on the one hand seeming entirely apt, they also reinforce the message that there is something wrong with sex; that somehow we should feel shame for enjoying it and the pleasure it brings us.

And yet…

And yet, the use of such words is partially what makes it so much fun; it makes it seem like we’re doing something we really shouldn’t. Which is, of course bollocks. Of course we should be doing it. If we didn’t, none of us would be here to discuss it. And since we should be doing it, it only seems right that we should also enjoy it.

On the one hand it is great that the sex positive community is attempting to “reclaim” these words and make them positive but, on the other hand, are we not further entrenching the idea of “wrongness” about sex by doing so.

It’s a quandary. No less so because there are no “positive” words in our language that have the same delicious (ok, so there’s one) feel to them when describing the act. There is something primal and satisfying about words such as fuck, cock, cunt; it is their power to shock that illicits such strong emotions and feelings, and what would sex be without those.

So we are stuck with the bizarre juxtaposition that, while proclaiming to the world that sex is good, wholesome, healthy, natural fun, we do so by describing it as dirty, filthy, naughty, bad.

This is a bit of a rambling diatribe. I wish I had a satisfying conclusion (pun intended) to raise. I wish I didn’t sound like a complete berk. Are we right to be wrong, or is wrong being right? I don’t know, I really don’t.

It’s a contradiction, and one that everyone who writes positively about sex faces, but it’s the use of such language that makes our particular genre (and indeed, the act itself) so enjoyable.

What can I say? Sometimes humans baffle me.

ZeN

In The Mind

#MasturbationMondayTo me, the question as to which is the most important sexual organ is, if you’ll pardon the mixed oxymoron, a no-brainer.  It is the mind that interprets the stimuli received by our senses, it is the mind that generates desire. It is our mind that creates the eroticism of words and images, and it is our mind that dictates our responses. Different parts of my body are assigned different tasks; my lips are assigned the task of kissing you, my tongue gets then task of licking you, my fingers get the job of caressing you and my cock gets given responsibility for fucking you. It is, however, my mind that is control of each action; orchestrating and coordinating the sensual whole.

I will admit that I used to use contact/hook-up sites (Twitter isn’t really one of those, now, is it?). The biggest and most common complaint from women using these sites was about the lack of originality/imagination shown by the male users. All too often, it seems, “communication” from us men was a picture of our cock and a well thought out, highly eloquent one-liner, that went along the lines of: “hey babe, wanna fuk u.” Now, I am sure there are some women out there who appreciate this direct approach, but for the most part, given that these sites are a buyer’s market, with women very much the “buyers”, most, I think, preferred a little more effort than simply stating the blindingly obvious, i.e. that we wanted to fuck. There was, after all, a bit of a clue in the nature of the sites we were using.

Now for me, the whole “stimulate her mind and her body will follow” philosophy was part of the reason I started writing erotic fiction. It was a way of demonstrating that I am articulate, imaginative and, in a way, it gives a certain insight into the kind of things, sexually, that I enjoy.  In the context of hook-up sites, at some point during the correspondence, assuming I’d piqued their initial interest by not leading with my cock and by stringing a couple of paragraphs together, I could ask if they liked such stories and, if the answer was yes, point them in the direction of my site (well, it’s predecessor to be strictly accurate).

Surprisingly (or not), my approach did sometimes succeed. I’m not saying it was my writing that got me laid, but it was the fact that I’d taken the time to think about the person I was contacting, show that I’d taken an interest in what they had to say, and shown that I could think coherently about more than what was (if all went well) the desired and pleasurable (for her as well as me, I hope) endgame.

Mental stimulation, whilst vital in the initial making an impression stages, is no less important when you are in a relationship.  For me, part of foreplay is the drawn out flirting/sexting that goes on between us when we are not together.  This usually starts pretty much after we have seen each other, and continues almost right up until the moment we are next together. Time is often short, and so much of the “preparation” is done before we even see each other.

Being able to think sexy, and, more importantly, making the other person think sexy is, for me at least, a key part of the sex we have. Yes, it can lead to frustration, but it is a lot of fun being to turn someone on when you aren’t in their presence, and the frustration can be relieved when you do finally see each other. There is something wonderful about being able to build and maintain arousal and desire over a number of hours, days, even weeks if required, using just words from your imagination, telling her exactly what I intend to do, and what I want her to do. Knowing that she is wet and aching for me from just the words I have sent her, telling her of my hunger for her is, of itself, hugely arousing.

It is the equivalent  of edging her mind with mine.

So my advice, had I been inclined to give it to those “Ugh! Wanna Fuk!” guys, and thus increase the competition for the more articulate out there, would have been, if you really want to get into her knickers, you should try getting into her mind first.

ZeN

Private Parts

#MasturbationMondayAs anyone who writes about sex, or pens erotic stories will know, euphemisms abound. The terms we use to describe sexual acts and the erogenous zones of our bodies are too numerous to list. If you ever get stuck, I do recommend this particular post.

For the purposes of this post, I am concentrating on the names that we give to those intimate bits of our own and, where relevant, partner’s bodies. Personally, when it comes to the words I use for the various naughty bits of the human anatomy, I find a lot depends on the context.

