How to write a sex story - Redneck Tale # 43

I know. Everyone thinks that being a writer is a piece of cake – a regular walk in the park. Not true. Writing good stuff is not easy at all. An author worth the ink to be wasted and the paper scheduled for squandering has to begin by coming up with an idea – a thought or two. Next comes research, the separation of real facts from not so real facts. After that must be plotting and planning. Some might refer to plotting and planning as thinking things through. Often there are bumps in the road, but some writers like to call those obstacles wrinkles in the paper.

After the first painful hour or so, the beneficiary of all of this amuscular sweating and straining typically looks like an ordinary oversized and now overfilled wastebasket like this one.

Not being a well-practiced writer, I don’t do things like real writers do them. Ordinarily I just sit down in front of my ten-dollar keyboard and whale away at the thing. Somehow words on the screen appear. Sometimes they make sense, too. That is always an encouragement to keep on whaling away at the keyboard. This time, I decided to practice being a real writer; that is, to follow the roughed-out set of rules, above - idea, research, plotting and planning, and filling the wastebasket even though I hated the thought that I might inadvertently throw away some good stuff...

I got to thinking about what sort of an article might sell or bring me fame even if it failed to bring me wealth. For some reason it seemed to me that I should try to write about something I have always tried to shy away from – shy is quite the correct word, come to consider it. Sex. I assure one and all that sex is enjoyable and healthy, but not between a writer and a ten-dollar keyboard. But there I was. The light bulb had popped above me. Sex it must be.

Ooooops!

This research stuff is not what some say it is. The first thing, right at the starting line, here was this serious article I uncovered that told me that my writing should avoid using sexist language. All of a sudden my chosen work of eye- and mind-catching literature hit that first deep wrinkle in the virtual paper, the one inside my unhelpful computer. Not being altogether sure what my research was trying to tell me (beyond spoiling my train of thought), I looked up the word, sexist. That didn’t help any at all. It simply confused me. But, I did remember that I had a computer here to do some work for me, so I plugged "sexist" into a search engine. It found something worthy of mention – a quotation, the words of which I will give you here:

"My very first day on the job, the boss asked me to make a fresh pot of coffee. Of course, I walked right out the door. He and those other sexist pigs at Starbucks can kiss my @ss!" - Phyllis Hilliard

The result of all of this struggling to come up with a fine piece of sex writing was only the finding of a funny Starbucks kind of joke. Even so, I am not going to let my readers down. I will do some personal research and even do some consulting with experts, some of whom are friends and others of whom have hard-earned reputations to protect – like, maybe, Hugh Hefner (if he is not otherwise busy) and some learned, hopefully adequately lecherous, psychiatrists and the like. I have been told that experts like those are everywhere. I would not even be averse to peeking at what other folks are trying to write so that I might get a nudge or two in the right direction.

If all of that fails to help me come up with a great sexist piece of writing, I suppose I will have to go back to writing doggerel or Boy Scout manuals.