So, starting with my own particulars…

Generally, my penis is my penis. I will sometimes, in the context of a photo, refer to it as my cock or dick, but by and large (cue childish sniggering), it’s my penis. What my partner calls it, is entirely up to them. If they wish to feel my cock, throbbing manhood, or other such ego-stroking term inside them, then I’m happy to oblige. I’ve commented on any number of occasions that I find the male reproductive organ faintly humorous, so I’m not going to get all angsty if the woman I’m with comes up with some joking term of endearment for it. So long as she it and she likes what I’m doing with it, and she is complimentary, she can call my tally-whacker whatever the hell she wants.

In the context of my writing, I tend to use “cock”. I simply prefer it to “dick” or “prick”. I will differentiate between the shaft and the head where it seems appropriate to do so. I will occasionally use words like “member” or “pole” etc., just for the sake of variety, but in the main, “cock” is my go to word of choice.

Now, lady-bits…

I’ve written before about the plethora of terms for the female erogenous zones; and again, context is key. When I’m with a woman, I generally use the language that she herself prefers to use. Some women have tits (not really a fan, but hey-ho), some have boobs; some women have a pussy (again, not my favourite), others have a cunt. Really, it depends on her chosen term for those bits of her body.

If I’m having a general discussion on the subject with someone (most usually a woman) I tend to use boobs/breasts and cunt/vagina, but again, I try to be sensitive to the other person’s sensibilities.

In my writing, if I’m being descriptive I would usually make a reference to the female character’s breasts (e.g. she had small/large/perky/full/firm breasts). For a woman’s genitalia, I tend to use cunt, but sometimes I will use sex; sometimes I will differentiate and refer to specific parts such as labia or clit.  When writing dialogue, I tend to try and reflect the fact that women use different names, so one female character might want her tits played with and her pussy fucked, whereas another might prefer her boobs to be caressed and her cunt filled. A lot depends on the coarseness  of the sex being written about and the level of detail I’m describing. Also, again, variation stops things getting repetitive so nothing is set in stone.

There are lots of words that can be used, and everyone has their own preferences. Ultimately, while the words used for those bits might not please everyone, what’s much more important is the way in which those bits are used and the enjoyment such use evokes.

ZeN

The Trouble With “Lady Parts”

Wicked WednesdayI have a problem with “lady parts”.  Not the actual parts themselves, of which I am particularly fond; more the fact that you lot have so bloody many of them.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I love each and every one of them. I love they way you react when I touch, kiss, lick and fuck them. It’s just that, as a “writer“, trying to describe them is a nightmare.

We guys are pretty simple. On our chests, we have nipples; that’s pretty much it. You lot though… I mean yes, you have nipples and they respond in various wonderfully delightful ways, but you also have boobs.  Now I’m certainly not knocking your knockers; anyone who knows me knows how much I love them, but when it comes to writing they are another bit (or is that bits?) that have to be considered. Part of the biggest problem is what to actually call them? Boobs, tits, breasts, norks, knockers, funbags (OK, so I have never, ever used the term funbags in erotica); you get my drift… And if that weren’t bad enough, don’t even get me started on your areolae. I mean, why do you even have them?  What’s wrong with just having nipples? Isn’t it enough that you already have two erogenous areas on either side of your chest without adding a third? Isn’t that just being greedy?

Anyway, moving briskly on, or down, as is more appropriate. And let’s face it, we do like to go down…

Again, the male sexual anatomy is pretty basic. We have cocks and we have balls. Occasionally you may feel the need to differentiate between the shaft and the head of our cocks; sometimes you may want to draw attention to the scrotum rather than what it contains. By and large however, that’s it: cock, balls, and occasionally sac.

With you ladies on the other hand, it’s a whole different ball-game (or should that be labia-game, or maybe clit-game?).

Now, despite what certain women’s magazines would have us believe, I suspect most of us guys are at least passingly acquainted with your clitoris (some more so than others, I will admit). We know you have a vagina. We are familiar with your labia (both majora and minora). The vulva leaves us a little confused. Is it a specific part in its own right, or is it a term for the whole general area? Yes, yes, I know what it actually is, but I’m just emphasising the point. To be honest, in much the same way that, in my writing, I tend to neglect areolae (although I would never neglect them in the flesh, I hasten to add), I tend to gloss over vulvae too (that’s really not as filthy as it sounds, believe me).

Euphemisms don’t actually help; although they do provide a certain concealment of ignorance. I can throw in the word “cunt” or “pussy” but, depending on the context, that in itself can mean different things. If I put my cock in your cunt, then I’m clearly talking about your vagina. If I’m admiring your neatly trimmed pussy, I’m talking about your pubis (I’d almost forgotten about that one), or possibly your vulva, or maybe both.

And you wonder why us guys find you so confusing sometimes… It’s almost as if we are strangers in a strange land.

Personally, I think I’ll just stick to enjoying them for the effects my attentions cause and not get hung up on the Latin.

ZeN

On Writing

It’s almost 16 years to the day since I wrote my first erotic story way back in 2001. It wasn’t particularly good, but it was a start.

I wrote it because, having read a fair bit of erotica on sites like Literotica; while a lot of it was extremely well written, much of it was atrocious. There was, sadly, particularly among male “authors”, a tendency to write pieces that were less arousing and more mechanical descriptions of sex. The sex was simply a description of the positions they did it in, how many strokes of his cock until he came, how much he enjoyed it, and how quickly he got hard again so he could do it all again. The characters were, at best, one dimensional. The man was extremely proud of how large/hard his cock was, how hard he could fuck, how long he could last and how good his orgasm felt. The woman was, almost invariably a stunning blonde, with huge tits and existed solely as the possessor of orifices for the male character to fuck with absolutely no regard to her enjoyment. The only hint as to her personality, skills and/or abilities we ever got was that she was, of course, an absolute expert at giving blow-jobs.

From the outset, I was pretty sure I could do better than that. Granted, being male myself, and only knowing what sex feels like from a male perspective, my primary point of view was going to have a male focus. I was, however, determined that my characters, both male and female, would be “real” people, having (artistic licence aside) “real” sex. Both parties would have feelings and emotions, both parties would have their likes and dislikes, both parties would have orgasms (unless the focus of the story was orgasm denial, of course).

I wanted the woman in my stories to have their own “story”, their own motivations; desires, wants and needs. I wanted them to be people, not just a hand collection of holes with no personality that served as a plot device.

Likewise, I wanted my men to be more than just life support systems for their penises. I wanted them to have depth and feelings. I did not want them to be super-stud automatons.

Finally, I wanted the sex to be believable. I wanted bot parties to participate fully in the experience. There had to be a reason, however superficial, as to why the protagonists were having sex; they needed to have motivations, there needed to be a context for them to fuck in.

Descriptions of sex can become repetitive. After all there are, without reducing things to #EuphOff  proportions, only so many ways you can describe the physical act of copulation; there are only so many words for the various erogenous zones and sexual organs, and only so many onomatopoeic collections of letters that can be used to express the sounds made by the (hopefully) joyously lustful participants as they move towards a climax.

As my writing has evolved, particularly as I’ve moved away from full length stories towards flash fiction, the actual “sex content” in my stories has reduced, but yet not (I hope) at the expense of the eroticism.

I don’t always succeed. As with all writers, some of my work is better than others. I hope, however, that on the whole you enjoy it.

ZeN

Split Personalities

Like many people on the “darker” fringes of the blogging world, I split my online presence into Certificate-U “Vanilla” and Certificate-18 “NSFW” categories.  To keep them separate, and to avoid the risk of crossover, I even go so far as to use different apps for each; Google Chrome for Cert-U and Mozilla for Cert-18, Twitter App for Cert-U, Tweetcaster/Tweetdeck for Cert-18.

Even with that, my devices still sometimes try to merge my contacts across both personae, or suggest that one me might know the other me.

I suspect that this is not uncommon for members of this particular online community; a community where we balance openness with a need for privacy/discretion. Some people are fully out, and I am sometimes a little envious of their ability to walk freely among us; but I suspect the majority of us live much more anonymous/pseudonymous lives.

My situation is slightly more confusing.  Not intentionally, but it’s ended up that way. My NSFW side now has three blogs split across two personae.

Why?

As I said, accidental, not intentional.

I used to lump all things NSFW under the Kilted Wookie persona. My stories, my photographs and my thoughts and observations were all lumped together in one blog. It was simple. It worked.

Only one problem, my mental health

About a year ago I went through a bit of a meltdown. I tore everything down. I deleted pretty much everything to do with Kilted Wookie. The only exception was Twitter. Even there I actually deleted all the tweets from the account.  I didn’t delete the account itself because KW was and had been a very big part of me, and even if I wasn’t using that persona, I didn’t want anyone else adopting it, so I kept the account and left it dormant.

After a while, I relented to an extent, and put my stories, back online. I haven’t written any new ones, but they are still there for people to read and (hopefully) enjoy. I was still dormant in the community, but I at least had a presence.

Some of you may know that, writing (if you can dignify my efforts as such) aside, my big passion is photography. Now, in addition to the wonderful #SinfulSunday meme (of which I have been a participant of since 2015, Molly also runs February Photo Fest. It just so happened that by the time this year’s collection rolled around, I was in a much better place mentally. I also had a bucket load of photos that I had taken as potential #SinfulSunday  posts, but had never got around to sharing. I decided to take the plunge; #NaughtyHastags was born.

There was one small snag: TWITTER.

I still had the account, but I couldn’t remember the password. As part of the online purge, I had also deleted the email account that was associated with @Kilted_Wookie. The result was that I had no way back into that account and so, I became @ZenNudist.

Ultimately, by sheer fluke, the KW password insinuated itself back into my consciousness, and I was able to link up the photo blog to it (the writing blog had always been attached so if I had actually done any writing, that would have come through). By then though, @ZenNudist had become my established identity on Twitter and it would have been probably even more confusing than it already was to move back and re-establish @Kilted_Wookie.

So, there you have it: the mixed up, slightly strange journey to how I became two versions of the same person, with three different blogs, simultaneously.

Confused? I am, so I could hardly blame you if you are.

ZeN